Pillow talk

I have a problem with pillows.  It never fails, but I cannot find one that works for me.  I buy one -- it's too thick. The next is too thin.  Goldilocks Theory states the next would be just right, but alas that only works for porridge.

Or small blondes, I'm not sure.

The pillow people say that if you are waking up with stiffness or soreness in your neck, it is likely your pillow that is the problem.  A pillow should be a certain height in order to fill in the space between your shoulder and your head.  So that your head is parallel.

I would be interested to know who goes to the trouble of bringing a level to bed.  Though it may be disturbing to young audiences.

I have tried all the pillows -- the posture correcting pillow, the memory foam, the down feather, the little clumpy bits of Styrofoam, the fake down pillow, the water pillow, the body pillow.  I've used three or two or none or a balled up sweatshirt because I forgot my pillow pillow.

I might as well have slept on a rock.

Wait, I did that once too.

None of them work.  Finally, I bought a pillow that was a little too high.  I squooshed it for a few weeks and finally it was close to right.  BLISS.

For a week.

Now, it's too skinny and I have to tuck my arm under my head, but that causes all sorts of problems because my arms fall asleep really easily and then I panic because I can't feel them.  Once, I got in trouble for trying to wake up my arms by holding them above my head because my parents thought I was just stalling going to sleep, but actually, I thought my arms would fall off because they had no circulation.  My parents direct quote was "You don't need to put your arms in the air unless you're worshiping the Lord.  Go to sleep."

Um, obviously they never listened to the New Kids on The Block Hanging Tough.  I believe they also told us to put our hands in the air and wave them like we just don't care.  So HA!

I got distracted there for a second.

My point was this: Pillows are only the right height for 30 minutes in the course of a 1 year life pan.  And you can bet the farm that those 30 minutes were enjoyed by the dog while I was at work.

A rant about customer service

There is something about working in customer service that makes you notice when other people are doing it wrong.  It's maddening.

Now, I know, you're thinking I don't work in customer service; I work in a crisis centre.  However, being a crisis worker is all about customer service -- in the worst way.  People who come to see me (or who have me show up on their doorstep) are either: 1) embarrassed to be there, or 2) furious and full of hatred.  But I have a service that I am there to provide and that is that.

I have been in some form of customer service for all of my life: a cashier at Zellers, a waitress, a front desk clerk, an advocate, a crisis worker.  This being said, I have developed some rules for good customer service.  And, in all honesty, most people suck at them.

1. Greet the person first.  I'm talking about saying hello when the person walks in the door.  If they are coming into your office, it is your turf -- your responsibility to welcome them.  Do not allow them to stand there like a deer in headlights as you stare at them.  Say hello.
2. If you are busy, say so.  I/Someone will be right with you.  It's not that hard.  Do not ignore them.  I don't care how busy you are.  Unless you are making a life saving cut in heart surgery, you have time to tell them you are busy.  Don't let someone stand there waiting for you (who are not as important as you think) to acknowledge them.
3. Stop your conversation.  I have been in more places than I care to think of where the service person has continued a conversation about something personal while I waited for him/her to assist me.  I've heard about people's dates, their marital problems, the meeting they were called into for being a bad worker (shocking), plans for tonight, and just idle gossip.  I've even had a few people look at me with disgust and say I'm on the phone.  Yes, you are.  With your mom.  STOP IT.
4. Offer to help them.  Think they are lost?  Think you aren't the person they should be talking to?  Offer to find the person they need.  A young woman at the car dealership where I had my last vehicle (and will never go again) left me standing there for over 15 minutes because she knew I was at the wrong desk.  Did I know that?  NO.  That is why I stood there for 15 minutes.  I wanted to punch her in the throat by the time someone came to me and that is bad for everyone.
5. Be polite.  I don't care if they are the biggest asshats in the history of asshats.  I deal with jerks on a daily basis.  It is not uncommon to be spit at, threatened, sworn at, called ugly names, and yelled at.  I tell new people that if someone hasn't said you are a racially insensitive piece of the female anatomy while you calmly stand there, you are not doing your job.  
6. Consider if you were in their position.  You may deal with the same issue every day, but to this person it is a new experience.  It is the most important experience.  It is the only experience.  Be patient.  Be understanding.  Be firm, sure, but don't be a dick about it.
7. Don't take flack.  If someone is talking in four letter words and is spiraling quickly out of control, it's okay to tell them they need to cool it.  Sir, I do not want to hear that sort of language.  Sir, I will not listen to you speak that way.  Ma'am, put your clothes back on.  Depending on the workplace, someone who is aggressive can be asked to leave.  If not, stay calm and explain that you will help them to the best of your ability, but they need to tone down the language.
8. The customer is rarely right; it's your job to make them think they are.  Stating that you can imagine how difficult/frustrating they find the situation is perfectly acceptable.  Like cops in TV dramas, you can pretend to agree to anything if it gets what you need.  There is a way to make most people feel like they are getting their way without them getting their way.  Find a way to do that.  It's preparation for married life.

