30 minutes while Sara's in the bath. I told her that her crazy Mom was doing a writing prompt for 30 minutes each day (weekdays, most likely) and that I'd prefer if she'd just leave me be for that amount of time. She, as always, understood and is very cool about it.

I dislike kids a lot, but Sara's different. She's this wonderful generous soul that understands everything. I gave her the chances I won't give to most kids because she's my daughter, but she's won me over just by being herself. My life would be a lot poorer without her in it.

So she's in her bath right now with a horrible cough echoing down the hall. She's been coughing like that for weeks now. I kept putting off calling her GP because I didn't want to make an appointment without talking to her Dad first, and then because I would be booking one for him to take her to. I'll make the call now since the trade off is completed. 3 years early, but I'm so happy about it. We agreed a year ago that since he's been with her full time for most of her young childhood (a part of childhood that I dislike the most) I should get her for her teen years.

I like teenagers more than I like kids. I prefer better-formed people.

Hmmm, I just got the feeling I'm avoiding something by nattering about kids. What's funny about this 30 minute daily write is it is the most honest I've ever been online. I almost never free write and let the chips land where they may. I used to do this all the time in my paper journal, a form of self-therapy if you will. Just write until I find the truth and maybe some solutions. I once told Mike that if I ever stopped writing to worry. Because I wasn't looking at myself anymore.

I stopped writing a while ago. But I don't think it's entirely a bad thing. There's only so much self-observation and analysis that a person can handle before it breaks down. There are those dark spaces within everyone that probably should stay dark. I'm a pretty highly self-realized human being, thanks to years of intensive therapy. (I'm talking full day programs here. Therapy and self-examination *was* my job for a long time.) I shoved a flashlight into every nook and cranny in my soul over and over again.

It's hard being that honest. Hardest work I've ever done. And I finally see the benefits of it. God, the woman I once was. Rather, the girl. I was terrified of leaving my home. I couldn't walk a block without sinking into a panic attack. Riding the bus was a experiment in terror. And the things I did to myself. Dear god. The drugs, the booze, the sex, the self-destruction.

I think the self-destruction was a part of the self-discovery. How does someone expose the secrets they keep from themselves for good reason? It's said that it gets worse before it gets better when someone is in therapy, and hah, what an understatement. Ahh well. I think I realize now that I'd be too self-defensive to do good work if I went back to therapy.

But there are the issues and questions there. I'm not normal. I don't know exactly where I fit in. I'm highly isolated by choice. I don't even participate in the online world. I've become a ghost. Which is an odd thing for me to be.

What's more odd is I don't know what my normal is. I've been adapting for survival for as long as I can remember that I don't understand who I am when I don't have to do that anymore. Am I person that really doesn't get fired up about anything? Am I really this bitter and cranky? God, I don't know.

My life isn't empty or barren at all. There's so much there and I do enjoy little things but never with the burning passion that I used to have. Is this normal? Was my burning bright just a facet of the suicidal tendencies? Was it only because I was fighting to exist at all? Something like if you're afraid of the dark, stuck in the middle of a dark, dark wood; you'll light the biggest damn bonfire the world has ever seen, just because.

Heh, this is truth. Not any single thought today, but I realize that in forcing myself to ignore my censor, I create a place where I write again. The questions without answer is so me. So much of what I have done, always. I feel that if you ask a question, you release it to find its answer and then return. So I ask a lot of questions.

I'm sitting here looking at the clutter on my desk, trying to find the next thought and it's flitting away. I look at the list of things to discuss at the next summit meeting (a monthly meeting between the 3 of us: Sara, her dad and myself to discuss her life) and I realize that even when I feel lost in my life, I still have my order there at the same time. It's kind of a split in my self, this part that is always highly functioning. The part that got my daughter dressed and off to daycare, and myself to school while the other part of me planned my suicide that night.

Am I train wreck journal? I've tried not to be. I've tried to couch my history, my life, myself in pretty prose and vagueness so that I don't become one of the many jokes, a train wreck journal. But I think that attitude does the world a disservice. Both of them. Mine to lie and hide and the assholes that think when someone hurts it's something to mock. I remember that terrible aloneness in being a split person, in hurting so bad that I wanted to die but also pretending I was ok so nobody would make it worse.

I guess I hate what it's like online. That truth is only valued until it makes someone uncomfortable. That it's just high school all over again. But here I am, writing out my life for anyone to see and putting it online. With my domain, with my photographs. I tried to explain it to a wonderful, interested man in Toronto as a type of Home. But it's not really. We don't invite people to just walk in the front door of our physical homes. We don't actively advertise and seek out the attention from our neighbours to our every little thing.

Is it arrogance? That someone would be interested in our lives? That we want the attention and the adoration we feel is our due? God knows. Part of the reason I do this is for the history. I read my online journal again. I don't touch my paper except to dust them off occasionally.

And that's 30 minutes.

Another 30 minute free write. A chance to shut my internal censor up and just type out what is floating around in my head that wants to be written out.

