The always great and wonderful Monday morning has arrived. Along with the every week sense of not getting everything I wanted done on the weekend. Granted my list of things I want to get done in my days is obscenely long and ambitious. I should simply be happy that I finally made it to Yoga class on Saturday. I wasn’t able to do the entire class – my back objected about midway through the “forward facing dog” or whatever she called it – but I went and did as much as I could.

I realized this weekend that my hand strength is getting more and more pathetic. I’m considering picking up one of those hand spring thingies that are designed to increase your hand strength from Dollarama. I think I’m losing muscle strength all the way around because of how bad my back hurts. I get all wimpy and overly careful about what I’m willing to do when I’m at the gym or even at home. Going to have to do something about that as well – losing muscle strength is just going to make my pain issues worse.

I think a goal I’m going to set myself for this week is to go explore the Athletic Complex here on campus. If I know where everything is and what’s available I might be able to convince myself to pop into the gym for a quick workout some morning. Fear of the unknown, baby!

I think as much as I want to be exercising my artistic self, it’s just not important to me right now. I’m looking around this gorgeous space (the science building atrium area) just filled with lines, trees and light and I see dozens of great photographs… and I don’t regret that my camera is at home. That does make me a bit sad when I acknowledge it, but not sad enough that I want to add the extra weight of the camera to my backpack load.

*ponder* Perhaps this is something the pain has taken from me. Hard to focus on beauty and capturing that beauty when there’s the fear that the pain is going to come back and steal my breath from me. But it also gives me a focus as well. I need to get my strength back, I need to make the pain go away, I need to take care of my physical self right now.

How incredibly boring. *laughs*

Waiting for my next class to start. I’m in a smaller lecture hall this time, but the seats are *awesome*. Going to have to figure out how to hold my laptop without dropping him in lecture though. At the moment I have him on my lap with the neoprene case acting as a leveler. Not bad, but definitely not ideal. I have visions of dropping my laptop and boom, bye-bye lots and lots of money. Paranoia is such fun.

I’m wondering how they’re going too fit nearly 200 people in this room though. I have the sneaking suspicion that I’m going to be sharing elbow space with someone. I have a far too huge personal bubble. I think I’ve decided to sit at the front of class from here on in at this point, it’s easier for me to get the room I want, I can record the prof more clearly, and most importantly, less people around me. Ew, people.

I hope the fog sticks around today. Last night on the way home from the gym, I was exhausted but so, so wanting to go on a photo shoot with my film camera and my new shiny tripod. I’ve wanted to do long night exposures for several years now. Just never had the tripod, but now that’s been solved. If it’s nice and foggy tonight again I’ll go take the shots I missed last night.

I think I’m going to do class then go home to work on my stuff from yesterday. I kind of let the bare essentials slide, which means I now have to do a full hour today to catch up. Whee, It’s kind of sad how much work I need to do to make up for some fucknut’s brilliant idea of “whole language”. Whole language, my ass. I have a fundamental lack of knowledge when it comes to grammar and how it works. I can obviously manage on a casual level, but that’s no longer good enough.

So it’s a goal this year too make up for what I’m missing. I’m counting on my ability to learn quickly here. That’s a bit naive, though. How can I reasonably expect too make up for 12 years of “grammar BAD!” within a year? Is this an expectation I can fulfill? We’ll see.

One of the big things I have to work on is my defensive reaction to being corrected. The lovely young woman that works in he WLU writing center pointed out how weak my sentence structure is. (and that right there is bad, I know it’s bad, I don’t know why or how to change my sentence so it doesn’t end with is) My reaction to that obvious, known fact being pointed out was shame and feeling like an idiot. I guess I expect that I should have known all this automatically.

So on one hand I condemn “whole language” for being a bullshit method of education, and on the other I still expect it to have worked. Unreasonable. Another little thing to add to my copious list of things to work on. Acceptance that through no fault of my own, I wasn’t given the tools to excel here. Accept that it’s a challenge to overcome and it doesn’t make me stupid or an idiot. I’m not sure if I can. It makes me question myself, question the years gone into writing for this journal. I thought I was a skilled writer… but how can I be skilled if I have no clue how a sentence is well constructed?