All I can say is -- almost every job is about customer service.  If you see people in your day, you are providing services to people.  You may think you're above it, but smarten up.  

Some day, someone, somewhere might serve you.  Wouldn't it be nice if they were good at it?

Gobbledygook -- rantings of a thirtysomething insomniac

This word was given to me by my once-neighbour Jason.  He knows me too well.  I'm full of nonsense.

I can't sleep.  It seems the worse a day Grandma has, the worse a night I have.  Combine worry and over stimulation with Tetris and a clock that insists on ticking every second like as though it's REMINDING ME I'M NOT ASLEEP YET.  Tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock tic tock

WHERE IS MY HAMMER??????

I need time to decompress after Grandma has gone to bed.  I can't imagine how she can fall asleep so easily, though I imagine this amount of upheaval makes a person bone tired.  Instead of sleeping, I am going over every thing I will need to do tomorrow.  Considering Grandma woke up last night at 2am to remind me about her life insurance plan, I wonder where I get it from?

Tic tock tic tock tic tock

What was I saying?

The coyotes were out in full force tonight.  I have no idea why they howl like they do.  I hope it's their way of communicating with each other and not just a sad song of how hungry they are and how they can't feed their young and they will be hunted and shot leaving their babies to be orphans.  I could not handle it if that was the case.

I have to watch out for the stupid things when I take the dogs out.  Vicki is as fat as Aunt Annie, so they are likely to scoop her up first thing and feed their pups for a week.  The tracks are everywhere and Monty insists on marking them like as though his urine is going to warn them to stay away.  You weigh 17 lbs, Monty.  That just tells them where you are!


Tic tock tic tock tic tock

Maybe this week was not the week to start decreasing my meds.

Paucity - a small rant on a small word

Provided by my pal Shelley who loves this word. Sorry, dude.

There are words that people often acknowledge as being creepy.  Slacks.  Panties.  Moist.  Especially when combined to be "slack moist panties."  I have one friend who refuses to call hot dogs "wieners" as the sound of that word makes him cringe.  Of course, we all happily refer to them as such and repeat it over and over until his head explodes.

I have a few personal made-up words that make me lose my mind.  Of course, my husband, my brother, my brother's wife, and everyone I've ever met uses them constantly.  Will I tell you what the most hated word is?  No.  I'm not stupid.  You would all email me daily using it over and over and I would be forced to kill you all.

Since I like having people to read my musings, I will keep this word in the dark.

Until I posted the request for words to use as post inspirations, I was in the dark about paucity.  I immediately had to look it up in the dictionary.  For a girl who reads as much as I do, it is embarrassing how often I have no ability to tell you what a word means.  Although, I know it when I see it.

Paucity is: a small amount.  It's a rather innocuous word, really.

And yet, I hate it.

I hate everything about this word.  I hate the way it sounds rolling out of my mouth.  Paw-city.  Paaaaaw-sit-eeeeee.  I hate it.  It makes bile rise in my mouth.  The texture of this word is so revolting that just repeating it in my mind for this post is making my stomach turn.

Second, I hate the meaning.  It's this uppity kind of word that means little.  Literally.

JUST SAY "LITTLE".

In a word: Suckage

Wow.  You people are mean and cruel and your momma looks fat in those pants.  Seriously.

The other day I asked for words that I could create posts out of every day for the next month.  For you.  I did it for you!!!!  So you would have something nice to read each and every day.

Some people were kind and lovely and gave me nice ideas.  And then... you people started messing with me.

Here is a list of words that cause me to rethink who my friends, family and followers are:

asinine
paucity (I had to look this one up!)
uxorious (Thanks Dad)
ubiquitous
collywobbles (coward wouldn't even admit who you were)
callipygian (you guys are going to love this one)
andgobbledygook

I guess, knowing the kind of people who I do, I should not be surprised.

We're in for a pile of crap treat this month!  Get ready!

Crap, crap, crap, crap. Oh wait, also... booooooooger.