So Sara's Dad just called, he wants to drop her off early. (We were supposed to trade off this Friday at the next summit meeting) He sounded like shit, sick and miserable and I can understand wanting to drop Sara off in that case. I try to be available to take her, the same as I would be if our marriage hadn't broken down.

The really cool thing that I haven't mentioned in here yet is that Sara is coming here full time ... I guess starting today. I've been very quietly and slowly talking about this switch over the past 5 months or so. I knew around Christmas that I wanted her living with us full time, but I also knew that if I said as much it would be a no.

I feel like I should explain why I didn't have my daughter full time, and what's funny is it feels like it's less acceptable that I only had her part time now that she's here full time. That if I'm ok now, I of course was always ok. You know? It's frustrating. I don't really want to explain to people that are more likely to use it as something to gossip about rather than something to learn from, that I was scared that I might end up abusing my daughter the way I was. That abuse is a cycle, and I was doing my damnedest to break it.

I also don't want people to judge my life, rather my mom for our history. It's funny, I'm pretty open about being abused growing up and the costs I pay for that in my adult life, but I still keep from mentioning who exactly did it. Even though it's obvious to anyone that thinks about it. I just don't want to say because of why...? Loyalty. I have this extreme level of loyalty to my family that keeps me going back over and over to things that anger and hurt me.

A few months ago I got pretty angry. My Mom's place had been broken into, and somehow I ended up at her house facing an entire day just sitting there. Well, my sis had to go to work, and because I was the one with all the free time *cough* I was volunteered. I do it to myself, I know. I finally got angry enough to say something about it. About how it was just accepted that I would always drop everything to go to bat for my family. That I have nothing better to do. That somehow me giving up a day means that I'm not missing anything more than sitting around watching TV. That I don't have a job that I leave behind every day I sit elsewhere.

I was so mad. So mad. Part of it was last year when my mom was in the hospital for a week. I dropped everything. Everything. I went in and sat there for 12+ hours each day, so she wouldn't be alone, drugged and scared. My sister had to work, so it was me. I understand that and honestly it's part of the reason why I work for myself, the flexibility to drop everything. It's just this feeling that it's expected. There's very little gratitude there.

Anyway, so that day when I found myself facing an entire day sitting when I had plans without a please or really a thank you, I ended up yelling at Mom. I said all the things I had kept inside for so long. That somehow my sacrifices are taken for granted, that because it's me sacrificing, it's not a sacrifice. That all I hear about is how my sis works so hard, how she struggles, how hard it is for her. That I got told off for forgetting to pay Mom back $5 after I fucking bail my family for over a thousand. I yelled about all this and more, and I hoped that some changes happened. They didn't. They never do.

*sighs* This is all coming from my tooth breaking last week. I asked for a ride from my Mom to the dentists when I got an appointment. She told me to take a bus. Reasonable response, I don't argue that. But is it reasonable when in my living room there sits her PC waiting a free repair from my fiancé? Is it reasonable when I drop everything, always, for them? I don't fucking think so.

Plus part of what makes me so mad right now is the trip into Toronto. It started out as a trip to visit the photo stores out there. Mom's idea, she wanted company and I was willing to go along. Thinking about it I ended up suggesting that I fit my doctor's appointment in there as well. Not a problem. I made my appointment, and off we went. I knew I was going to pay for gas, or part of it at least. I figured we take a quick route in, and TTC the rest. We ended up driving everywhere and I ended up going to my doctor's on the TTC the taking the streetcar out to the Beach. We drove every route Mom wanted, and I did all the driving. I then filled the tank at the end of the night to the tune of $18.

Somehow I ended up feeling like that entire trip was for me. A favour. I forgot that it wasn't my trip, that most of the stuff we did wasn't for me, wasn't my choice, but somehow I ended up paying for it and feeling guilty.

I know a chunk of this rant is unfair and biased. I know that my history colours part of it. But there's more than just that. I'm so so tired of living in a family that sees me as a patsy. I don't think I'm unreasonable to expect acknowledgement of what *I* do. It's not a one or the other situation here. Acknowledging that I bust my ass, potentially destroy my relationships, and am the one they come to when the chips are down doesn't take away from anyone else in it. You'd think it did for the amount I get. I get treated like a fucking burden.

Truth. That's the truth there. That's what I feel. That I am the family burden. The weight that pulls them down. That I ask too much. That I am somehow lesser.

How can the one that has loaned out over a thousand dollars to help out be the burden? How can the one that has time and time again dropped everything in her life to be there for her family be the burden? How can the one that is come to when the shit hits the fan be the burden? How can the one that freely gives of her home, family, and life be the burden? How can the one that when she asks for favours makes DAMN sure she repays them be the burden?

I don't know, but that's how I am treated. I asked for a favour that would take an hour and save me several hours and was dismissed with a "take the bus".

And that's 30 minutes. *sighs*

Yeah, I know it's Wednesday. I'm trying to catch up with all of last weeks prompts that I missed!

1. When was the last time you laughed?

Last night watching The O.C. The character Seth said something along the lines like "You're a cohen! you're a wimp!" and it was funny.

