shaver

Well, damn. After dinner last night, I sat down on the couch, and then the next thing I knew it was this morning. Apparently I got up, said goodbye to various family members, moved upstairs to bed, asked Tyla to retrieve my book and laptop and generally feigned self-awareness, but I recall basically zero of it this morning.

Apparently phil, knowing that I’m a slackass but probably not suspecting the reason for this occasion, called last night as well. I am, in so many ways, more trouble than I’m worth.

I still can’t find my 2001 T4s. I’m such a loser, and I won’t be surprised if Dennis will have nothing to do with me after we’re done this. (OK, I’ll be a little surprised, but still.) I guess I’ll get ZKS to fax a copy to Dennis, or something. Tyla has decided that she has to take over all financial aspects of our union — though I will still, presumably, be permitted gainful employment — and I am not really objecting at all. When we get to Toronto, I am so hiring an assistant part-time to make sure I invoice on time, pay bills, have travel arranged, don’t lose key pieces of don’t-go-to-jail tax paperwork, and whatnot. Phil is all over this, being a grownup and stuff.

I think we’re supposed to go to Toronto today, but I really can’t think that far ahead. I have all sorts of things I want to write here, about things more interesting than my daily personal failings, but I have this constant sense that I am only barely keeping things on the rails. I can’t wait until we’re settled in Toronto, I have found and/or chosen a new job, things are unpacked and I’m not living on borrowed time for everything. What am I, twelve still?