On and off, I am contacted by groups looking for someone to write something for gifts and/or money.  I know a lot of them are spam requests -- companies sending things out to everyone without reading their sites -- but I'm usually pretty good at picking through those.  You know, because they call me by the wrong name, etc.

But I got sucked in.  One company looked like it was something I could actually work with.  Interesting topics and things I would like to talk about.  I signed up.  Got a whole bunch of requests sent to my knitting blog, but nothing for this one.  I emailed to ask WTF and was advised that they found the word "crap" in the title of my blog and url to be unsuitable for their clientele.

I feel a little bit like Dr. Johnny Fever in WKRP in Cincinatti when he got fired for saying "booger" on the radio.

I try not to swear on my site.  I try not to be a raving jerk.  I try to be funny, insightful, intelligent, and thought-provoking.  I mean, yes, most of my posts are about poop, but still.

So, I'm not impressed with this company.  I'm tempted to link to them and tell people to avoid them, but mostly, I don't want to give them the attention.

Crap.

Victorious in the fight against wrongful charges

Since I told you all about my annoyance and frustrations with my car service shop, I have a little update for you about it all.

Today, I contacted the guy who regularly takes care of my account.  I told him how frustrated I was about the situation, how I felt that had I been told about the problem before bringing it in, I could have been saved time and money, and how I felt cheated by their department charging me for tightening my gas cap.

He listened, attempted to console me with platitudes, and finally he apologized.  And he gave me a credit on my file.  For the entire amount that I paid. 

He also explained that it wasn't as simple as tightening the gas cap.  They also did an all over check of my fuel lines, etc to make sure the evap leak had not spread through the gas area.  However, they recognized that had they told me how to stop it, and that didn't work, THEN I would have brought the car in.

Immediately upon hanging up the phone, I felt vindicated.  I also felt like bursting into tears because I confronted an issue, was tough and strong about it, and made someone else feel bad.  I had to call LynnieC shortly after that in order to make sure I didn't call the service guy back, apologize, and offer to pay twice the original amount.

I don't know what it is about me, but (not with work, I'm perfectly okay being strong for other people) in my personal life, the second I have to be the confronter and the one with the backbone, I absolutely cave.  But not this time!  This time I won against "the man" and didn't cry. 

VICTORY!

Fuming about the fuel

Last weekend, my engine light came on.  Of course, the place I take my car was closed for the weekend, so I waited to call them on Monday.  I was a little worried driving my car with it on.  I have a great fear that as soon as that light turns on, the car will explode.  However, I had no choice.  I drove to work on Monday, called the service department at Dilawri Nissan and told them about the light.

"Did you get gas recently?" was all he asked.  I confirmed I had and he told me to bring in the car the next day.

The next day, I brought the car in before I had to run to work.  I had to leave it there because they didn't have time to look at it until the next morning.  The next morning they called, said it was fixed, and I could come get it.

I showed up and my regular guy wasn't there.  A girl I'd never seen before helped me.  She gave me the bill for $100 and told me the gas cap was put on wrong when I was at the gas station, so the mechanic had to put it back on correctly and reset the warning system.

I looked at her.  "I have to pay $100 for someone to have put on my gas cap?"  She looked uncomfortable and agreed.  She was the only one there, so I didn't even have anyone else I could complain to.  I paid the bill with teeth gritted and carried on my way.

Two days later, Nissan Canada (an agency which has really given my nothing but grief for the last three years) called to do a survey on my latest service on my car.  I was still angry, so I told him.  Everything.

I paid $100 for someone to unscrew and rescrew my GAS CAP.  MY GAS CAP.  A HUNDRED DOLLARS.  The person doing the survey seemed completely unsure what to do when a customer had a negative experience.  He offered no comfort, no explanation, no suggestions.  He just took the info and hung up.

I plan to call Dilawri on Monday and talk to someone who can do something.  From there, I plan to go to the full service gas station where I got gas last and complain to them.  I normally avoid this kind of conflict if I can, but I am still SO PISSED, I have to do something.

And then next time, I'm putting my own damn gas cap on.

Where have I been?

I have a few hours before work and should be taking advantage of the short blast of sunshine struggling to remember what to do when it can see Saskatchewan, but I'm not.  I'm here, in front of my computer, with a need to write.  For the first time in weeks, I want to write something.  Anything.

It's been a long couple of weeks.

