The pen is heavier than the sword…

nobody likes a vegetarian

Having been orphaned this weekend– in a way– my mum fleeing to Alberta to see family that would never think to come see her over here, my Dad bromancing with an old friend from grade school, and my sister stumbling upon the fag-hagging, 54 lifestyle (sans drugs, she’s hella smart), as well as my “other” family– my tightly-knit group of social brothers and sisters who I hold quite dear to me and are ridiculously loyal to me in spite of, me, my offensive and reprehensible, sorry-example-of-an-existence human being– well they’re not around either, they went back to their small town homes to eat obese birds.

This Thanksgiving was not all the way awful, but pretty fucking close, with having only seen two friends for some part of two evenings and the rest of it, I had to spend time with myself (which is only fun sometimes). I apologize, it must sound like I’m about to kick the stool from beneath me. But shit, these kinds of sappy-happy holidays that force the scheduling of unbearable family get-togethers are completely shitty if you’re an orphan……………… mkay fine, hyperbolic orphan, so I’m not one, both my folks are still alive and I have a wonderful group of friends. I thanks the giving of that, I thanks the shit out of it, believe…

But I really did have to do the whole pseudo-Annie thing this time weekend and make do with what I was left with; some food and my apartment. I baked (bread and muffins assholes, not turn myself blind from smoking pot). Oddly enough– because domesticity creeps up on me and I love putting on my apron and working the EasyBake– but oddly enough, baking got old hat (it gets old hat when nobody’s eating your goods… and when nobody’s eating your bread and muffins, HA). So when I got tired of being Martha Stewart and coughing flour out of my lungs, I really had to decide what to do next, otherwise the boredom was going to win.

Well here I am, on my knees and crawling back to you, Pen, for I’ve forgotten that this was usually the way back to you– that is, taking the path of boredom (or the path of drama, which my life is, unfortunately, never void of). And really, I have to say that you, inky Excalibur, was the heaviest shit to pick up again. I must’ve made up and spun several thousand variations of the “writer’s block” excuse to anyone who asked why I wasn’t writing anymore (I didn’t even know they read my writing, so that’s embarrassing).

But you’re in my hands again.

Boredom, I thanks for your giving.

Your friendly neighbourhood,

special k.


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