There's something about being alone in a dark room with nothing but your thoughts and a blank page.
When I was a kid and my parents got divorced I lost myself in these pages. There was no point being angry about shit I had no control over anymore. I mean, of course I went through the phases, I was fucking pissed off. I mean, she fucking left us. How the hell could she do that? I didn't understand it back then, or maybe I did and I just didn't want to think about it, but when I'd come home from school and find my not-by-blood-uncle Terry and my mother sitting at the kitchen table with big smiles on their faces it wasn't because he came by to fix something because Dad was at work late again.
After the divorce we moved from the Beaches to Mount Dennis. Bit of a change, that was for fucking sure. Not like there was shootings all the time, but you made sure you didn't let people you didn't recognize into the building. I remember when we first moved there that I held the door open for a woman, being a gentleman. Turns out I held the door open for a prostitute, least that's what the super said when he was yelling at me.
I grew up, got work and moved out on my own. My mother remarried, so when Dad didn't have to pay her alimony anymore he was able to move somewhere a little nicer. He moved to a nice little house in Etobicoke.
I moved more downtown, in the Annex. A neighborhood that was nice and clean and conveniently full of woman going to nearby U of T and OCAD. But at the same time close enough that you could stumble home from the clubs and bars in the Entertainment District. Toronto was booming up big, construction everywhere. It was an easy industry to get into. I worked for a mobile crane and rigging company, doing equipment lifts all day. It was interesting work, pay was good, and kept me busy. Maybe that was my problem, too busy.
I came home early from work, and shit hit me all over again. My fiance and- let's just say Biz got it right, sometimes there isn't no "just a friend", especially when that friends an ex. It got messy. I threw her purses and shoes over the balcony and kicked her out. I broke his nose. Cops came. Felt just like Mount Dennis all over again, except this time I was the crazy fuck next door. I drank for a while too, scotch, rye, pretty much anything whiskey was the go to but I wasn't picky. The company put me on leave for a bit, beautiful thing about unions sometimes, disability.
Then the tickets showed up in the mail. I forgot about those. Fuck. We planned a backpacking trip so long ago. Europe. Rail passes were booked, only a few hotels every now and then so we could stay somewhere nicer and get really clean. And really dirty- fuck, still can't get her off my mind. The rest of the time we were going to hit up cheap hotels and hostels.
A buddy of mine took the second plane ticket, he had family in Dublin which was the first stop. He convinced me that the change of scenery was a good thing, tried to convince me on hopefully meeting some single Euro women. I was luckily able to get a refund on the second rail pass, which helped.
But now I sit here in this dark room, flipping through the same notebook that got me through those tough times as a kid. The one I used to write my thoughts in, poems, the shit that would have got my ass beat back in high school in Mount Dennis. Fucked up thing is, shit's a lot more dark outside.
The fuck am I going to do now?