SAINTS PRESERVE US

A Page Ripped from History

If a province could express its innermost thoughts…

Dear Diary,

Woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. I can’t remember the good side though, the left or the right? Definitely not feeling strong and free today. Not exactly at my best what with the election coming up next week.

There’s no weed left in the pot shops. Not that I could afford any since Quebec stole all my money. Maybe I should cut back on the stuff? It makes me feel alienated and paranoid. That’s probably why Baby Trudeau legalized it; weed’s just another Ottawa-led conspiracy. Think there’s a couple of bottles of British Columbia wine in the cellar but I’ll be damned if I even use that swill for drain cleaner. Probably laced with strychnine anyway.

Enemies, shadowy forces, are everywhere. I feel like Julius Caesar or Macbeth or somebody. Maybe not, is the Bard even in the K-12 curriculum anymore? Too many triggers for the namby-pamby socialists, I guess. And don’t start me talking about those foreign-funded climate change activists, a fifth column of agitators. That reminds me: I should open a couple of windows and change the air in here.

Jesus, my Lord and Saviour, I feel like crap. How old am I? That’s right, 114 now. Been doing the same thing over and over for too many years to count and I keep expecting a different result. The definition of insanity, they say. Who are they, I’d like to know? They know who they are though. Watching every move I make, everything I do, casting stones in my passage. Maybe I should see a doctor? Nah, it could take months to get in.

Oh, lordy, I’ve never felt so low. What do I have to do today? Better snap a Klondike Days garter, give ‘er, get ‘er done. Is it too early for a shot of orange juice with my eponymous vodka? Chase it with a craft brew. I better make a list. Got to follow up those quotes for the new refinery; note to self: Do not hire workers from Saskatchewan! Wonder if I was drunk-shopping when I bought all those tanker cars? There’s only so much track capacity. Too late now, as long as they get over the Rockies without derailing, it’s all good.

What else? ‘Lake of fire’ social issues; for God’s sake, it’s century 21, get a grip. First Nations, alas I can’t be as glib about something equally complex but I do know that public and patronizing references to Treaty Six land ain’t getting the job done. Jobs, Diary, I’ve got to diversify the economy, change my routine, ditch the boom and bust cycles that never fail to drag me down when the wheel turns. Got to admit, that rush, wow, those highs are pretty high even if Quebec and lazy Maritimers get all the money. That place, the East, I don’t know, makes me feel like a rube at its poker table, you know? Instead of betting the house on a pipeline, perhaps I should introduce a modest harmonized sales tax? Christ. Maybe I should see a skull doctor about that bogeyman in my closet? It’s possible he’s one of them, works for Trudeau.

I must confess, Diary, sometimes when I play an Ian Tyson album I get nostalgic for the good old days. Sure a depression was sandwiched between two world wars but we all pulled together. We knew who they were back then even if we couldn’t recognize ourselves. Whereas on a day like today I just feel like quitting, packing it in. But you know me, gung-ho, can-do. I’ll power through this blue phase as I’ve done so many times before. Anyway, if you live in the past you just end up coyote carrion.

Thanks for listening, Diary. Time to jump in the shower, clean up, reset my head and get on with things. I can do this. See you tomorrow.

Alberta

XOX