I have not wanted to write lately.  I have not wanted to do much of anything.  I desperately want to sleep, but cannot.  I want to knit, but my project has taken a turn for the worse and I can't talk about it yet.  I have been reading because the new True Blood book was at the library and I can't help myself.  Mostly, I lay in bed wishing I could do something, anything, and instead do nothing.

Things with The Guy are still wonderful.  No worries there -- for all the people who had a slight panic attack of EVERYTHING in my life is going poorly.  We're spending as much time as we can together given the fact that our schedules hate us.  A few stolen hours here and there and we feel a bit like we're in a clandestine relationship.  But, the scheduling is changing a bit soon and I look forward to seeing how that will work with us. 

I am not sure what has been blocking me so much lately, but I think it can be attributed to numerous things.  First, work -- the place that for a long time was my sanctuary -- has been more a place of stress and hurt and frustration.  The last 9 months of work have been terrible and if something doesn't change, I can see it all imploding.  The job has not changed at all, I still love it for the most part when I don't hate it, but the people and the tension has changed.  It causes me stress when I am there, wistfulness when I am not, and I wish I was in a position to help get it back to where it had been.  I miss my home.

Then, the weather has been effing with us all.  March was sunny.  After the horribly depressing February we had, March was lovely.  It made us think the world would be a better place and everything would be alright.  Things would grow, things would heal and I could take a book out onto the deck and warm my toes in the sun.  Then April hit.  April hated us.  It said, Hey jerks.  You don't deserve sunlight.  But then, it was all Just kidding!! and we had a week of sun and light and joy.  And then May came.  And May was like I don't really like the sun, it kind of gives me a headache.  So, we had rain.  And wind.  And semis were blowing off the highway, barns were flying around yards and killing people and my sandal blew across the yard and got stuck in the mud.

I am tired of this already.  Get your shi*t together, Saskatchewan.  Make nice with Mother Nature and lets get on with it, okay?

So I haven't written.  I haven't had anything to say.  But, at least my Twitter has been funny. 

My birthday was yesterday and I went to work.  It was terrible and busy and the whole city fell apart, but at least I got 97 notifications on Facebook that people wished me happy birthday. 

So there is that.

Three in one day, aren't you blessed?

It wasn't going to be three posts in one day, but I accidentally hit publish on the last one and now I can't sleep.  Not that I can't sleep because I hit publish, because I totally could let that go.  I mean, it's not like it happens all the time and I was expecting not to have to post tomorrow because I had this thing written and then I hit a button out of habit really and now my plans are ruined.  That's not it.  This time.

Monday was a buggering crap-tacular day if there ever was one.  You know that book about the kid named Alexander who had a bad day?  My day took Alexander's day and gave it an enema.  With a coat hanger.  A wire coat hanger.  That was how bad my day was. 

The day didn't end as horribly as it began -- which is a good thing or you would be reading a story on the news tomorrow (today) about this woman who went stark raving mad and beat the living tar out of everyone she ever met.  I was very angry today in a Hulk sort of way where I am surprised my clothes didn't burst off of me in a fit of huge angry growth hormones while I ripped off someone's leg and beat them to death with it.

Did I mention I'm PMSing too?  It's a great combination.  Please come see me if you want a punch in the throat. 

The day was a miserable b!tch of a day that was punctuated by me leaving the room to cry out of absolute anger.  I am weird that way.  Get me angry and I will burst into tears and cry the entire time I am mad at you. 

I had settled down eventually, being that I immediately left the location of my terrible, no good, I will kill you, stupid asshat day and went to spend time with The Guy and some friends.  I got good conversation, lots of a support and a healthy dose of emotional eating.  Then, I jumped on a plane to Edmonton to meet up with the sister LynnieC and start the process of packing.  We stayed up too late watching Glee, episodes of So You Think You Can Dance from the last 2 seasons and then reading for awhile.

Once the lights went out, the horribleness of the beginning of my day came back to me.  Within half an hour, I was livid with rage and my stomach was in knots.  So, I decided to get up in an attempt to quell the angry beast inside me.  I figured a few hours on Cute Overload would help.  Puppies always help.

Monty embarrassed by his fly-away hair.*

*I'm embarrassed about my lack of camera skills.  It was with the auto setting even!!

I can't sleep, so you will suffer

Here I am, lying in the dark of my hotel room.  The shades are drawn, blocking out all light but two little slivers that mock me and my attempt at creating darkness.  There is no noise but for the fan of the air conditioner which I keep running in order to block out the sounds of the drunks stumbling loudly down the hall.  It is just after midnight, I have to be up at 7:30 and I am not tired at all.

