Yo man, checking in with you fast cats to update my fetid blog about the troubles hounding me, catch?
My mum signed a will back in 02' to sign me off to her Jehovah's Witness sis if she passed away if I was a minor. Problem is, boys, that another will hasn't made itself known without entering the estate. The cop that's been emailing me told me I'm good as gold to jump in, yo but this guy ain't a lawyer, he works for big brother you know. His job is to nab sleuthing tramps like me to feed the penitentiaries more of those lucrative tax bucks. The landlord, bless her wrinkly heart, has told me I can quarantine in there. Two weeks I'll be stuck seeing nobody and who's gonna get me food? I don't know a single living or dead soul in the area.
The executrix, my estranged aunty, hasn't been in contact yet. My gut tells me she'll sell the booty in the estate and toss me into the fire from the pan I'm crackling in at the moment.
Mumsy's former lawyer and friend gave some some advice, and if the current executrix relinquishes her seat on the throne, she'll be next in line. Good lady, very gilfy, quite smart, not sure if I can trust her or even myself at the moment.
By d-g. I'm going back to Canadia on Sunday, ripping out of NZ after nearly two and a half years and it could be a courthouse I'll be skittering my pungent feet to.
I gots to call my estranged old man to see if he'll house some of the weighing belongings I still got or sell my junk or toss it in a skip.
Is this not what life is all about? I want to fucking choke myself with this, cause I know I'm breaking the law either way and may just sell the entire estate without permission and fuck off to British Columbia. Worse if there's a new will that impedes me even further.
Peace.
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I paid the predeparture pcr test required, setting me back 287 dollarydoos and something cents after tax. I waited half an hour in a portable cubicle beside the hospital, tapping out some rhythms. Maybe I'll pick up drumming next, keeping time comes naturally to me.
I watched from one of the many windows, a black kot walk into the lobby of the centre, blocking part of the doors and remaining cosy. I felt envious how carefree this kot behaved. It doesn't need to worry about much more than basic amenities to keep it supposedly content.
My examiner walked in and at this moment he questioned me about the 72 window of time needed and how there's no refund, then looked at my phone charger held by my left hand. He asked me to move closer to the bench littered with cups of packaged utensils and it flashed by my mind earlier to pocket some of the swabs out of frustration towards the hospital's greedy costs.
When I walked over to the plastic lawn chair, the short, bald, effeminate doctor took a step back as I approached nearer and his face flushed crimson red beneath the circular frames giving him an air of maturity and intelligence.
I sat down, and he jettisoned towards the bench in his orange medical garb. Questions flowed from him. When am I leaving, do I have a ticket yet, how was my stay in nz, and so on and so on. My answers were curt, and one reply as he was jotting down my email became condescending. "I presume you know how to spell x." "Yes...thank you," he replied.
I chortled and realised I was being pessimistic and rude at a man, like everyone in the area, who were doing their job under the new centralised pressures of government and committees who've lost part of their sanity from fear.
The next step was the swab. He returned my passport and asked me if I consent to the test. It was unusual, but maybe this man a pederast and felt a some sort of eroticism from penetrating my nasal cavity. I leaned my head back, pushed my singular nuisance dread as far left as it could and opened my mouth to obey the instructions of the beet red doctor with eyes that were smiling too much now. It was fairly alright, slightly pleasurable until the swab scraped my mucosal walls, and quickly fled from the scene.
After encapsulating the swab, the doctor asked me what I thought of it. I giggled that it was enjoyable, better than the cost of the ten second procedure but I couldn't piece together the other emotion that arrived with the irritating sting that made my right eye water. Maybe this was what being raped felt like. My rapist seemed content with the answer, still blushing madly and began binning his garb. He wished me good luck on my travels, and I walked back to town without shaking his hand.
On my way to town I saw a few of the local schizos wandering aimlessly. It's their witching hour and worse, the full moon is out, capitulating their madness again to another night of pleasure seekers and drunkards, and the services providing, but also keeping guard of their well being.
I'm 2k down from all the costs and still haven't heard back from anyone about the will. Winter is fast approaching in Canada and I'm unsure what to do besides relapse smoking weed and readjust to a pandemic stricken community Ill find myself in again as an outsider and weirdo.
Bruh that cliffhanger.
How many days in NZ do you have left?
Make sure to eat some nice NZ food if there is any that you can't get in Canada.
Why don't you just get a drumset and practise all day and use your neetbux for some weed if you're ever not motivated to practise?
If you need a purpose in life just use every single free minute you have to spend with your instrument and it will show you the way.
You get neet moneys in Canada, right?
Pic related is my 3 babies :3
Yesterday I learned my first two arpeggios, I found two dominant 7 ones starting on strings 6 and 5 and it was great fun.
Flight's on Sunday. I'm taking a 1kg block of edam cheese with me from Blenheim to Auckland after I hitchhike out of Nelson
Ontario has poor social housing support. I'll have to struggle to find accomodation and though I could game Ontario Works benefit system, I'd feel a bit bad. If my estranged faduh doesn't take me in, there's no other choixe. I haven't checked the rules yet if returning citizens who've been away longer than a year can claim a benefit either.
And a drum set isn't packable in a backpack.
Ufufu. I'm getting my life back on track as soon as my healthcare renews itself.
I also found I lost motivation and the ability to remember arpeggios, chords and timings when I smoked buds, so one joint may be a one shot deal. I'm scared because of how cheap and easy it is to buy weed and psychedelics off the Canadian clearnet with a debit card, which reminds me that I've probably got too much maplebucks in my account to ever be eligible for a benefit.
Has bernd heard about the hotel cuck chairs?
if no, watch the attached video: YouTube: 061zkzhL8xg
tl;dw
the idea that hotels specifically offer a comfy chair for cuck to watch in hotel rooms but it's never mentioned explicitly just alluded to in photos
so uhh
I'm staying in hotel rn
and there doesn't seem to be a cuck chair in the room
only a normal chair next to a table
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I'm officially a home owner
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