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Woke today in good time and after breakfast headed out to the AGO. Walked down to the Christie subway to see if there were taxis about. No, none. But there were shuttle buses, oh woe. Another TTC shutdown. And a good thing I hadn't tried for a cab from home, because I'd never have gotten one.
So I started over to Bathurst, crossing to the south side so I could pick up a bus en route. Hadn't realised, because I never take them, that shuttle buses only go between stations and do not stop at the night bus stops: was why three half empty buses passed me by. Approached Bathurst and the doutar player, who told me that someone had jumped at the Bathurst station, which was now closed. Thus it was walk to Spadina, or try for a bus the one stop to Spadina and hope the streetcar wasn't too crowded, or go have lunch. I did the last. By which time I'd have a bare three hours at the Gallery, supposing I could get there: so I went and had coffee instead. Some other day...
Then came home and found mouse droppings on the living room coffee table. I have no idea why or how. There are none in the kitchen-- be sure, I checked-- and nothing to eat on the table itself, and I suppose if mice can climb telephone cords they can also scale smooth bamboo, but otherwise I can't see how it even got there.
So I started over to Bathurst, crossing to the south side so I could pick up a bus en route. Hadn't realised, because I never take them, that shuttle buses only go between stations and do not stop at the night bus stops: was why three half empty buses passed me by. Approached Bathurst and the doutar player, who told me that someone had jumped at the Bathurst station, which was now closed. Thus it was walk to Spadina, or try for a bus the one stop to Spadina and hope the streetcar wasn't too crowded, or go have lunch. I did the last. By which time I'd have a bare three hours at the Gallery, supposing I could get there: so I went and had coffee instead. Some other day...
Then came home and found mouse droppings on the living room coffee table. I have no idea why or how. There are none in the kitchen-- be sure, I checked-- and nothing to eat on the table itself, and I suppose if mice can climb telephone cords they can also scale smooth bamboo, but otherwise I can't see how it even got there.
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The minor irritations of life. I wish I could be like my saintly doutar player and feel for the paramedics who had to clean up after someone's bad day, and I do, but pragmatically I think that in a country with assisted suicide, there are more considerate ways of ending it all.
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I think the jumpers must be angrier than your average depressive, and want to make sure that people will be sorry when they're dead, even if it's only strangers.