2. Who was the last person you had an argument with?

Mike. Yesterday morning. I was moody about going to the dentists and he had gotten very little sleep so we were snapping at each other continually. Not fun..

3. Who was the last person you emailed?

The lovely Girly-girl Miss Meg. I've gotten better about emailing people within a reasonable amount of time, so it's not an answer like "emailing people? wha?"

4. When was the last time you bathed?

I don't bathe. I shower. Bathing just feels like I'm sitting in a diluted pool of dirt and sweat and uck. I showered yesterday morning tho.

5. What was the last thing you ate?

Dinner last night was the last real thing I ate, but if a little mint counts, that's it.

[linda]

loop. Huh... ok, I remember the loop at the end of Queen street in the beach where we used to live. Right beside Lakeview fish and chips, the best damn food in town. We would listen to the rumble of the street cars going past each day and it was quite the

August 27, 2003 06:20 AM

From One Word

I just stumbled across this really neat site, One Word
One word prompt, and 60 seconds to write. Very cool. I like anything that shuts up my internal censor.

Anyway, this is my first one:

[Linda]

my mom loves butterflies. It's her totem, I guess, always has been. She used to be a member of Al_anon and a group of women within that group became the "Butterflies" and they would get together for facials and laughter and life. Something sorely missing from a life with an alcholic.

August 26, 2003 02:23 PM

I just realized something... this past Saturday, August 23rd marked my third year of writing and ignoring my online journal. Happy 3 years to me!

First Entry, First Day, First Journal. Livejournal.

Same thing but here on PtF.

So, a 30 minutes writing prompt. Set the timer, sit down and write an entry as far as that 30 minutes takes me. It's not like I'm insanely busy anymore, I just find myself uninterested in writing about my life on a daily basis. That and at a loss for what I have to say or honestly most of the time, how to start.

The main thing I've been mulling over this past week has been my trip in Toronto last Thursday. I went in for my physical with the best damn doctor in the world, Dr. McKeown. I ended up with her as my GP purely by fluke. I was living at the Y in hoity-toity Rosedale area and under a lot of stress in my 'relationship' (read: trainwreck) with Fors. One morning I sat up, lit my morning cigarette, realized I was about to pass out, set my smoke down and promptly blacked out. There's a bit in there about my bladder opening up that's not too pleasant to remember, as well.

Anyway, my roommate realized that something was really wrong when she came back into the room and I was slumped against the wall staring "like you couldn't see anything". I came to and we ended up at the nearest walk-in clinic. That was the first time I met my doctor, and she was wonderful. This wee English woman (I assume she's English, they're the only people that call me Linder) who took control and sent me down to St. Michael's for testing. (The worry was seizures, but after over 6 months of intensive testing and two more blackouts we decided it was most likely stress induced and more testing wouldn't do any good)

She's been my doctor ever since. The story I tell as my example of why I think she's wonderful is the smoking one. I was a smoker for 5 years, and she hated to see a young woman smoking. So we set an appointment to discuss it. She told me her concerns, some statistics and consequences, then asked and honestly wanted to know *my* reasons for smoking. She never once talked down to me. She understood that I knew the risks I was taking with my life and health but I had reasons and she wanted to know exactly what they were. I told her, and I said I wasn't ready to quit yet. She finished with a simple "When you are ready, tell me and we'll make it as easy as we can for you." My smoking was never an issue again beyond a quick check-in at various appointments if I was ready or not.

I think that lack of judgement and her willingness to admit that I knew myself best is part of why I managed to quit and stay quit so far this year.

Anyway, Toronto trips are hard. I only lived there for a year and a half but it feels almost as much like home as KW does. How far I have to walk up at the various subway stops to be lined up for the Bloor-Yonge transfer isn't even a conscious thought. Knowing that just over there, a little south of St. Clair, is the park that has the water 'puddles' where I would crash my poor kite. There are all these different neighbourhoods I lived in, little villages that make up the big scary city. I think the Beach proper was the most fun. The upper beach was the most ordinary and Woodlawn the most "big city".

I used to go down Yonge a block every day to sit and write for a couple hours at a time. I have journals and books of letters, hundreds of pages long where I explored myself, my anger, my hurt, and my betrayals. Truth. I miss that the most, I think, moving back here to quiet Waterloo. I miss sitting in a coffee shop, smoking, sipping coffee and writing until my hand cramped into a claw. Sometimes I'd sit and chat with friends long gone now, but never forgotten. I don't want that life back anymore. I did last summer. I missed the people that made Toronto a place I'm so thankful to have lived, and also a place I never want to return to again.

Now my life is boring and quiet and hard to write about. Certainly not enough to keep my hands busy for weeks, months writing. But I'm grateful for that. I broke my tooth on Wednesday and not 20 minutes ago the freezing finally faded away from the fix by my dentist this morning. That's boring, but there's also something wonderful in the ability to get my teeth done. (Money, of course)

I start Physio next week. Sarabeth goes back to school, and I hop on a bus with a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to be poked and prodded and taught how to make my back work again. My wonderful Doctor gave me some pain meds called Vioxx, to keep me from taking endless amounts of Advil in a futile attempt to be pain free. The Vioxx has been amazing. I get very tired now though in the afternoons and nap. I don't know if it's a side effect of the medication or just my body being thrilled to get unbroken sleep.