Whether it is my sinuses threatening to cut off my air supply (great band, by the way) or the busyness of the last day that is keeping me up, I do not know.  But for all that I could not form sentences out of weariness at 8pm, my mind seems to have lots to say.

I am going over conversations in my head from today -- ones which both occurred and did not occur.  I'm a special brand of crazy, I am.  I tend to recreate conversations in my head where I go over and over what was said, what could have been said, what mean things I thought to say afterwards, the guilt I have at thinking about the mean things I could have said.

And now I lie here hoping I will fall asleep in enough time to continue to ward off this cold which is wreaking havoc on my throat, glands, and nasal cavities.

I hate the word "nasal".

Yes, you would think I am on some sort of cold medication that is addling my brain, but no, this is my brain on union.  And this is my brain on hotel.  Mix the two of them together and I get so worked up, it's lucky I ever sleep again.

I'm a crisis worker.  I like to go in to a situation, quickly assess why it is completely and utterly screwed up, develop a plan to fix it, and then I fix it.  This is what I do for 40 hours a week.  (The rest of the time, I play Family Feud on Facebook.) Put me in a situation I cannot fix?  Even when I can see the problem AND the solution -- which I fully admit is often "light a match and burn that mo-fo down" -- and I still cannot fix it? It is torture.

Mostly I just want to get it done.  I am already thinking about the next days issues.  I am already there, salivating over contentious moments and begging someone to let me fix them.

Old men are trying to kill me

I think my car is invisible.  It's the only thing that makes sense.  I get up in the morning, I look in the mirror and I exist.  I get into my car and --POOF*-- I disappear.

At first I thought it was just that my car was so dirty, no one could tell the difference between me and the road.  But no, I think my car is actually invisible.  So much so that old men cannot see it and try to kill me.

Three times in the last three days, an old man (and by that I mean a 55+ adult male, no offense Dad.) has attempted to run me off the road.

On Friday, I was driving to North Battleford.  I was skipping along the highway at 117 kph or 70mph (Yes, I was speeding.  Shush.) and minding my own business.  An old man pulled in off an intersection, swung across the lane he was supposed to go into and jumped into mine -- the one I had pulled into so he could safely get on the road.  He did this while going significantly slower than I was.

I slammed on the brakes, pulled back into the other lane, and SURPRISE! so did the old man.  Directly in front of me again.  I hates him.  I drove by and he didn't even look up.  I think he was worried my glare of death would turn him to stone.

The next day, I was heading back home.  I got onto the main highway and was clipping along at the same rate as last time.  I noticed a semi pulling onto the highway from a stop, so I slipped into the other lane and eased up on the gas.  Just then, another old man pulled in behind the semi, decided he was going too slow, and pulled into my lane.  Without signalling, without checking, without regard for human existence.  Asshat.

I slammed on the brakes, barely missed him, skidded a bit, and righted myself.  The truck continued on his merry way slowly picking up speed.  Finally he passed the semi, and I was able to go by.  He didn't even notice.

Finally, yesterday I am going to meet a friend for coffee.  I am driving along a main drag and a semi pulls out of a local truck stop.  I slow right down so he can get in without problem and then I follow behind him.  He is turning at the same place I am, so as he goes by the Tim Horton's drive thru line, he pulls into the turning lane.  I go to follow.

EXCEPT I CAN'T.  Because some old dude has snuck out of the Tim's exit and into that lane.   DESPITE THERE BEING A TON OF TRAFFIC.  He looks up and sees me signalling to get in.  He knows I had to wait for the semi in order to get into that lane.  So you know what he does?

You do, don't you?

HE PULLS UP SO HIS BUMPER IS TOUCHING THE SEMI.

Seriously.  I got the hint.  You aren't going to let me in.  You're VERY important.  I get it.

I followed him for awhile just to make him uncomfortable.  I cursed him with baldness and canker sores.  I cursed his children with adult acne and his grandchildren with terminal stupidity.

And then I went for coffee.



*wrote POOP here first.  Not quite what I meant.

Fearing the pen

My life is an open book.  I'm all "Hey, here's my opinion and a detailed list of all the atrocities that have happened in my life.  What's your name?"  I write from that base of disarming honesty wrapped in humour so you actually don't know who I am.  When I started writing for the interwebbed people --this month it is 4 years on Blogger, but it was another year before than in another realm -- I didn't think about who would read these words and what impact they would have.  I was writing to amuse my friends, myself, and to prove to everyone how clever I am.  I'm clever as clever, by the way.

