Dear Diary,

Some French author once wrote about this guy turning into a butterfly. It was either a representation of the guy's obsession with metaphorical weight loss, or a representation of some sort of existential such-and-such, and so-on and so-forth.

Right, so, this got me to thinking last night; really, what is the point of all this politics stuff? I have been working 90 hours a week (that's about 85 hours a week more than the average Maisonneuve reader). The end result of all this campaign work will be a tableau in which I am lying under a bridge, destitute. That's right. After the "non-pleasantries" hurled at me last night, I fully expect my significant-other/common-law-partner to up and leave. We're taking bets here at the office; I picked E-24. I've got 10 bucks riding on it.

And, you know, looking around at the political landscape in Canada, the only people with stable marriages are the leaders of the parties. Everyone else is a lonely, single, and socially awkward one-trick pony. That trick: freaking out at election time and reinforcing the inability to keep a significant other.

This may very well be my metamorphosis - from happy, married guy, to single, homeless, penniless, political wheeler and dealer. We'll see if I'm richer by $10 and poorer by love within the next week.