I think that's the worst part of the pain, really. That I wasn't sleeping. Every time I would roll over the pain would wake me up. And let me tell you, I *move* in my sleep. I worry a lot that if I talk about pain that the judgement on me is that I'm whining or sympathy seeking. I think everyone fears this when they are in pain. Why do we do this to ourselves? Or rather, each other.

It's almost September. We're almost done a 5-week pay period, thank god. Being without money is scary. And of course, what do I do when I'm scared about money? I spend it. Figure that one out. I find that a lot of people that grew up poor go that way or the other extreme. Me, I'm in the "spend it if you got it so you have something to show for it when it's gone" camp. I've had friends in the "buy nothing, live as if you have nothing so it's never gone" camp.

And there's the 30 minute buzzer. The End. (for today)

I'm heading into Toronto soon so no entry for today. Instead I give you a little present left for me in my inbox this morning and my response. Enjoy.

Envelope-to: labels@aplacetofly.com
X-Sender: ********@mail.earthlink.net (Unverified)
X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Light Version 3.0.6 (32)
Date: Thu, 21 Aug 2003 01:48:00 -0500
To: labels@aplacetofly.com
From: **** <******@earthlink.net>
Subject: Your copyright

Hi Linda,

I came across your page about how to make cigar band labels for soap, and I
certainly do appreciate your sharing this information! I believe it will
save me quite a bit of time and frustration when it comes time to making my
own labels. I've been relying on other methods, which have not produced
the results I was looking for.

I would also like to mention a few things about your copyright notice that
I think you may not be aware of.

1. Since you used Microsoft Word to create your labels, you cannot
copyright it. Perhaps Microsoft could though.

2. You don't have any legal basis for telling people that they cannot save
your page to their hard drive. This goes along with the theory of assumed
use. Since it is an online medium, it goes without saying that saving it
to disk or to your hard drive is acceptable. You cannot stipulate otherwise.

3. I thought it was interesting that you made a rather big point of the
copyright notice, but you used Microsoft *copyrighted* software as:

A. The tool you would use to achieve your "creation".
B. The visual aid to walk the user through the process.

Just wanted to let you know this so that you won't be upset when I share it
with my soaping group.

Thanks again,

*****

*********,

Actually you obviously don't understand in the least International copyright law. But that's fine. Do some research and maybe discuss with your therapist why you felt the need to:

1. Steal and justify it without researching your facts.
2. Tell the creator of a work that will "save me quite a bit of time and frustration" that you are disregarding her wishes and legal copyright and stealing her work.

Most people would and have just saved it and I never knew/would know the difference. There's some sort of issue there for you that you had to write an email like the one below.

So, thanks to you I'm removing the tutorial. Your ignorance, selfishness and arrogance is the last I am going to tolerate in terms of my generously shared work. To end here are a few links, hopefully you will chose to educate yourself.

http://www.templetons.com/brad/copymyths.html
http://laws.justice.gc.ca/en/C-42/index.html

Linda Gallaher

P.S. Any further correspondence from you will be deleted unread.

1. How much time do you spend online each day?

Do I want to answer this? Let's see... let's say about 40 minutes to every awake hour? Sometimes less, most of the time more.

2. What is your browser homepage set to?

about:blank - I hate loading stuff when all I want is a fresh browser window. So, nothing.

3. Do you use any instant messaging programs? If so, which one(s)?

ICQ only. And that's a rare thing. I only turn it on when I'm trying to catch Mike or if someone requests it. I used to chat a lot more but I haven't been terribly social in a long time now.

4. Where was your first webpage located?

Geocities, where all the cool kids played. I started it in 1996 and abandoned it in 1997 or so.

5. How long have you had your current website?

I've had A Place to Fly since *checks whois* Created: 06-feb-2001 and I'm never letting her go. bwahahaha.

So I have a basket (2 loads) of laundry started which means two things. One, my back, hip and sciatic nerve must be feeling better if I'm willing to brave 3 flights of stairs with a basket. Two, I have time to sit down and write a bit. Three, we have electricity! (ok, the third was a last second thought, heh.)

Yesterday was an adventure. Power went out here at 4:12pm just as I was getting into 30 Minute Meals with some E! True Hollywood story as my flip-to show. You know that funky monitor/tv screen shimmy then squeeze to a point and then *pop* black they do in movies? Yeah. So my tv does its little shimmy, Mike's UPS goes *BBBEEEEEEEEEEEP!* and the fridge coughs for a moment then everything came back. I had long enough to think, "Damn, I wonder if that crashed Liriel?" before everything did that little death dance again and didn't come back.

