Day Nine - Kitten.

Wolf was so proud... He's Metis. '08

Kitty torture 101  '08

Fire and water. '08

Sweet as cinnamon.  '08

Kitty torture 102   '08

Sometime a Klingon invasion is just what we need.

Her secret weapon?  Smiles...  '08

or pouts.  '08

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes both!  '10

She's begun to morph... which happens to be the first word she ever read

 - Metamorphosis.  '10

And she's slowly dancing away from me, into her own life...  '10

Day Eight - Dragging...

Sadness is pulling me under.  I've been fighting it, giving it all I have for a couple of months.  Today, it's almost too much.

Stress, right?  We all have it.  We all soldier through life's ups and downs.  Sometimes, though, there just doesn't seem to be quite enough up to balance out the down.

So, I'm going to keep this short.  Misery may love company but I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

Have a peaceful night.

Day Seven - It's the little things...

Do you ever have those days when nothing feels right?  Everything is just a hair... off.  Physically, I'm feeling a touch under the weather.  I'm emotionally 'blah.'  I'm not tired enough to sleep, but I'm not interested in folding laundry or mopping the floor.

Whenever I cloud over like this, the universe offers me a little morsel, something that carries with it the possibility of a smile, a faded ray of sunshine.  Today, I was reminded of this:

It displays a new 'slogan' with each page view.  I was introduced to The Sloganizer several years ago when my blogging habits were more regular and far more whiny.  I still have the blog, but it prefers to be called a journal... a livejournal.  I was checking my friend page - I still have a friend who writes, once in a while - and something moved me to look at my profile.  There it was...  "WolfSong is better than chocolate."

Sloganizer therapy.  I recommend it for anyone.  ;)

Day Six - The stuff we carry never gets lighter...

Dirty mirrors and work clothes. 

By 2002, Kitten was four and I found myself in the midst of a re-kindling.  After two years of only telephone and email contact, Wolf and I had a face-to-face visit.  It lasted ten days, out here on the Island, and resulted in Kitten and my relocation to Ontario to create our new family.  Why Ontario?  Well, Wolf was the sole proprietor of a thriving company which wouldn't have taken well to uprooting.  

 ... yes, this does have something to do with hair and my issues therewith...

My bleach phase was on hiatus and I hadn't done anything more than remove the remaining white tips from my hair.  Ontario weather is brilliant!  I grew up in arid Alberta and, therefore, didn't know my hair was curly.  The constant Hamilton humidity meant twelve hours of air-drying time after I washed my hair.  I finally had a wash-n-go 'do!

So, the very air was my friend, and my hair was growing ridiculously fast.  My life was fresh and new.  I was ready to start playing again.  There was only one problem.  Wolf was the sole proprietor of a thriving company in Hamilton, Ontario - I was 'Dharma' to Wolf's 'Greg,' but with less self worth and more guilt and a martyr complex that beat all.  I was bound to the rules of upper-middle class society.  No visible piercings.  No funky colours.  Buy yourself a nice dress...

And then, two years had passed.  My hair was mid-back length and shapeless.  Wolf was afraid to let me cut it, so I let myself get talked in to a 'complimentary birthday haircut' by our stylist friend.  Oops.  I asked for long layers, she layered it.  I walked out with diamond head.  You know, where the fullest part of the hair is at the jaw line and it tapers both up and down from there?  Well, I stuck with that cut for about two weeks (see a pattern here?) before I grabbed the scissors.  Wolf said he'd feel better if he cut it, as he could see the back of my head.  So, he cut it.  That one didn't even last 48 hours before I fixed it.

Two years later I cut off several inches in an attempt to clear up my split ends.  I swore I'd start trimming in every couple of months, but it was already too late.  The obsession was growing without my realizing.  While I was busy being resentful, I neglected to see the strengthening correlation between my okay-ness and my hair.  And my hair got longer.  Two more years later and I had six inches removed.  It was back to an inch above my bra strap.  And my hair got longer...

I'm standing at the crossroads, nine years from my last play-with-my-hair day.  My locks are long enough that they get caught under my leg when I get into the truck.  They are badly damaged from years of sweater collars and it takes me almost an hour to get shampoo and conditioner through and then rinsed out of them.  It's like having a baby.  Everything has become difficult: sleeping, showering, cleaning, working... it's always in the way.  Even if I put it up...  It takes way too much energy, and it isn't energy I want to spend.

Are you asking how it got to this point?  Why I didn't cut it sooner, if it was bugging me so much?  Because it's long.  It's really, really long.  In a world where long hair is defined as 'below the shoulders,' it has become more than novelty.  It's a defining characteristic.  A part of me points out how pathetic that is.  I'm a great person.  I'm kind and likable.  None of those things is effected by the length of my hair.  My value or 'specialness' isn't decreased because I don't have long, unhealthy, resented hair.

Besides, it's not like it won't grow back...

Day Five - Carry-on Luggage

Braided.

Baggage.  I think it's safe to say that we all have it, in one way or another.  I like trying to 'checking' it, banishing it to the cavernous depths of my metaphorical plane, hoping that the airline will lose it.  Sometimes I shove it into the overhead compartment, out of sight but still looming over me.  And no matter how hard I work on 'dealing' with it, the Universe is always more than willing to remind me that it's still here, tethered and weighing me down. Anchoring me in garbage.

The interesting thing is, all of my bags match.  They don't all hold the same thing - that would be silly - but each holds something undeniably related and tied in to the others.  It doesn't matter what the issue-of-the-day may be, somehow it will trigger 98.669% of all the other crap in my head.

Since 2002.

I have letting go issues and a self-worth disability, anxiety disorder and a sprinkle of debilitating depression.  And they're all tied together feeding on and being fed off of each other.  I was under the impression that the passage of time would lead to maturity, which would bring wisdom and, eventually, peace.  You know what the passage  of time leads to?  More birthdays,  which leads to older-than-ever-ness and, inevitability, wrinkles.  Not overly comforting.

I used to have a hair fixation when I was younger.  I bleached and dyed and refused to trim because I needed every battered inch that I could get.  And I couldn't leave the house without styling it.  You know how some women can fix a bad hair day with an elastic and a ball cap?  I wasn't one of those.  If my hair was shite, I was shite.

When Kitten was born, my hair was three or four inches past  my shoulders.  Life with a new baby doesn't leave a whole lot of time to play with one's hair, so for the first year of Kitten's life, my hair lived in a pony tail and grew.  Close to her first birthday, I was sitting in the kitchen of the house I shared with my mom.  My sister was visiting and she was playing with my long, straw-like - in both colour and texture - pony tail.  I love having my hair played with so I removed the elastic and revelled in the attention.  Eventually, though, her intention cut through my pleasure.  She was cringing.  I couldn't see her, but it was strong enough to be felt, none the less.  This set me to thinking about how gross my hair looked, truly.  With the remnants of a bad blond job* taking up about half the length of my hair, I knew cutting it was the only remedy.  I had tried dying darker - twice at home and once in a salon - only to have the colour wash out.  Apparently my hair was too porous.  Something to do with the size of the dye molecules....   "Hurry up, before I change my mind."  I was that unspecific and my sister was running for scissors.

She cut my hair to my shoulders which is my least favourite style in the world.*   A few weeks later, while visiting family in Calgary, I had it cut Sarah McLachlan c.1998.  Having curly hair made this a very disappointing style and a few weeks after returning from our visit, I enlisted a friend and we took the clippers to my head.  I loved it and kept it that was for several months.  Right up until I noticed the side effects.  I didn't mind the flirty smiles from the ladies, but the threatening smiles from some of the men made me a little nervous.  And I hated when senior citizens thought I was something to fear.

The great thing about those months was that my fixation was broken.  My hair became something that I could play with.  I bleached, properly this time, and spent a while 'looking like sunshine,' according to Kitten.  I was reinventing myself and I loved it.

 ...to be continued...

*(note the natural colour of my hair... I used a box of blond dye, twice, two weeks apart, in order to get a lovely orange colour)

*as it was the style my mother had throughout my childhood.  Show me a kid who grew up in a dysfunctional family who want to look like her mother and I'll.... I don't know.

Day Four - Long weekend...

Tomorrow I'm getting the day off.  Not my usual day off - running Kitten to classes; knitting or reading in the truck or on the job-site all day.  No, I get a real, at home with Kitten, doing whatever we feel like (while catching up on reporting), morning to evening, all day kind of day off!  I'm a bit excited!

 On a completely unrelated but equally exciting note, I've decided to hack off my hair!  Currently, I only have one pic that sort of shows the length.  Tomorrow, I'll upload my camera.  It still hold my 'good-bye, hair' pictures. 

I'm running on half brain, right now.  I was doing really well until I junked out on leftover pre-Halloween candy (the stuff Wolf and I bought for ourselves the day before the ghouls came out - it's only fair).  I felt great for quite a while, but the crash has hit like a ton-a and I have to put my head down... or eat more!

Until then, then.

Day Two - Gifts

There are times when what we've given to life gets reflected back at us.  Sometimes it comes as a realization, while watching a stranger's behaviour.  Sometimes it hits closer to home.  My experience of motherhood has given me many of these moments.  Sometimes it sucks, like when I heard my Kitten chastising her dolly using my voice and words.  Or when I hear her say things like, "I can't..."  That's one of my personal favourites.  Thankfully, I only hear that one about twice a year.  The great thing is, unless we've been icy or ogreish from day one, now and again we also get to see a reflection of our good sides.

This evening, while I was dishing up my dinner (Kitten and Nana had already eaten and Wolf was eating in the solace of our room), Kitten regaled me with tales from the book she just finished... for the third time.  After a few minutes, she opened up the first page - a warning page - and read it aloud.  Then, she flipped to the author's note and read out his words.  When she was done, she smiled and said, "Y'know Mom, I really think you'd like this book and I think it would be cool if I read it to you, y'know, when we're in the truck and stuff.  I mean, you've spent so much time reading out loud to me."

So, with thankfulness and joy, this evening I began listening to a dynamic narration of Rick Riordan's The Red Pyramid.  It's a brilliant story that doesn't need to be read aloud by a loved one... but if you happen to have one handy, I'd recommend you both (all) give it a try.  

Bliss...

Day One

A thought occurred to me, just after posting my last entry.  I really enjoyed the last NaBloPoMo in which I participated.  I loved the commitment of sitting down in stillness, at least once per day, to focus on writing something - anything.  So, I decided to commit myself to a little piece of sanity, whether I'm an official part of the annual event or not.

I'm not, for the record.  The universe took me to task for overusing one particular excuse and I found my quiet, only-child household 'enlivened' by a very high energy, thirteen-year-old, oldest-brother-of-four!  I was gifted with the opportunity to learn what "chaotic" truly meant!

I have to get Kitten to dance class and just might have a moment, once we return, to add a bit more detail to this too-brief illustration.

Facing the future with... something,

Beth

It's coming...

Once again, October is almost over which means NaBloPoMo is on my mind.  The thing is, I'm not feeling really secure in my world right now and I don't know if I should unleash that on whoever still stops in here.

So, iffen yer feeling so inclined, drop me a comment of encouragement and I'll add my name to the ring.

The finish line...

We made it! I can hardly believe that it's been a month already and at the same time, I'm looking forward to not having to set my alarm a half hour early, just so I have time to blog.

Over all, NaBloPoMo has taught me a few things.

• I can create a new habit. I can do something every day, without fail, even when it isn't strictly necessary.
• My moods have distinct cycles. Blogging has created a picturesque map of how my moods are directly related to incidents and quality sleep.
• I love writing so much that I'm looking at book writing as a fun thing to do!
• There are people out there who like to read what I write! Me! I never would have thought it possible.
• There are also a lot of people who write stuff that I want to read!
• I'm not so strange. I'm not alone.

I'm pretty sure I could go on... for hours, but I slept through my half-hour-early and have to get ready for work.

Thank you so much for stopping by during this month to read and to comment. Your presence has bee invaluable and I want you to know that I appreciate it so very much. (Gee, I don't usually make a speech like that without a drink in one hand and a rose from the wandering, bar flower-guy in the other! Are you familiar with the ones to which I refer?)

So, rest good internets. Enjoy the peace, the passing of NaBloPoMo '08. Congrats to all of you who made it and also to all who tried.

Have a good morning, and in case I don't see you, good afternoon, good evening and good night!
(Jim Carey - The Truman Show)

What I want and why I (tell myself) I can't have it, followed by the reason my reason is stupid...

1. I want a more muscular physique.
a) I don't have time.
b) I wake every morning a couple of hours before my family so I can do my computer stuff without neglecting anyone.

2. I want to get a handle on my depression.
a) It is a mental disorder that I have no control over.
b) Spending hours online when I could be living makes me blue.

3. I want to be a better mom and wife.
a) I'm so tired when I get home, all I want to do is sit for a while.
b) Sitting 'for a while' doesn't constitute hours on facebook, getting annoyed when I'm interrupted. There's no reason I can't sit for a while on the couch with my daughter and husband while we talk about our discoveries of the day.

4. I want to go back to school, take a few courses.
a) I don't want to graduate from the institution with a huge debt hanging over my head.
b) Yeah, and living from paycheque to paycheque is a barrel of monkeys. Going into debt over the electric bill, with no hope of improvement is so much better than a student loan (and the potential job that will help pay it off).



Okay, I'm kind of stuck there. My shoulder hurts and I want to get ready for my day.
(can you believe it's been almost a month?!!)

Wishing you, yes you, a fantabulous day!

Pee-ess: I don't think I made a note yesterday or the day before so I will now. Wolf passed out twice on Thursday and once yesterday. it would seem to me that things are continuing to escalate. What else are you "almost positive" about, Doctor God?!

And so I decree...

I've decided to write a book.

So there!

It's been percolating for about a week and I've just put the first few sentences onto virtual paper.

It's funny. I never would have begun a venture like this six months ago. Not having a whole lot of faith in what I can do (read: I'm a perfectionist so nothing I do is quite good enough) I would have let this fall by the wayside like so many other things. A quick change in thought process - I can psycho babble my way through anything, even with myself - and I'm good to go. See, I told myself that,, just because I'm writing it, doesn't mean I ever have to look for a publisher. Reverse self-psychology!!

God I rock...

This is a sorry excuse for a post...

This entry marks my sixtieth post in this blog. That's kind of neat.

This entry is gonna suck, just to let you know. Wolf passed out twice today which is worse than 'usual' but he didn't seize which is better than the past two or three episodes.

I've begun another work week, whee.

Tomorrow is payday, (a more heartfelt) whee.

Three more days. Then NaBloPoMo is over. One less stressor.

And now I must go see if the glowing 'check gauge' light really means business. Will the truck make it to the store and back? Dun-duuuunnn (the suspense is killing me).

A demain...

Technological advancement, my icy cold ass...

Is it just me or does this happen to everyone who has tremendous disorganizational skills and a habit of misplaced confidence, self or otherwise?

Here’s the situation. I decided, toward the end of my last weekend, that I would use this weekend to find all my drawings, scan them to my laptop, fix up whatever might need it and upload the lot of it to deviantArt. Well, this weekend is here and, of course, I waited until almost one o’clock to get started. Piece o’cake, I’m thinking.

Now, I’ve known me all my life which should be plenty of time to learn that any time I’m sure something will work, it won’t. Not easily, anyway.

Into the longroom* I go. That's where our desk top PC and printer/scanner resides. First and foremost, it’s absolutely freezing in there. We have electric heat and no money so unnecessary** rooms go without both. Second, the mouse is neither hooked up to the computer, nor is it in the same room for that matter. It’s a good thing I’m a whizz with keyboard shortcuts. Then it occurs to me that I really don’t want to sit in an icy room, keyboarding my way through various programs and why don’t I just hook up the all-in-one to my laptop? After all, I downloaded the printer drivers last month! Off goes the PC, which takes 10 minutes as it’s a dinosaur, and in comes my laptop for scanner hook up.

Back to drivers. Yes, printer drivers. My laptop recognizes the Lexmark printer (and fax, for some odd reason) but not the scanner. Not in my program menu, not anywhere. After spending 20 minutes looking for the correct download, online, my toes are numb and my hands hurt.

I go get the mouse.

It is now 3:05 pm and I’m praying. I‘m praying that the CD-RW in our PC will work for me just one more time. I have to be able to get the pictures off the ancient beast and onto my laptop. I’m praying that the disk with the pictures will be readable by my laptop.

* * * * * * * * *

Flash forward. After scanning all of my drawings, I attempted to burn the jpegs to disk. The disk went in and was read by the by the writer. The file folder containing the images dragged-and-dropped beautifully, but do you think the writer would write? No, it wouldn't. Well, it just so happens I have two MSN messenger (ooh, I must be old if I'm still calling it by that name) profiles. I signed in on each computer using the two aliases and sent all the pictures to myself. All 40 of them. One at a time.

The whole thing took just under an hour, by which time my hands were stiff, my toes were numb and my nose had a nasty case of winter-drip. I shut down the dinosaur with the same satisfaction one might feel when ridding the house of a destructive rat .

Then it happened. I realized that I had missed one drawing(my best piece, in my opinion) and became somewhat demonstrative in my frustration. Hearing my uproar, Wolf entered the room with concern and caution his in every movement. After I explained the situation, he smiled with relief and said, "Here, leave it with me. I'll hook up my lapto... Oh baby. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"What...?" It came out of my mouth, less as a question than a threat.

"Open your search - here..." at which point he showed me - on my laptop which was perched on one arm while I held in my other hand the file folder filled with my drawings. It would appear that typing 'scanners' into the search field (Vista) while connected to the scanner would have opened the magic and invisible door that divides the two pieces of hardware.

Hmm.

Imagine that.

Thankfully I was way too cold to be really miffed. I said 'thank you' and 'I know it for next time' and 'no, it's perfectly okay.'

So, I still don't have that last piece scanned but I did manage to get a few things uploaded, categorized and tagged, over at deviantArt. Nothing is 'sale-worthy' in my opinion, until I can correct the 'black=blue' language of my sensorily challenged scanner. Feel free to have a look anyway. That is what it's there for (as my stomach flips nervously).

Have I mentioned that I rarely show my art to my family, let alone the good people of the limitless interweb? Be gentle but please, please be honest. If I'm to make a go of this, I need honest reviews.

*Longroom: the 15X25’ room on the end of our house. It was supposed to be the studio/craft/sewing room but has become cold storage.

**The room had been made somewhat obsolete with the arrival of our laptops, last year.

Just a quickie...

I'm whipping off this short, sweet post simply to say "Hi, it's still NaBloPoMo. If I don't throw something up here right now, I may just forget to do it later and that would suck because we are too close to the end to fail now!" I got lost in the interwebs again, eating up my art-finding-and-scanning time. In my aimless and distracted wanderings I found something that made it all worth while.

Read this. (Sidebar Content Warning: Rated PG13 )


Are you there? Can you see it, hear it, feel it? Amazing.

Off and running. If I don't post again let me say now that I hope you have a fantastic day!

Survival...

It turns out that the difference between a lousy day and a good one can be co-workers. My first and second days in paint were spent with a couple of co-workers, neither of them teacher-types. Now, in all fairness, my supervisor is up to her ears in flooring stuff as we just lost one of our two flooring staff but her method if teaching doesn't fit well with my method of learning. Her sage words of advice can be summed up thus: "Take some time to walk around the dept reading labels. That's how I learned." And then, she left for the flooring dept.

...

The other staff person, also not teacher material, is quite quiet. She speaks only if necessary and, even then, comes across as having little confidence in what she's saying. I would get tiny snippets of 'how-to' and 'where.' I'm a touch dynamic by nature and neither of these ways of learning were even close to active enough for my brain.

I spent the day making sure the prices in our computers matched up with the bin label and sticker prices. I made sure that products were lined up with their correct shelf labels. I tinted a couple of gallons of paint... I did learn, but had no idea how much. I needed to be able to ask questions. I needed to learn more, not wander aimlessly, practising what I already knew. The days were long and I felt totally useless.

On day three my salvation walked in. In this case, it took the form of a down to earth, vibrant transplant from the UK. He's just as energetic of mind as am I. He welcomes me as I follow him around, learning from his dealings with customers. He showed me where we keep the overstock!!! Well, most of it. He gave me reasons why certain products were necessary, why the steadfast priming rules don't always apply and how to decided when to overlook them, and broke down the properties of specific products so it all made sense. I need the 'why,' not just the 'use.'

In that third shift I learned more than I had the two before. We even had plenty of head space to discuss spirituality, our 'past lives' and how we've become who we are, politics... It was so very awesome.

And this all brings us to my three-hours-by-myself-in-the-paint-dept-with-only-three-and-a-half-days-worth-of-experience shift, heh.

I won't lie. I was scared out of my mind. All my usual crutches (read: staff members who continuously bail my ass out when I have no idea the answer to a customer question) were gone and I knew I was likely facing three hours without a break. I've gotten kind of used to having a breather ever two hours. In fact, I have relied on it!

Well, I did it. I was overwhelmed a time or two and I made decisions and moved forward - without help. It was painfully quiet so I had quality time with the customers who did come in. I worked it out. When I couldn't work it out, I used the phone numbers that were left for me. I was calm. I tinted five gallons and two quarts of paint, helped a couple with their stain/varnish issue, found the right product for use with polystyrene... It was amazing.

And, suddenly, I quite love my job. I mean, to the point where I've decided to work part time even if my percolating ideas come to fruition.

I always find it amusing when my whole outlook changes,pendulum-like, in less than 12 hours.

Things I saw, heard or otherwise experienced at work yesterday...

I saw my new co-worker spend half an hour making two tins of paint look like two paint chips, by eye and with the the wrong base paint (need this last part to make more sense? Let me know and I'll explain), all at the customers behest.

I was asked what my interest was in the paint dept as I couldn't be pictured to (ever) have had a paint brush in hand. When I replied, citing my year of experience painting in a new-home construction setting, I was asked "was that before or after modelling paint products."

I saw a shrink-wrapped yard-man trying to look nonchalant when I unexpectedly interrupted their fun-time.

I had a brilliant discussion on spirituality and personal growth.

I said "SILENCE! I kill you!" into a speaker phone during business hours.

I helped a few people, by.my.self!!!, and learned so much more!

So, I will concede that this is not the job from hell, therefore I will not kill myself just yet. I will update after this coming shift, wherein I will spend the last 3 hours of the day completely alone in my department, armed only with far-too-little-knowledge and a list of phone numbers that I can call "If (I) need anything at all..."

Percolation...

My new department shuffle has brought with it professionally inept scheduling. This has given me a fair measure of concern as, today, I am supposed to be in two places at once. Last night I was trying to work it all out. Kitten had said she'd read in bed until I arrived to tuck her in. After a half hour or so, while I was still absorbed in trying to decide my course of action, I heard a knock at my door. It was Kitten, coming to say goodnight. She was falling asleep and was tired of waiting. We did out night-nights right there beside my bed and she headed back to her room, a touch hang-dog.

When I left my room a few moments later, she met me in the bathroom, trying to hide her face. I asked her what was wrong, to which she replied, "nothing," like a good little member of my family. Now, I'm trying to break the cycle of poor communication so I said, "Okay," and began to walk away. She cut in, then, and poured her heart out.

She needs the connection of being tucked in at night. She is so sad that I no longer have early days. She says that it doesn't feel like home now that I'm not here. I added that I hardly feel like I belong as my role has changed so much and I can't be that which I desperately want.

We talked and talked. We cried and hugged.

I have a plan...

Not the most graceful transiton.

I applied at my place of employment with the hope of working in the paint department. The thing is, they needed cashiers and I needed a job. I told them I was flexible. Silly me. They had me behind a till within 48 hours of receiving my resume and that is where I remained for the next two months. Early last week, my zone manager stopped me as I was heading out for a break.

ZM: "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you have some paint experience, don't you?"

I held my smart tongue (neglecting to point out that my most recent job experience, right there on my resume which she has in her office, was as a professional painter) and simply answered in the affirmative.

ZM: "You have experience tinting paint." She stated this, her voice and demeanour both unsure.

Me: "No. I have experience prepping, sealing/priming and painting/staining most surfaces. I have experience with the clean-up of a myriad of paint/stain products."

ZM: "Are you interested in learning how to tint?"

Me: "Very interested!" I have to work on my poker face.

At that point, she walked away with nothing more than a "Hmm." Such is her way. Such is the way of the whole freakin' company!! But that's not the point of this telling.

Yesterday, as I looked at our front-end break schedule, I noticed that I had a half-hour in the paint dept, immediately before our Yard Tour. The paint training was great! The yard tour never happened. But that's more of the 'not this telling' stuff. The paint training let me know that I was beginning the transition, even if no one else deemed in necessary to tell me.

Last night, I went to sleep at about 10:30. It was a late bedtime for my scheduled 6:30 am start today but Supernatural was on. You' know how it is? I knew something was wrong before I awoke. I was dreaming about working, typing a list of numbers into the computer. I was feeling really ill and it was messing with my concentration. As the feeling passed, the dream would fade to black, only to return a bit later. Typing. Feeling sick. Mixing up the numbers. Fade out. That cycle continued until, during a semi-lucid moment, my consciousness clicked and I woke fully. Sure enough, I had to camp out in the bathroom for a while. I don't know what it was but I threw up. I never throw up! I guzzled water to aid in my body's betrayal. I took my temperature, twice, but had no fever. What the hell!? And then I went back to bed.

Today, I got up when my alarm went off and dragged my feet through my morning routine, leaving a few things out due to sheer exhaustion. My belly felt okay enough but I was really weak and shaky. I couldn't risk eating anything as I can't afford to miss a day of work. I did, however, drink a few sips of coffee - maybe a quarter mug.

Opening cash means pushing open the automatic, sliding doors, walking to the back of the store, climbing 21 steps to the staff room, swiping in, descending the same 21 steps back to the main floor, trudging back to the front doors but turning to the management office stairs. Up 21 more stairs (but these ones have a landing!) to get to the safe-room.

I was cashing in the first of two tills and my co-opener (and good friend Bou) cashed in the first of her two, when a third cashier (SM) walked in. Bou and I both asked SM why she was there, the answer to which was "to open." And then it hit me.

I left Bou and SM to their open and went to seek out the paint dept schedule. It turns out that I wasn't scheduled to begin shift until 9 am. In fact, I was there and punched in a half hour before my new team lead arrived.

Let me just tell you how much I heart my new team lead. She told it was perfectly alright if I continued my shift as I though it was scheduled. She was awesome about my lack of vigor and didn't once ask me if I had to go home. It's nice to work with another grown up. I was out of there at three, which was wonderful because I don't think I'd have made it to 5:30, and in the time I was there I tinted several gallons and one pint of paint. I learned how to change formula for tinting a 20L pail so it works in a one gallon tin (and vice versa). All in all a productive day considering the productive night before.

Let me tell you, also, that I now have 3.5 days per week in the paint dept. I have both pertinent schedules and I can no longer keep my horrible dyslexia under control... someday I'm going to type out an entry without touching the backspace key. That'll be funny... kind of.

Oh Lord, please let me sleep, tonight!

Comments and memories.

I have a new favourite thing to do. Whether it's upon waking or when I return from work, I love checking my e-mail. Why? Because there's novelty, again. I get comments! Real comments! And that is totally awesome!


1991.

I'm sitting in the cafe. I always sit in the cafe. My one year old daughter is in her stroller, eating french fries and making a mess with of the ketchup while I drink my 7th cup of coffee and watch the family across the aisle. The Father Figure (who's name I no longer remember) is having a rousing game of toss-the-stuffy-into-the-ceiling-fan. Sometimes the teddy-cat makes it between the fan blades and falls back to the floor, but when it catches, we all watch with amusement and anticipation. By 'we all' I mean we 'adults.' The babies have no interest in his little game.

It gets tired pretty fast and I look away, bored. Not even a full five seconds later, the cat nails my table, knocking my coffee over. Thankfully, my open cigarette pack was there to catch most of the spillage. I pick said package up, looking over at Father Figure (I want to call him Koby?) and I pour tablespoon of liquid out of it, onto the table. He's howling. Laughing so hard his face is red. I set out the coffee soaked cigarettes hoping they'll dry and as I do so, FF says, "Think of it this way. I just saved you 15 minutes! Now you can have your coffee and cigarette all at the same time."

For the record, so not a tasty combination.

This trip down memory lane was triggered by Wolf, handing me back a cig which he's held with buttery fingers. MMmmm. Greasy smoke. The ultimate in decadence.