As I've become more well known, and by that I mean every relative and their dog has found my site, I have shied from being really super honest.  Mostly because I get worried emails from my father and others who fear I am "this close" to slipping over the edge and "how can they not worry about me when I write things like that?"  Sigh.  But also because I have realized the effect my writing can have on others in my life.  I have to think about what I am writing and how it may expose things about other people that is none of my business -- or at very least, not my story to tell. 

I can write all I want about my mother's death and how it changed me, but there were 6 other people in that room who may not appreciate when I bear my grief for the world to see.  I can write about the funny and inane things I get angry about, but The Guy may not appreciate my opening our marriage for the sake of my need to be funny.  I can write about my own insecurities, but sometimes it leaves me open to attack.

I fear what I write will not be funny enough, smart enough, deep enough.  I fear that people will not accept it and I am confused when people don't love me more than they do.  So I change my writing to be more or less based on what I think others will want to read. 

So, I write and I censor.  I search and I ponder.  I bend stories to be more amusing than they were or to be more like I wish they could have been.  I am brutally honest in one moment and completely full of bear pooh the next.  I haven't conquered fear, but I am aware of it.  For me, that is half the battle.


Thanks to Schmutzie who bared her soul and encouraged us to do the same.

Flowers and running away

I am leaving my husband.  Yes, it's only for 8 days, but it will be a glorious 8 days.  I'm not pleased to be leaving my husband and dog behind, but I am pleased to flee this province, my job, and all the crap associated with it all.

I have been testy lately.  I am bored and irritated.  Work is making me angry and listless.  I don't want to talk to anyone or do anything and I just want the whole world to leave me alone.  I know what you're thinking, "How is that different from every day?"  Well, "shut up" is my answer.

I haven't had a holiday in awhile, so I think -- for my sanity and the sanity of my husband -- a little running away is just what I need.  I am fleeing to go visit Ky for 8 days in the sunny and fair weathered Vic BC.  I haven't had a break from work and home since September when I got married.  And, as fun as it was, it was not a break.  Before that, I had a break in July, and I moved.  So, that wasn't much of a break either.

When I don't get breaks from work -- long, extended weeks or two away -- I get apathetic.  No crisis, no trouble, no emotional turmoil, can make me give a flying rat's pat toot.  This is not so much how a counsellor should be.  Most of the time, I care.  Deeply.  If I don't, I can pretend.  But now I have been having a hard time even pretending to pretend to caring.

Thus the break.  I am taking time to recharge -- hopefully with my empathy, but also with my humour.  Because right now?  I'm grouchy AND not funny.  Who wants that?

***************************************************

An aside: The Guy bought me flowers "Just because it's been awhile since he bought them last".  Yay!  I took a couple of pictures with the sunset setting on my camera and some others with normal setting.  Someday, I hope to know how to take pictures without "auto".  But not right now.

He's a good man. I think I'll come back.

Today is a bad day and it's only been 20 minutes

I started out in a pretty great mood.  After a not-so-great sleep, I rallied and got out of bed.  I made a lunch (which is unheard of for me on most days) and got ready for work.  Took Monty to visit his mom and stay with her for the morning -- and I got to give belly rubs to two dogs at once.  I left there with a song in my heart and a quick step.  Grabbed my Timmy's and didn't spill it on the floor before I got out the door.  Things were looking up.

Then I walked in the door to work.

You see, Monday I was supposed to testify in court.  I managed to move all my appointments from Monday to Tuesday.  Then on Friday, I was told that I wouldn't be needed until Tuesday now.  Great.  So, I moved all my appointments from Tuesday to next week. 

Tuesday I went to the court house and was referred to a court room.  I waited for an hour before anyone bothered to tell me I was at the wrong court room.  Who knew there would be two cases with the same last name in one day?  I went to the correct court and told them who I was.  Oh.  They didn't need me any longer.  Didn't anyone think to call me?

NO.  THEY DID NOT THINK TO CALL ME.

I left.  Fuming, but knowing that the Labour Standards is to minimum call someone in for 3 hours.  Except then I found out it was 2 hours.  Okay fine.  Not a great thing, but not a total waste.  Fine.

Until I get to work and they say, "Oh, Labour Standards changed.  Now the minimum call in time is set in dollars, so we only have to pay you for the time you were there.  Didn't you know that?"

NO.  I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT THE CHANGES TO LABOUR STANDARDS.