I sat there looking at the very blank tv screen and listened to the fan slowly wind down. It's a quiet fan most of the time but in that sudden silence it was the nosiest thing going. Then Mike's UPS announced how displeased it was at being forced to keep an unused PC up. I finally (after a far too long chunk of time) shut down Mike's PC but left the UPS on and beeping. I don't turn off stuff like that unless I get the go ahead especially when the machine attached to it isn't one of mine.

Ok, I've been stuck at this point for 3 hours now. 3 hours for 3 paragraphs? Forget this. Time for my notes from last night, unedited, as they are on the page in my paper journal. With pictures of each page too! Look at my beautiful handwriting by clicking on the page # link

Page 1.

- Buses running. Makes sense and they know the route best.
- Need to remember to get batteries for the speakers.
-Kool FM & Oldies. They Rock. Requesting Amusement called in.
- "We'll be right back" *click* (re: the switch from I guess what was car battery power to generator power)

- "Going without power is disconcerting"
- Not really for me because of the camping setup. We have everything we need to keep going. Wish I had ice in the fridge so I could get the cooler going. The fridge has me worried.

It's really dark. It's great. 50 mil people. 4:12pm. 6 hours. 60% Water Treatment. "I miss my tv." Waa!

It's neat to be sitting at my PC desk listening to a radio station with visions of families listening 50 years ago.

Page 2

State of Emergency

Mike wanted to go for a walk, I came with him. On the way out of the building we noticed a flickering light in the hallway. I figured that someone was sitting in the hallway by candlelight (?) Weird thought. Anyway we went for a walk, I got some "light trail" photos with the Yashica. (I think film will do it better than the digital does.) Mike decided he wanted to go see the stars somewhere with less car lightage, and there's no way I could make the walk. So home I came.
On the walk up to our place, I checked on that lone candle, deciding that if the candle was still lit and untended I would go blow it out. It was both. As I blew it out I realized that the holder was plastic. That really really pissed me off.
I then realized there was...

Page 3

...still more light flickering away. They had put another bunch of candles down there stairs, on a couple spots. One was right beside the nasty plastic "garden" in the foyer.
Out I march in righteous anger to the backyard where there's a small group chatting. Exactly what I would do if my friends lived close on a night like this. I really didn't mean to be a bitch. I just couldn't believe that anyone would be arrogant enough to risk the homes of 11 other families.
It went something like this:
"hey are you the guys with the candles in the hallway?"
"Yes"
"Could you please not do that? Leaving candles untended like that isn't cool."
'We're going in and out every...

Page 4
... five minutes."
"Then a flashlight would work, eh?"
"Look, we're going in and out every 5-10 minutes" (This becomes their refrain)
"Ok, well that's still untended and there's another 11 families living in this building."
Repeat "5-10 min" me "untended" a couple more times until...
"Ok look, we'll blow them out."
"No. I'll blow them out." (I'm such a trusting soul)

I stomp upstairs and tell Mike that if they re-light the damn candles I'm going to call the police.
I just checked and the lights are still out and I feel like a cranky bitch. Ahh Well.

Page 5

I can't wait to see the satellite images. Plus the images of Toronto & NY. My Porch by moonlight.

I stopped feeling guilty about being a bitch about an hour after I was one. Why? Because I watched the scary strobe of fire engine lights painting my living room several times in that hour. They were just clocking it up Erb at I'd guess something like 80 km/h, probably more.

And on that note, I'm posting this.

I did do a daily double earlier and the server ate it. And since I got about 20 minutes of unbroken sleep last night and feel like if I move wrong I may end up trapped by pain, unable to move... again, I'm going to just give up on the idea of posting a journal entry either written or photographic today. Maybe tomorrow.

1. What's the last place you traveled to, outside your own home state (Province!)/country?

I haven't been out of Canada in so long I can't remember where I went last. So We'll have to go with the out-of-province option. The last trip I took was to Nova Scotia last Christmas with Mike and Miss Sara to Mike's parents. Mike calls it the "armpit of Nova Scotia" aka Truro.

2. What's the most bizarre/unusual thing that's ever happened to you while traveling?

Um... I think that would have to be the "Love Bus". I was on the bus out to Truro from Toronto and damn near everyone that got on in Toronto ended up paired up with someone that got on in Montreal. It was an over-night trip so just think about what happened in the back. Uh huh. :)

3. If you could take off to anywhere, money and time being no object, where would you go?

1. Europe. I would love to explore everywhere. Do the touristy things, do the not so touristy things, experience a part of the world very different from North America.

2. I've always wanted to buy a VW Camper Van and drive across North America. While doing this I want to journal/photograph it all. Big daydream for me.

4. Do you prefer traveling by plane, train or car?

All have their great points. Plane means I can fly. Pure joy. Plus you get where you're going faster. Train is a wonderful way to see the countryside. It's a slower, easier way of travel, plus you can't beat that sound. Car I think is my favourite. Simply because there's so much flexibility.

5. What's the next place on your list to visit?

We're definitely going back to Nova Scotia this Christmas to visit family. But on my list of places to see, I think the top is taking Miss Sara to Vancouver. Show her my true hometown. But that'll take a while.

