I bathe my dog with soap that smells like coconut because the oil is meant to remove the stench of the city’s waters.

Did you know that the city’s waters are unusually packed with sewage this year?  If you have a dog that likes to play in Etobicoke Valley or Cherry Beach, you know, Toronto is overflowing with shit.

Go drink a glass of water now and remind yourself that it was once inside of you.

You’re welcome.

This is from the head of a woman who cannot remember why she ever wanted employment because now that she knows what food is, now that she really knows how food works, how it is cooked, how it is served, how it is priced, how another woman can spend the entirety of this first woman’s hourly wage on one sandwich, how money, how financial tides, how shit is in the water:  This is from the mind of a woman who is tired and who has friends enough to enjoy life but who cannot let go of the obligation to be employed.  Labelled.  Somehow more accomplished because she serves coffee.

Ego is:  A waste of time.  And time throws no compliments your way.  There is no validation for the sudden maturity level of a barista who has failed over and over again for weeks at every little thing, who suddenly gets it, gets all the coffee, all the food, all the chores, and who suddenly also understands that it’s worth nothing because it does nothing because this food that we sell is a distraction away from what REALLY should be worth the twelve dollars, from the art unfunded and the books unread, thank you food, thank you coffee, for stealing my money, of course you’re where I get my pay cheque.

This isn’t a rant, but it’s a bit more of a tired song than usual.

I’m with you, I’m with all of you, walking the shitty, literally shitty streets of Toronto, head down because someone once told me that’s where it goes, caffeinated, my mind chanting fantasies, my gut digesting realities, someone somewhere hopefully thinking of me but really when does that ever pan out:  I am alone, so are you.

If we figure “Alone” to be an abstraction of self, we can picture It, Alone, as a subject.  Leave Alone alone.  Turn the lights off.  Lock the door.  Within that room, just left by you, a subject Alone is alone, the end of it, the loneliest entity in the world, the most absolute solitudinous person, thought, building block, creation, sits silently.  You cannot hear screams.  There is no chatter.  Alone is just alone.  Known for being alone.  Ok with it.

Rachel has trouble being alone.  Because, Rachel is rachel.   Rachel was called Rachel once upon a time, built into Rachel, became a Rachel but without anyone in the room with her cannot prove it, must signify her self with activity to speak about later, some of you even photograph yourselves alone (I do) doing whatever lonely thing you do, you will never be Alone, only Alone can be alone truly because all of us are trying to be something else.  But Alone has nothing else to be.

After a day of people, eight hours, no break (however legal that is), sweat, confusion, spills, so many spills, after hours of people, coming home to my dog is absolute heaven.  We sit on the floor, I feed him bacon I brought home from work, we paw at each other.  But still, sometimes I take pictures just to show people that’s what I’m doing.

It’s not my fault that I crave some kind of attention, I’ve been serving assholes for hours and all I want is someone to be nice to me or.  Be with me. It’s not my fault, it wouldn’t be your fault, but it’s still egotistical.  Is that wrong?  It’s egotistical because I want anyone at all to validate my being just so I know that I’m truly being but if I was truly truly being just on the floor with my dog and the bacon, my brain would be in the room and not far away considering how to feel better about my self-construct.

There is nothing more humbling than servitude.  Humility is brilliant.  But, can we really survive without the presence of an I?

I feel tears arriving, constantly.  Fear without any comfort.  Time gives no compliments.  Just go tell your friend she’s wonderful.


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