Car odometer reads: 560 km.
I have had the car for a little over 3 days.
Wow. I got it all taken care of and still can't stop grinning like I got away with something. That said, learning the intricacies of a new stick shift in downtown rush hour Edmonton freeway traffic is not something I'd recommend. I drove to Camrose with my music on full tilt and the wind in my hair, yelling: "I love you Alberta!" and "Wooooooo!" at the prarie countryside. The only question now is what should I name her? Suggestions?
Work is fine. I'm getting going and try to make some sales and try to not get discouraged every time I get shot down. Too many have people have told me "You'd be good at that." for me to believe otherwise anyways.
I should sleep.
Back at 'er tomoree

"S.O.S. please someone help me."

I'm fucked. Overwhelmed, distraught, frustrated, full of self loathing, self doubt, and self destructive thoughts. I need a car, for my job, without the car, I have no job.
You see, if you get a car, obviously it has to be insured. They don't just give you insurance without having to put money down, and I have no money to put down. My Dad and Mom are both unreachable by phone or email. I am flat broke and my hotel is only paid up until tomorrow at 11am, and it's looking like I'm going to be homeless in Edmonton. I have to be in Camrose on Tuesday. And even if I'm lucky, get a hold of someone, get money, I won't be able to get my car until Tuesday morning at the earliest because everything's closed tomorrow for fucking Victoria day, a fact I failed to recognize in my previous "grand plan".
Evidently I don't deal well with adversity/hunger/homelessness.
FUCK.
Crying yourself to sleep is the new sleeping pill.

Allright Edmonton,
You've provided me with the ability to get a vehicle (almost), a job, and your weather is impecable. You're growing on me. If I didn't have pressing reasons to get back to Calgary, I might even LOVE it here. Tonight Michael Peca will have earned his keep, and I will be rioting with my blue and orange bretheren on Whyte ave. Look for me on Hockey night in Canada, or possibly in the pages of a national paper fleeing tear gas grenades while clutching a flatscreen TV.

Dearest Edmonton:
You are a rotten cunt of a city, and you smell like one too.
Regards,
-Matt

I guess you'll be happy to know that I've found employment. It's selling advertisment space for a yellow pages company. It's really good money, but it has sent me to the land of Oilers, Eskimoes, and Golden Bears. I'm staying in a U of A dorm room until the job starts on Thurday and bored out of my trees due to lack of a television and having to pay for internet, and having no money. In any case, this will be brief due to me paying $5/hour for this rubbish.
Happy Mother's day.

I don't know what to say.
I don't know what to say.
I don't know what to say.
I don't know what to say.
I don't know what to say.
I don't know what to say.
I don't know what to say.
I don't know what to say.
I don't know what to say.
I don't know what to say.

I never do.

I've developped this nasty little habit of getting to the bus stop, and should the bus fail to make it self known right away, I begin walking to the next stop.
"A nice little way to kill time" you say?
"Walking is better that sitting, is it not?"
Well the problem with this habit is two fold:
(i) The bus seems to enjoy coming while I'm in between stops, driving right by me as I'm walking down the road, thus forcing me to wait even longer for the next bus.
(ii) Often I fail to negotiate the same twists and turns the bus route takes, and I am left in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night,forced to ask a buck toothed 7-Eleven employee how to get back to the bus stop I had just vacated.
Needless to say, this is one habit I may be forced to break or wind up on the National news as the "unfortunate hitchiker" who climbed into some blood thristy, homoerotic, man killer's oldsmobile cutlass.

I hate money. I hate what it does to people. I hate how it makes me worry constantly. I hate how it makes people "better", I hate how it makes people "worse". I hate how it buys advantages from some that others will never see. Living in this city has opened my eyes to the dichotomy of wealth in modern society. The haves and the have-nots. You see Porshes, hummers, and $20,000 bottles of wine. You also see people sleeping under bridges, begging for their next meal, or pushing all their belongings around in a shopping cart. I was sitting and waiting for the bus on a cold Calgary intersection, watching the pricey cars go by in front of me, watching people wine and dine at their expensive lounge behind me. I wanted to put my fist through the window and bleed on their hors d'euvres, I wanted to hijack an audi and push it off a bridge. I wanted to let all these people know that their decadence comes at a price of the proletariat, and that we are dying, and our blood is on their hands.