I never seem to write on the weekend. Oddly it's when I have the least amount of time to just get into something. There's always someone else around. I've been thinking about this entry all weekend though. I think I've finally come to a decision about SW. About what I want it to be, how I want to approach this career of mine, what's important, what's not and what I did wrong last year.

It's been 2 years now that I've been a soapmaker. I made my very first batch of soap on August 7, 2001. Within 2 months I had about 40 pounds of soap curing on Sara's desk. More soap than we would ever use in our lifetime.

So I started selling through Mike to his office to just get rid of some of that soap. Eventually some people online got interested and asked for a web page. I made a quicky webpage and started taking orders. Getting massive amounts of hands-on experience (not the same as the kind that comes with time, but valuable all the same) while making endless batches of soap. Around Christmas that year Mike insisted that I needed to register the business, go legal. I ignored him for several months until I was downtown Kitchener with time to kill and the $80 for the registration fee. On March 1, 2002 SkyWorks became official.

Since then it's been a ride. Up and down, left and right, out of control really. I think my best sales month was nearly $900 in sales. My worst hasn't been put on the books yet but it's definitely been in the past 6 months and well under $100. (1) I used to ignore those sales numbers and the amount of work I put into the business. Sweat equity. *snorts* It was a labour of love, not money. Until there was no love left.

Now it's just labour. I haven't made a batch of soap since the last Angel Wings... in March. That batch DOSed to hell and back and with that I lost the desire to create just to throw out. This is especially sad when you consider that 2 years ago I couldn't go a day without dreaming about soap, about the next batch I would create. There was a lot of love and fun there once. I managed to kill it with my idealism and generosity.

That's a funny thought, killing something with what should be positive things. But it's what happened. I kept thinking that if I was this great, wonderful, sharing person my business would succeed. Mike told me that it didn't work that way (2), but I didn't believe him. What happened was I kept bending over backwards, I kept giving extras and all I got back was expectations. I was expected to make this certain soap when they wanted it, simply because they wanted it. I was expected to process their orders on a Sunday afternoon. I somehow ended up with a stock list of over 30 types of soap, without the sales to afford a range like that. And because of the way I am instead of saying to these people, "Um. No. MY business. Go elsewhere if you don't like it." I started to hate my art. Bye-bye love.

I know I sound naive. I know I sound ungrateful. I know I sound like a victim.

That's my point.

Because that's exactly what I was, exactly what I set myself up to become. I started a business based on the way it was when I was a hobbyist selling to acquaintances. I never said "Ok, SLOW down. What do I want this to be? What do I need? What are my limits?" I just jumped in and rode the coaster until I fell off.

I think I'm finally thankful that I fell off that coaster ride. For the longest time I've been angry that quitting smoking "killed" my business. Or frustrated that people aren't loyal. I knew those weren't the reasons, and I knew the answer would come eventually. So I've been in a holding pattern for most of 2003, waiting for the answers to come. They finally arrived last Thursday as a quick random thought.

"I should clear out ALL of my stock with a massive sale and start over."

Pretty simple, eh? It stuck in my head like crazy glue. Over this past weekend I've bounced it off my Mom and Mike and in so doing I've clarified it even more for myself. It's gone from an idea to a rough outline of a plan and an understanding of my business I don't think I've ever had before. I think I finally understand that this isn't about making friends. This isn't about being popular. This isn't about me personally.

This is about a business. A product that is high quality, unique and useful. This is about what I want, what I am capable of, what works for me. This is about no longer wasting my time. This is what I should have done when I started. I have some of the answers I've been looking for...

• I don't want to work to make someone else money. That means no more debates about wholesale or consignment. Retail only.

• There is no way I can make, stock and sell 30+ types of soaps along with all the various bath & body stuff. It costs too much in supplies, time and space. Plus I end up throwing old stuff out. I need to pare down my product list to something manageable that doesn't piss off my few remaining customers. I'm thinking 10 standard stock soaps with monthly limited edition featured scents.

• I need to start fresh. Clear out all the old stock that's coming closer and closer to rotting in my cupboard. I am going to have a massive sale with rockbottom prices for a month. At the end of the month anything left is donated.

• I need to rediscover what I loved about soapmaking. What drove me to continually make soap 2 years ago. Why it was something I could do to escape from myself for that hour. I am going to find my inspiration.

• I need a plan. I need to know exactly what I want SW to be, where it's going, how I'm going to get it there. I need this so I can make solid decisions without doubt. (at least less doubt) I am going to make a business plan.

• I choose SW.
  

And with that, I am going to do the chores I should have done yesterday. While I do that I'm going to think some more and see what else I've decided.

1. Aspiring soapmakers, take a good look at those numbers. This is NOT a field where you quit your day job.

2. I still remember him saying it as we made our bed together one day. It's an image that is crystal clear in my memory.

Finally got my new chair. Yeah, the one mentioned um, June 1st. That thing I have about doctors when in pain, avoidance? It's not just with doctors. Mike finally told me off about getting a new chair when my back really started hurting.