Then I looked up my cell phone bill.  A bill which is now $15 more than it ever used to be.  I notice a change in the billing, so I call.  Oh, the rates went up.  Didn't anyone send you a letter about that?

NO.  THEY DIDN'T SEND ME A LETTER.

So now I am fuming.  I am beyond pissed off.  I want to write that 12 year old lawyer a steaming email in which I tell her she has wasted my ever loving time TWICE NOW because she could not get her act together.  I understand though.  Apparently, they don't teach these things on Sesame Street anymore.  I assume that's where she got her law degree considering she is a TODDLER.

I want to go back home and cuddle under the blankets with a dog who loves me and a book and a cup of tea.  But, I know I cannot do that.  I will tell you one thing though.

If I'm commanded to court again, I'm telling the Queen she can bite me.

Weekend from hell. Also titled: Thank God, it's Monday.

I had plans for this weekend.  Grandiose plans of going to work and organizing things.  Plans of packed lunches instead of take out.  Plans of an evening with my husband on the one night he doesn't have to go to bed at 7:30pm.  Plans of easy calls and gentle work where things go right.  Time to relax and repair.  Time to write and be creative.

I went into the weekend, having almost no days off because of some First Aid training, knowing that I would be on day 6 by the end of day 4.  Knowing I would have 2 days of meetings after my 6.  Knowing I would then work 1 more at another place and have 1 day free before being back for another 4.  Do these numbers confuse you?  Well, just know that I went into the weekend prepared to do battle.  Gentle, easy, light counselling battle.  Canadians Navy versus Switzerland Army.  But battle none-the-less.

And then I went to work.  After an hour, it was obvious things would not go well.  After 4 hours on one call and 7 on another, I realized it was not going at all.  Child welfare call after call poured through the gates.  Every one was being bad, every thing was going poorly, and every where we went we suffered casualties.  Four hours of overtime later, I went home saddened in the knowledge that the day had kicked my pa-toot from one end of the city to the other.  I would rest for a short time and then try again.

And then I went to work.  After an hour, it was obvious things would not go well.  Then I got pooped on -- literally and figuratively.  We ran from call to call, house to house, child to child, person to person.  It never stopped.  Until it stopped.  Suddenly, it was quieter.

It was then we realized.  We had not won.  The enemy had not given up.  They had not won.  We had not given up.  The enemy just got bored and went somewhere else.

Where was I going with this?

Oh yeah.  My weekend sucked.  I am tired out and brain weary.  I have things to do for my meetings which start tomorrow at 1pm and I am not prepared.  I cannot lift my arms enough to move the things I need to move.  I cannot think the things I need to think.  I cannot fight another day.

I want my blankie.

Write or Die: When you have 10 minutes and no direction

I stumbled upon this page and thought "What will happen if I just type whatever for 10 minutes?" Here is what happens.

I thought there would be an idea here for me. I have a few minutes and just time to put things on paper. If only I could type as quickly as the words threaten to come out of my mind. They don't hold back to wait for my stumbling fingers to catch up to them. And when my fingers finally do catch up, the words are no where to be seen.  I am struggling right now. I am lost in my own chaos and have no idea how to reach out to anyone. How to fully express how much anguish I am in despite the good things that I am also experiencing. How can there be such a vast difference in feelings?? On one hand, I am happy and content and pleased with how things are going. On the other hand, I am lost. I am in pain. I am confused. I am miserable. Both live in me and yet are completely contradictory. It is impossible to explain.  Part of the reason I have not written as well or as much lately is because of this incredible contradiction. These two sides of my coin that I cannot line up so they match. I am at the same moment lost and found. Lost by one set of life's events, found in another. And both things, both sides of the contradiction are the same. How can that be??  I figured that when I got to this part of my life, I would be so thrilled to be here that I would not feel the angst of regular life. I was so naive I want to go back in time and bitch slap the younger me for thinking so idealistically and not realizing there is no such thing. You are as happy as you can be in the way that you can be. I want to tell her to be nicer to people, more understanding, less uncompromising, less afraid to say what you feel for fear it will hurt someone. I want to remind her to be a better person because it matters in the long run and the only person who will be truly disappointed in you is you. Stop thinking you have to be a certain person because others will approve. There isn't enough time in the whole world to be that insipid. So be happy, you dumb brat. Be happy and thankful and don't stress what doesn't matter and know what does matter. PAY ATTENTION to the people you love and be a good person. You don't have to be perfect. Just be kind and fair and gentle and loving. That is all that is needed of you. Know who you want to be and be her. Be a strong woman but with a soft heart toward others. Be self-sufficient, but know when to reach out. Be accommodating, but don't get walked on because you think it will make someone happy. Be true to yourself and to others without being cruel about it to either. That is all that is asked of you. Seriously. That's it. Why does that sound so hard?