And that’s a rough 30 minutes and time for class to begin shortly. That is if the prof ever shows up. :)

God my back aches today. Still, I need to do laundry so I have clean clothes to wear to class this afternoon, so I guess it’ll be a move around then use the heating pad type of day. I already got some groceries for us, since I was in Giant Tiger and they do sell some perishables. Their plus size area seems to have disappeared though. Not that I ever bought any clothing from there, but I still like having the option. (of buying cheap, poorly made clothing. Woo!)

I have my portfolio page to write about yesterday’s MI 201 class. I think I’m going to ponder on paper how odd I find the desire to live close and be social, yet they won’t invite someone into their homes unless they’re very close friends. I wonder if it’s the same for Morocco. I should ask Abdou, or save it and ask him as my professor later. Make myself look all clever. ;)

It’s weird trying to run my days now with school there, looming over me. That sounds a lot more negative than it actually is, it’s just there. I have class at 2:30, I want to leave by 1:30, so I have enough time to do… blah. The structure it brings to my life is both awesome and really difficult to get used to. I mean, I resent that I had to go grocery shopping this morning because it takes away from my limited pool of time I have to take care of other things.

Also, working in the evenings on anything more focused than reading over my notes and pulling out the main points is not going to happen. Sara bounces around, Mike wants to talk or wants affection ( I mean, really! Hrmph! Hee) the cats are everywhere, and I feel like I need to be on as Mommy as well.

Oh, there’s a tangent. Sara’s new guilt trip method is to exclaim that I’m shooing her because I don’t want to spend time with her. I apparently don’t want her around. Yeah. I shoo her because if she was left to her own devices, she’d show up at school around noon and go to bed around 2am. Plus, she’d never get decent sleep so she’d be a foul bitchy bear to be around. Also, her room would devolve from messy to an allergy ridden hell hole. She’s 10. She needs to be told what to do to a certain degree. Oi.

Oh well. Parenthood, whee.

Imaginus was on Campus last week. (big university poster sale) I got this lovely watercolour of a cat for Sara, a phenomenal photograph of a family of lions and I finally bought myself a Georges Meis print I’ve been coveting for a few years now. It’s currently on my wall behind my desk, but I suspect I’ll frame it before long. The more I look at it, the more I realize that I like it so very much because it’s the picture I would have shot myself. The framing is exactly the way I like to do it.

I’ve always known that we enjoy the art that we ourselves would create, but it’s never been quite as clearly displayed for me as it is now. It also makes me wonder if I’ll be able to break out of my composition mind set and shoot what is considered good photojournalism. At the meeting on Sunday the guy was going through examples of Pulitzer prize winning photographs, and I kept thinking to myself “wow, that’s… plain” or similar.

Blasphemy, I know. It just doesn’t appeal to me on an artistic level. Plus I have serious issues with the concept that there is ever a time that someone’s private grief needs to be photographed and shown. I don’t believe there is a tactful way to stick a camera in someone’s face when they’re in pain, crying, afraid, etc. To say otherwise is delusion. I guess I’d feel better about the concept of photojournalism in negative or difficult times if it was more honest. If I wasn’t sitting in a chair reading a slide show put together by a young man who makes it very plain how he feels about “getting the shot” in his tone alone.

But then again, I choose to never watch or read the news because I think it is emotionally and spiritually draining. I choose to not be someone that watches people hurt, kill and torment each other then turn it off, perhaps tisk a few times and then go on with my comfortable North American life.

And I have no idea how to go on from that point. Good thing that the timer saved me. That’s 30.

I’m sick again. Started on Saturday morning with all the same signs as a severe allergy reaction. It got worse until I had to admit even to myself that I was getting a cold. I’ve been sniffling and sneezing and coughing ever since. Joy. Woke up at 4am this morning, just suffocating in snot (mmmm, yummy) and decided to get up instead of continuing to keep Mike awake. Finally fell back to sleep on the couch around 5:30. Enh. I hope it goes away soon. I should also remember to carry alcohol gel in my bag so I’m not making all my classmates sick.

Ahh yes, today is the start of my second week in university. I have class at 4 but I’ve already been on campus once today to drop off my portfolio pages and get a new Onecard. I managed to lose my student card in less than a month of having it. That’s absurd. Twenty bucks and a visit to the library later and I have a new card and I can access the library from home.