So I went over to my Mom's today to pull a stuck tape out of the VCR and pick up a new chair from Staples on the way home. I took the digital camera and got a number of interesting shots of the innards of the VCR and more random stuff around Mom's place. I also figured out how to download pictures off Mom's fujipix camera. (Does anyone know how to make it number the images without resetting each time the card is emptied? I RTFM.)

To make a long drawn out boring story short, I fondled and sat in a good 20 chairs. My favourite was $300 and my second favourite was $129 and stinky leather. I am now the proud owner of a black leather chair, and my cats are just dying to get their paws on it.

Pictures to prove it:

Unita wondering if it's edible. She sniffed the entire thing.

My chair in all its glory, and a stella calculating the jump distance to the top of it.

And now I am going to try and find the perfect height on my new shiny chair, by registering more books at Book Crossing. :)

I've been getting these little prompts in my inbox for almost two weeks now, figured I might as well start doing them. For the Daily Double.

1. What time do you usually sleep currently?

Er, what? I'm going to assume that means what time do I get to sleep? I've been getting to sleep around 2am or so. I think I'm swinging towards my night owl sleep schedule. Which means in about a month I'll be getting to bed around 5am.

2. Is your room messy or clean?

Been a while since my space was confined to a room only. hee. My apartment at this moment is untidy. Base clean, but lots of crap scattered all over. Standard state for it.

You know, staring at a blank MT new entry template is just as frustrating as the infamous blank paper page.

I figure I have about and hour and a half to go until my back settles down and I start feeling normal. I paid attention to it yesterday morning and realized that I do get to feeling normal with the occasional twinge after about 2 hours in the morning. Puts a damper on doing anything early, but I'm not exactly insanely busy anymore.

My cousin is coming by in a bit to pick up an order she put in earlier this week. I'm not thrilled about it. I do enjoy spending time with her about 60% of the time, but usually it's tempered with the memory of things said like "If I didn't know how hard you work, I'd be dismayed at the mess in here" (said while a guest in my home) Um, yeah.

I guess I've just become really fixed on how much aggravation I'll put up with. Which is, well, very little. Especially in my home. One of the difficulties of the PTSD is I can be agoraphobic, sometimes very severely so. The main way I manage to keep it under control is having my home being my safe space. That means I'm pretty fierce about who comes in and how many chances you get.

That leads into my rant I mentioned in my last entry. yay!

...

A couple nights ago I was doing my bounce around the 'net and see what I find. I can never remember what brings me to each place, but I found a soapmaker with a fairly dusty journal. She had an entry about the pick-up customer and various other annoyances in the life of a small time soapmaker. I love what she has to say, it's so very true. Plus I admire that she put it out there like that. I sit on my rants like that because heaven forbid I offend a customer, or a potential customer.

So if you're one of the above that doesn't understand that PtF is my personal site, that I am a human being that gets pissed off occasionally and that my business isn't me, stop reading.

One thing she said that really sticks with me is "The only person who benefits from this arrangement is YOU, the greedy customer who is too cheap to pay shipping, or too impatient wait for an order to be delivered." re: the 'I'll just swing on by and pick that up then...' customer.

I had a very nice woman call me last Saturday looking to order and pick-up some soaps for a party. Since it was the long weekend I spent far too long debating my answer. On one hand I still have the business idealist deep in that thinks I should do anything and everything in my power to nail a sale. Even if it means I lose time and money in the process. That part of me still believes in customer loyalty. Crack smoker. heh.

On the other hand there's the me that watched my business die because I wasn't sitting in a chat room 24/7 promoting to my what I thought loyal customers. (I quit smoking in December and quite literally couldn't sit down in my computer chair and keep to my quit for almost 2 months. So I stayed away from the evil chair.) This me has over the past couple years learned to say No, learned that weekends are more precious than any sale, learned that Mike was right. Learned that no matter how hard you work you can still fail. I learned that people go for what is easiest, what is cheapest, and what is in their face.

(Disclaimer before my bitter overflows: I have loyal customers. I love them. They are the reason that I will never ever completely quit my business. You guys know who you are, and I love you! Smooch! ;) )

So on Tuesday I called back the very nice woman and left a message. She called me back and we discussed it. I didn't know what I would say until the words came out of my mouth to a "So I can't pick up my order?" were a very simple "No." No apology, no explanation, just No. Then of course, like most of humanity, she brought some pressure to change my mind. The standard "You'll lose my business" which only works if the business in question cares. Me? My home space staying private is worth a hell of a lot more than a $30 order.

After that exchange I changed the ordering page at SW to say "SW is a mail-order business. We do not accept pick-up orders." I thought it was clear before, but I guess not. Now it is.

Wondering why it's such a big deal? A few things actually. There's the straightforward zoning and lease issue. Very simply I am not allowed to run a business from here. Period. But more than anything else, this is my home. My safe place, my shelter, my sanctuary. It's not a space that has touches of personality, like a desk in a cube in a workplace or a storefront, it is absolutely personal. And as I said way up there at the start of this entry, I'm fierce about my home space.

