Handing out clean needles to intravenous drug users is a noble deed...but it simply isn't good enough when the rest of the system doesn't work to support a program like that. All sterilized-clean and no where to go! Sooooooo, we end up with a mess.
No really. A mess. On my doorstep.
Plastic hypodermic needle packages and cigarette butts. We usually find the used needle tossed not far from this tell-tale evidence.
The City of Montreal has been cracking down on crack houses and shooting galleries and it seems that these displaced junkies have migrated to my place. I have a feeling the city sent them here. Am I just paranoid? Or was there some seriously bad urban social planning in the works? You decide: The clean needle distribution van parks on my street.
With a more integrated program city officials, social workers and the police might choose a better location for the program. By 'better' I don't mean NIMBY.
Not-in-my-backyard arguments aren't effective because this sort of thing has to happen in SOMEONE's backyard. But...they could have chosen a location more than 50 feet from the community *playground*...dontcha think!?
Sheesh, sometimes I think the people running the city are on crack, too.
It's so poetic that in the same week I find my first wrinkle, I also start losing my vision.
To be fair, it's a laugh line. It follows the curve of my smile and when I am old, it will tell my great nieces and nephews that I was a happy person.
While it might not really speak of my authentic experience as a child of the 80s, adolescent of the 90s and woman of the new millenium...it will give them a warm feeling. Maybe by then I will hold sweet-old-lady status.
I do not, however, want anything to do with that status until I am age-d.
Here I am, spending hours in front of the computer obsessing over class assignments in an attempt to discover the perfect combination of key strokes. Breaking the code means an 'A'. An 'A' means publishable work in the PR world of education.
The trouble is, I got one. Now that my professor has decided I write publishable Public Relations pieces, I have to keep up the good work. "Keeping up the good work" is what someone has to do in order not to disappoint themselves. Keeping up, as I've discovered, is hard on a person.
To complete the major mid-term project before leaving last weekend for Ontario, (where I spent Canadian Thanksgiving with my delightfully-drunken extended family) I had to stare at the computer screen for hours.
I now have double-vision. I now have double-vision.
Hmm. Maybe NOW would be a good time to take a break from my computer.
Worry not! I am still lurking about...and as soon as I have my projects, exams, assignments, oral presentations and houseguests under control...I'll be back. Well, to be honest I might have an alcohol binge after all that. But after THAT...I'll be back.
When I'm not journaling in obscurity, I'm flirting with disaster, missing planes and planning adventures. I've just moved back to Canada from London (UK), where I developed unsavoury habits like looking left before crossing the street, holding my fork curved down, and asking for the 'loo'. Follow me as I fumble my way to familiarity in my new home – Toronto . I promise won't spare you the gritty city details.