This is good since I have an assignment due for my tutorial class on Wednesday. I have to use the internet as a research source and explore if it’s a good resource or not. The answer to that one is no, Bob. Anyway, I’ll do it because I’m a massive keener when it comes to school and I want obscenely good marks.

Not going to be hard. Everyone, meet my new friend, arrogance. But oh my god, university is easy. Show up to lecture, make good notes, introduce yourself to your professor and ask questions if you have any, do the work as it is assigned, keep up with your readings, and figure out a system for all this that works for you. I cannot comprehend the kids that come to university and then bag their classes.

Maybe it’s because I’m coming in as an adult, but I’m acutely aware of how much this is costing me and my family. Each course cost about $500, before books. We dropped $1500 on this term alone. That’s a major payment towards clearing off our car loan, or a chunk towards a decent down payment on a house. In many ways our lives are being put on hold, well more our life plans are, so that I can go to school. We’re investing in our future.

It’s the same for everyone. Someone pays that bill, be it OSAP, parents, yourself, whatever. It’s a bit more expensive for me as a part-time student, but not that much more. So why do these kids skip class? Is there a sense of entitlement there? That the degree is owed them because they’ve paid? That showing up is optional?

I don’t know. It’s been interesting interacting with the administration and services on campus. I’m 30 years old, I worked at Laurier 12 years ago, I know in many ways the way universities work, what I need to have as a student, I’m motivated and driven to succeed there and I will milk all the services I’m paying for to the maximum I can. Put that up against people who are used to dealing with 18ish year old that apparently don’t know their heads from their asses, and it’s been frustrating in many ways.

For example, I went into the health clinic to get my depo-provera shot done. I was honest and said I was outside the recommended limit of 13 weeks for re-injection. Oh my god, they had to have a pregnancy test. I stated clearly that 1. I’m not pregnant. 2. I know exactly the last time I had sex. 3. I don’t pee on a stick for anyone. Oh nos, still had to see the doctor. I had another appointment, so I didn’t sit and wait like a good girl for the doctor to say “ok, she doesn’t need a pregnancy test.” I came back later. And surprise, surprise, I didn’t need a pregnancy test.

The reasoning given to me for their blanket insistence on a pregnancy test was that they frequently get women in there who are blatantly lying about their sexual history. That there’s a real chance that these women could be pregnant and the depo would cause major problems. That there are women coming in and saying “he pulled out, I can’t be pregnant!” to the staff.

Shit, man. When I was in my 20s I was fairly promiscuous and I was never that stupid. Sex makes babies. I know, shocking isn’t it? Sex also spreads sexually transmitted diseases. I’m just full of these amazing and foreign concepts. *shakes head*

I’m finding what I need to do when I run up against the people that are unable to deviate from their “idiot teenager” script I just need to try and find someone that actually looks at *me* and realizes that I left idiot teenager behind quite some time ago. The doctor was like that and she’s going to help me with some additional therapy options. Awesome.

It’s a weird world, this university land I’m now a member of. I love it though. My classes and professors are amazing. The work is easy peasy.

And that’s 30. Time to keep working on re-creating my morning routine.

To think, when the building was sold, I was hoping that would be the end of the ridiculous landlord dramas we've been having for years now. I started realizing that was not going to be the case when I started making quiet notes to myself along the lines of "Ok, remember that spot. If it's still there when we get back from Alberta... I'll do something... maybe". And then on the return from Alberta noting the same spot and making a mental note to see if it was still there when we returned from Nova Scotia.

The spot finally went away last Saturday morning. In my fairly experienced opinion in both the making of considerable messes and cleaning them up, this building hasn't been cleaned since our new landlords took over in July. And honestly, the "cleaning" the building received this past weekend is pretty fucking pathetic. There's still crap all over the carpets.

Anyways, the drama was all in email. Mike covered it better, so I'll direct your attention to his journal entry about it. Boiling it down to the basics, Mike (the diplomat of our relationship) emailed our new Property Manager about the mess in the building, got brushed off, the Linda (the hard hitter) stepped in and asked straight out when we could expect the building to be cleaned as the level of filth was unacceptable.