What gets me is that most people are like I am about their personal space. I think that's part of why it maddens me so. It would be a horrible breech of etiquette to announce, "I'll be over later this week." to someone not running a home based business, and guaranteed they would hate it, so why is it ok to do it to me? hmm? Or when a No is given to attempt a not-so-subtle manipulation to get your own way. *shakes head*

I think it comes down to the tendency that really bothered me when I chatted all the time. It's the tendency to pigeonhole humanity. I am a soapmaker, so that's who I am. Period. I don't have any more facets to my self, my world than my role of providing soap when they want it, where they want it, and oh yes, not to be forgotten, how they want it. My desire to keep my home and my business separate is an inconvenience to them and therefore nonsensical.

*sighs* I've just managed to remind myself of what I despise about this job of mine... and I haven't even gotten into the demands of what to make and when to make it or the basic, non-interpersonal problems of small scale manufacturing. Is it any wonder that I'm just not sure that I want to do this anymore? I make a good product, I have some amazing customers, but I just don't know.

And on that familiar note, I'm off to my shower.

It feels as if I should be breaking open a fortune cookie with "You will wake from a semi-nightmare with a back that spasms at the slightest movement and a hip that needs to be treated like spun glass."

The hip is old news, I even *gasp* saw my doctor about it over a year ago. She told me to go to Physio which I still have yet to do. (Sacral-Iliac Joint Dysfunction, say that 5 times fast) I'm one of those people that must drive doctors crazy. I'll ignore pain and/or problems until they just hurt too much then I'll go get it checked. If the pain ends up retreating to tolerable levels, I'll start ignoring it again.

Which is what happened to my hip in the past year. It went from dragging myself up the stairs with my arms because my hip wouldn't take my weight to normal except when I try to turn over in bed at night. Ignore it land. It's flaring a little bit lately, not a big deal in itself. What's been bad is my back lately. In the mornings I'll drag my sorry ass out of bed and it will spasm on the smallest movements. Picking up my coffee cup hurts!

Ahh well. It's gotten to the point that I finally called my doctor, so I'm heading out to Toronto in a couple weeks. Until then I'll dose myself with Advil as infrequently as I can manage and take each morning as it comes.

I'm really off on a bunch of emails and stuff for SkyWorks that I should get started on soon. Plus there's a rant I've been tossing around in my head most of this weekend I want to post a bit later.

1. What time do you wake up on weekday mornings?

Lately around 9 - 9:30am. If I'm in early bird mode I get up much earlier, around 7am.

2. Do you sleep in on the weekends? How late?

Nope. Since I can get up when I want normally, I don't feel the need to sleep in on the weekend. I will take naps though, in the afternoons on weekends.

3. Aside from waking up, what is the first thing you do in the morning?

Go pee. Every single morning. Then make coffee.

4. How long does it take to get ready for your day?

If it's an average day, I like to take one coffee cup worth of time to get moving. So about an hour. Sometimes it can take 2 hours, and if I'm in a rush I can get myself in gear in about 10 minutes.

5. When possible, what is your favourite place to go for breakfast?

If I'm going out with family/friends for breakfast I always want to go to Mel's Diner. And my favourite breakfast if I'm road tripping is always McDonald's.

Yay! An easy one! (I still have last weeks in draft. *sigh*)

Miss Sara is 8. this means she's pretty much old enough to go out and play in the neighbourhood without an adult hovering, to walk herself to school or camp, to do the various first steps towards complete independence of her parents. She's also the age I was when I was first raped.

It's a bittersweet feeling. On one hand I realize that I had no say, no control, no power because she really doesn't and I was no different. On the other it's so very crystal clear to me that she's vulnerable. So young, so pretty, so naive. Everything you want a child to be, but it strikes a core of fear in me that is as much a part of me as my soul.

There's this fight in me all the time now; the wise part of me that says I can't watch her every minute and she needs to learn how to live her life, on her own and then there's the part of me that wants to ensure in every way possible that she never faces that kind of pain and work I have done to become something resembling a whole person.

Because it ruins a life. To have your innocence taken from you, so young, means you never know what it's like to be free. Honestly, completely free. I watch Sara now and I see a child I don't remember ever being. Confident that she's loved, confident that the world around her will take care of her as she learns from it, confident in her immortality.

I knew I was mortal, that I would die, that I had no control over my death far far too young. I don't fear it now, as a 28 year old adult and I find it's a gift that allows me to find beauty and grace in growing older. But a child has no need for that knowledge as it cripples their ability to take reasonable chances, to learn and grow 'normally'. A child that knows that death comes when it wants takes stupid risks. I took stupid risks.

I look at my daughter, at this light of innocence that glows within her and I want to keep it safe. I want her to discover the wonder that is life without the bitter seed of reality. Reality comes too soon for everyone, there's no need for her to taste it before its time.

I just don't know how. I know if I smother her with my presence, I will damage her all the same. I'll just do it with love rather than with the sadism my damage was dealt me. So where's my balance? Where's my center point between my terror of my history becoming a truth for her, and my calm self that knows that a child needs freedom to grow?

I just don't know.