Adorability and disability

I hate my last blog. I don’t mind the story of the ink. It’s just I’m so cloyingly adorable in places. It’s the repeated conditional verb tense.

Sometimes, in my head, I’m all down on Larry when I think he’s being too adorable.

Blech – adorability. But I don’t want to be all bitter either.

I found out through my day job this friend I knew in high school - who I met again a while back at a party at another friend’s place and was being all obsessive about wanting to change her name back to her maiden name which I have always regretted being snide about especially when I found out that subsequently her husband who was in my grade 12 creative writing class and was cute in a way that was brash and innocent at the same time, committed suicide – is on the Canada Pension disability pension.

So her two kids are getting both orphans’ benefits and dependent of a disabled contributor benefits. Seeing her getting that pension when before she was pushing frenetically, the way she always did, to get in as a high school French teacher makes me think she must not have recovered from what he did. But I never knew her. Each time I knew her she was a friend of a friend.

She was nervous and fragile in high school anyway. You’d come back from summer vacation and suddenly she’d have switched into a new identity. One of her older brothers played saxophone in different jazz bands. He had a reputation of extreme attractiveness to women. Which was way too far away from me for me to see. He had brown curly hair.

She is going by her maiden name again.