Sitting here now in the relatively peaceful atmosphere of the outskirts of Toronto, I’m thankful I’m far away from what’s happening in other parts of the world. If I had gone through with my UK trip as planned, I would have been flying home today from London and if I’m being completely honest, I probably would have been an utter mess of soggy marshmallows right about now. Navigating my way through Heathrow and its endless hallways of security checkpoints and military presence would have played havoc with my frail mind, let alone actually boarding a plane filled with equally on-edge passengers praying into their barf bags that they’ll make it home safely in one stinking piece.
So there’s that.
On the other hand – and totally unrelated to the pompous, uneducated losers populating our world and filling it with unmitigated hate – things seem to have calmed down a smidgen here at home. Yes, we’re still waiting for grim death to take hold of my grandmother and (finally) offer her relief and yes, we’re still stressed and frazzled beyond belief but we’re coping. I think we’ve got the hang of it now (it’s only taken us a grand total of seven fucking months to get it right). We seem a lot more sedate than we previously were and we’ve finally begun laughing again. That’s what was missing the most – the laughter. If there’s one thing my silly family excels at, it’s the ability to laugh at anything and anyone at any given time of the day or night (yes, even when we’re fast asleep). Chuckles, giggles and guffaws are what keep us going. To hell with everything else!
Must dash – the new Doc Marten boots I ordered for my birthday – thanks Sabrina – have arrived and I so desperately need to commence spending the next two years – possibly three – breaking ’em in. It’s a hard struggle, life.