Some More Simple Math

Being thrust out into the world without Internet showed me how scarily attached I've become to it. Life is livable without the Internet, you just watch a lot more Dr. Phil and hope the restaurant you're going to won't kill you with a food poisoning sandwich.

The last one actually led to revelation: If I don't dial back on the anxiety, I'll probably stroke out before I'm thirty. I was meeting my pal Frances for dinner at this little basement snack bar I always wanted to go to- Moe's, on Maisonneuve and Lambert-Closse- and was convinced that she would hate it, I would hate it, I would hurl on some kid trying to watch Wall-E at the theater... Then I realized that in the past twenty-four hours I had worried about losing my job, failing an exam, failing a class, having to find another job, when I was going to get to do laundry again, whether Gibby the Degu was feeling neglected, and probably a few other things I've forgotten to write down. And then I realized that was kind of sad, and pointless. I didn't lose my job, I did fine on the exam, I probably won't fail that class, I did laundry yesterday, and Gibby has the memory span of a gnat and is probably doing just fine.

I met Frances for dinner, and there was no food poisoning chez Moe's. Damn tasty grilled cheese and milkshakes, though, and they have a small, fuzzy TV on, so you know it's a Protagitron kind of place. We shared a side of fries, drenched in ketchup, and talked about whether assholery is an inherited or acquired trait. The outdated poster of Patrick Roy as a Habs goalie hanging on the wall reminded us that his family is proof of the former. Then we talked about impossibilities of Jewish families (her) and of Ukrainian ones, and of dealing with any kind of Montreal construction. I have resolved, however, to somehow skip age and religious boundaries to become an old Jewish woman kvetching at a funeral. I think it's my calling.

Be it also further resolved not to worry quite so much.