In return I got this gem of an email:

Not true. I am one week behind and already have made arrangements to catch up tomorrow. If you were at all concerned about the cleanliness of your home you would not let your cat run unleashed throughout the building or place its food in the hallway. I have had to clean up cat feces in the halls. These acts that you are committing are contributing to the filth and at times stench in the halls. Today when I met some of the new tenants moving in several of them expressed concern about this as they have allergies as I do myself. The building will be thoroughly cleaned tomorrow and from this point on I expect your cat(s) to be contained to your apartment at all times. I will do my part but you have to do yours as well. Please be considerate and respectful of your neighbors and fellow tenants.

Oh. My. Fucking. God. Please note that I received this at 4am Saturday morning, because I was awake with my stupid-ass-pain-filled back. I sat there for a good 40 minutes just gap jawed in disbelief and shaking with fury. I finally gave up and asked Mike to get up and help me calm down. (I'm doing better with dealing with stress and my anger, but sometimes I just end up broadsided with it and have no idea how or where to direct it.)

Anyways, we sent a blunt yet polite email in response, copy at Mike's journal and I've spent the rest of the weekend just simmering over this entire bullshit. If I'm awake, I'm thinking about it. Thinking about what I can do about this. Thinking about how unjustified those accusations were. Thinking about how much I hate conflict. Thinking about where my lines are and when I'll stop bending and fight. When I wasn't thinking I was playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas obsessively. Mostly to stop the simmering processes a little.

I woke up on Sunday morning with a very clear fact in my head. As tenants, we are customers of the company that employs this charmer. From when they took control of our building to the point our lease comes up for renewal we will spend $9240 with their company in exchange for space rental and utilities. This is a business relationship, and Mr. Flynn has been utterly unprofessional both in his interactions with me and in his care of our building to this point.

So, the next mental step is "what do I do when faced with unprofessional behaviour?" and the answer is as it always has been, I can either ignore it or I can do something about it. Since his title is "Property Manager", that means he's someone's employee and I bet you they'd be mighty interested in how their employee is treating their customers. So... let's find that mailing address that he failed to provide us with in his introductory letter and have a conversation with the owner of our building.

That's the plan for today. I'm going information hunting. Once we have that, I'm going to start writing. See where these steps take me.

What's funny in all this is as an abuse survivor I hate conflict. It stresses me the fuck out. Makes me terrified as an automatic reaction and triggers my fight or flight mechanism. I fled on Saturday morning. Went out of breakfast, walked the campus of Laurier with Mike, visited my Mom for a little bit. Then I woke up on Sunday morning ready to fight. I warned him. His response was "blah, blah, blah..." more fool he.

And that's 30.

The spins are back this morning. Not bad enough to make me walk into walls, but enough that I don't think I should be driving at all today unless they calm down a lot. I guess it's going to take me a while to recover from this, woe to me. Ahh well. I needed to do some stuff around the apartment anyways. Like the fabulous laundry! Woo!

Today marks the end of my first week with my new routine. I think it's been a success so far. I get things done without feeling overwhelmed and tired. Now just to keep it up.

The way it's worked out is in these separate chunks.

Morning Routine:

Start the Coffee, feed the cats, and water my garden.
Have breakfast and yummy coffee, post to the photoblog, check in on my silly pirate game, read some forums, check email, take my meds.
Do the dishes of Evil.
(Day One) Brush teeth, shower, lotion feet with amazing shea butter lotion, get dressed, brush hair.
(Day Two) Brush Teeth, wash face, get dressed, brush hair.
Write and post journal entry.
30 minute tidy.

I have gone out between the grooming stage and journal stage a few times this week, but it seems to get done all the same. I used to scatter all the various things throughout my day, for example I'd have my shower before I had to go out somewhere. Now having it done in the morning means I'm ready to go at any point and my hair's not wet either. *laughs* Plus having each stage flow into the next means I'll become used to it.

I'm a hell of a lot more accepting of doing things I don't like doing when it's simply something I do. Like the dishes, I hate doing the dishes. I'm very good at it, stuff comes out fabulously clean and shit, but god, I hate it so. But I hate doing the litter boxes more, so the deal I made with Mike and Sara is that the two of them do the litter, I do the evil dishes. *sighs*

I hope I find it as easy to do it in the morning when I actually start cooking again and there's more there to be done. The solution is not to cook! Hee. If it weren't for Miss Sara I'd probably do just that, cook easy crap and be done with it. Alas, the kidlet needs food to continue growing like a weed, so that's not an option.

Continuing with my routine layout, my evenings look like:

Floss and brush teeth.
Wash face.
Get changed, apply Vitamin A crème to face, lotion feet.

It's a bit weird to do things before bed like that, but my teeth definitely feel better, and if flossing daily will ward off another root canal, I'm all for it, baby! Not sure about my face yet, I think it'll take a few more weeks before I see any results. My feet are doing fabulously with the lotion routine though. The cracks on my heels are healing up and most of the calluses are softening. Shea butter is amazing; it has this nifty effect on skin, making it supple and younger feeling and looking. Since I don't need to save my shea stockpile for SkyWorks anymore, I can make as much lotion as I want. Woo!

That's something I should work on today, perhaps. Cleaning out my SkyWorks supplies and sorting what I could possibly sell to other soapmakers, and what I want to keep for my own use. Recouping some of my expenses would be very nice. Plus there's no need for the shelving in the kitchen to be filled with supplies for a dead and gone business, not when I can use the space for a pantry.

It's amazing how much space SkyWorks took up in here now that I stop to think about it -- the shelving in the kitchen, the cupboard in our bedroom. I clean out both and I'll suddenly have somewhere to store my supplies for my various interests. My word, what will I do without my painting boards sitting on top of the radiator behind my desk?

We'll have to see how ambitious I actually am today once I get finished with my 30 minute tidy. Plus I wonder if I'm feeling spinny today because I pushed it too hard yesterday. I certainly didn't feel well by the time I finished walking through the Farmer's Market. If so, it's a bad idea to push it again today. I just hate not being able to do things. I want to *choose* when I slow down, not have it forced upon me by illness.

Again, I'm not a good or patient sick person. :) Enh. I have writing and phone calls to be done on my list, so I can still take it slow and get stuff done. I need to find out pricing for enlargements of some of the photographs I took on our travels. Then I need to write a letter to the newlyweds with the 4x6 prints I had made for them of their wedding, and let them know how much it'll be to get any of those shots enlarged.

I'm no wedding photographer, but I did some good work there, I think. I find it hard to work with people though. I prefer things. I can circle things to find the perfect angle without feeling self-conscious. Hee. I'll put scanning my negatives on my to do list, so eventually all my good shots from the 9 films I shot on our trips will end up on the photoblog. Hopefully cropped to the right size this time! (My latest batch of processed images I mistakenly sized to my old size.)

And that is 30 minutes. See you all on Monday. :)

Ahhh, the first day I actually felt capable of driving. I've driven a couple times to pick up Mike before today, but it always felt like I was taking my life in my hands doing so. Decided to drop Mike off at work and tie it into trying to pay my tuition with the backup Credit card. The due date on my invoice is August 30th, but the due date for the rest of the world is August 25th.

And really after my experiences so far with Laurier's bureaucratic troops, I'd like to give them as few chances to fuck up my life as I possibly can. Why yes, that does mean I think they'll slap me with a late charge if I pay by my invoice date. I can easily see myself dealing with them for months over something as simple as a due date.

But no love. The only way we could put it on the credit card is by doing a cash advance, and that's just stupid. So I guess we play the waiting game and hope the line of credit gets set up before the due date. Or I could take my Mom up on her offer to spot us the cash and get it done. Blah, I don't know.

At least I now have all my textbooks in my happy little hands. Stopped into the bookstore today and picked up the book I needed for the Mediterranean Studies course. I didn't even wear my sunglasses, even though my eyes are still a bit bloody. I don't really care anymore. If someone is curious, they can ask me what happened, if not, whatever. I've spent way too much time holed up in this bloody apartment to continue my hermitage just because I don't want to risk freaking out random strangers.

It's amazing how used to having mobility I've become. This past week and some change I've been home bound for the most part because of my ear. I hate it. I was slowly going mad because my photos from the trips this summer were finally developed, but I couldn't get to Dollarama to buy the albums I use to archive my photos. Something so simple, but the lack was driving me utterly batshit.

I got Mike to take me to Dollarama last night and then had a fabulous time organizing my shots. Plus they're finally labelled on the spine. Woo! Internally organized and externally, finally. I need to price out some options for how to get my photos available to be added to the photoblog. Getting the negatives scanned is fairly easy, but costs $2 per strip. I'm at the point now that I have so many negatives that it may be a better choice to buy a scanner that can handle negatives instead.

It appeals because then I can get access to my black and white shots without having to either pay through the nose for developing or find a darkroom and fumble my way through re-learning how to use it. Just scan, tweak in Photoshop, and get prints made. Super easy.

Maybe I'll do that today, see what the prices are on scanners that can handle negatives.

I still have to do my 30 min tidy for today's morning routine. I'm trying to create morning and bedtime routines for myself so I don't feel so scattered and lost in the new stuff that's coming. Plus there have always been various things I've always meant to do but never have because of my bad habits.

Like, for example, I run myself to exhaustion at night then I basically toss myself at my bed. No time in there for applying the Vitamin A crème my Doctor prescribed to clean up my wee little acne. No time to brush my teeth. No time to read, even. And I regret that at odd times. So, a routine. An expectation that I'll head to bed around 10pm, brush my teeth, wash my face, put on the crème, lotion my feet and read until I fall asleep.

And on the other side of the day, a routine that allows me to get all my home stuff done right at the start, giving me the rest of the day to focus on school, etc. I'm still getting a feel for how long it's going to take me in the mornings to do my new routine. I get so easily sucked into my silly pirate game when I eat breakfast that it skews my timing.

Ok, that's a bit more than 20 minutes but I don't feel like writing anymore. :) Till tomorrow!

You know those little bobble head toys that people put in their windows? The ones that nod and jiggle as you drive? Yeah. That's me. I'm on day nine of an inner ear infection that has just been kicking my ass.

So not last weekend, but the weekend before, I'm up at the cottage with Mike and a bunch of my extended family. We're playing Euchre, I'm having a glass of nice white wine, it's all good. I get to feeling sleepy, so upstairs we go. I stagger a tiny bit when walking to the bathroom and Mike teases me about being drunk. Now I know I'm a cheap drunk now, but one glass of wine a stagger does not make.

Wake up the next morning with the spins, on the light cycle. Feeling a little queasy but whatever. So I stagger around, eat a bit of toast then promptly throw up the toast. Thus begins a day filled with increasing vertigo and vomiting that made me pray for my eyes to pop out, just so the incredible pressure in my head could be relieved somewhat.

In about 12 hours I went from being able to sit up and feeling mildly dizzy and pukey to needing something, anything over my eyes so that I wouldn't try to focus on anything and vomiting if I dared to sit up or open my eyes. Just nasty. I mean, I'd open my eyes and I couldn't track anything. But I'd try. It's amazing how automatic sight is. You look at something, it slips away, you go back, etc, until you puke. *sighs*

So finally I ask Mike to call the telehealth number because the vomiting was starting to scare me. The spins, enh, they sucked, but whatever. Not being able to keep anything down at all, scary. Plus I was damned hungry. The response of the nice lady on the phone was to tell Mike to get me to a hospital within the hour. Apparently the spins and vomiting is also a potential sign of a stroke.

We get to KW, er, Grand River Hospital and I get Mike to put me in a wheelchair because at this point I've learned that opening my eyes is an intensely bad idea and I have zero interest in stumbling around a strange ER. Go through the standard hoops of getting admitted to ER, and I ask the nurse if I can lie down (to keep the vomiting at bay, you see.) "Oh we don't put stretchers in the waiting room, you understand why of course." was the response, implying heavily that it would look bad or something.

So I took great joy in violently vomiting into my fabulous stainless steel bowl (they didn't think to provide me with something else to puke in, of course) in the middle of their very lovely waiting room... and then sobbing and crying because it hurt so badly. I hope she felt like a fucking bitch. I really do. At least once I made it into the inner sanctum everyone I dealt with was fabulous and gentle with me.

Insert sleeping poorly on a stretcher, cracking jokes with the nurse that put the IV into me, having Mike read and stroke my hair, a doctor surprised at how bad the eye jumping (hell if I remember the name of it) was, and finally getting up and walking out. None too steady, but walking out, with my eyes open (a tiny bit). Thank you Gravol!

That was Sunday. *sighs*

Monday I discovered that all that violent vomiting had created haemorrhaging in my eyes. I looked like a zombie. I couldn't walk without whamming into the walls.

It's been getting better slowly, but I'm going mad. I can't drive; it's not safe. I'm basically wandering around like a drunk, and my reaction times are about the same. I keep thinking I'm getting better, and then I stand up for too long and want to keel over again. