I drove a tractor today, with a hydraulic bucket on the front. Rocks went in, drove rocks to yard, dumped over a stone-wall. I may be from Alberta, but I was never a prairie boy. My mom kept my younger brother and I away from tractors, Wrestling. We had to beg to shoot cans with a b.b. gun. So instead of "picking up" the rocks, I picked one rock up, and pushed the others around.
I was working for a doctor who used to be a doctor for an NHL team. Nice guy. I shovelled the dirt, made garden beds, weeded, moved stuff around, that sort of thing.
On my way home -- 8 miles, one-way, on the bike, I was about to turn left onto Oak Bay Avenue off of Ricmond. I signaled left, and as I put my hand out, this little Oak Bay kid with a sporty little car and a smiley girl in the bucket seat almost hit me, kept on cruising. So I told him to "go fuck himself," then cut him off at the next light. He asked me where my signal was. I was tempted to say "in your face," or "right here" and give him the finger. He told me I have a lot of balls. I said "Thanks" in the vein of "Fuck the Bank."
Tomorrow I start my five day workweek at the appliance store, and next weekend I'm working more with the doctor. This is going to drive me crazy -- I hate working. But I am very poor right now and need to get some finances in check.