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Up all night

I have suffered from insomnia for years. Actually, for the most part, I've enjoyed it. I'm awake when other people aren't. I get things done at weird hours. I enjoy the silence and the sunrise. I don't have as much problems with night shifts, etc. I mean, apart from being tired ALL. THE. TIME.

In the last month, I have slept. I reverted to a normal sleeping schedule and I got a good nights sleep. I had two weeks of day shifts. Then I went on holidays for two weeks. Then getting settled in the house, we started a new routine. I was sleeping. I thought the insomnia was gone.

Silly me.

Last night, for the first time in recent memory (Yes, I have a goldfish for a brain) I could not sleep. I went to bed at 10:30pm -- a little later than "normal" (which should read normally but it looks wrong) -- and I lay there. The Guy had long ago gone to sleep, so I was trying not to disturb him. I lay there. And fought the need to fidget. And toss. And turn.

After an hour of climbing out of my own skin, I got out of bed. I puttered, I read, I lounged. I didn't internet, because I have been trying to cut that out. I tried to sleep on the couch. I tried to sleep on the floor. It was achingly exhausting.

At 2:30am, an hour before The Guy's alarm went off for him to head to work, I finally fell asleep. Face down on the spare bed without removing the covers. I finally slept.

For four hours.

If I don't sleep tonight, I am going to punch a gopher.

Stand by your man

My Grandma sent an important message to me through my sister LynnieC who was up visiting on her way home from this weekend. "I hope [MayB] knows what a great man she has." Or something along those lines. I am sure Grandma is terrified that The Guy will someday wake up and go "Whoa. What am I doing with this woman?" and run away. I tease Grandma, but she is right -- I have a great man with me.

The Guy is all the things I didn't know I always wanted. He's kind. He's practical. He has a great sense of humour. He's a planner. He's responsible. He's dedicated. He's loyal. He's generous. He is a nice guy. (My high school self is gagging. So are my sisters.)

When you meet The Guy, you know instantly that he is a kind man. He would do anything for anyone. And he does. Sometimes to the detriment of himself, but he does it. And sometimes, he is taken advantage of because people expect him to be nice. Here's the kicker -- most of the time, he's so nice, he doesn't even care. He's not perfect. I mean, he thinks BEIGE is a colour. (Kidding, honey, I lurve you!) But he's pretty dang great.

That is why when I hear anyone say something bad about The Guy, my back goes up. I think "Have you even met him?" People take his generosity as a given, a default. So, anything less than that is selfishness. My defences go up at the merest hint of slander towards his good name. I want to throw myself at the offending parties, rip out their spines, and tie them in a bow. (Too graphic?) But I hold back. Why? Because these are not my battles to fight, nor does he need me too. He's a grown man and a capable one at that.

When we talk about our relationship, it is as partners. We walk side by side. His arm around my shoulders to protect and comfort. Mine around his waist to support and hold fast. But every once in awhile, I want to crouch in front of him, with my claws raised, so I can snarl at the enemy.

A fine line between excited and panicked

In less than 12 hours, we get our new house. We weren't supposed to be able to move in early, but The Guy had a great idea of us not being homelesser than we needed to be and ask for an earlier date. Score! Sometimes I am reminded he is not just a pretty face. He's good with the idea things too.

But now, in less than 12 hours, we get our new house. I am laying in bed at Grandma's house counting the minutes until I get to leave here and drive home to pick up the keys to our new house. (Note: That should be said in The Price is Right tone of "a new car!") Incidentally, there are 680 minutes. Exactly. 679.

I am laying here completely awake, knowing I have to be able to drive to the city that rhymes with fun in less than 7 hours. I have to then pick up the keys in 11 hours and 20 minutes. I then have to move a couple of loads from The Guy's sister's garage and do some basic unpacking. At 5pm, I need to nap for at least 3 hours in order to go to work the night shift at 10pm.

Surprisingly enough, knowing this does not make it any easier to sleep. It makes it worse. 677.

Montel is snoring beside me and occasionally grinding his teeth. Grandma is snoring in the next room and occasionally her teeth clink in the glass by her bed. I am laying here. Wishing for the next few hours to go by in a whisk of dreamless sleep. Knowing I will instead surf the internet for men with funny mustaches.

675.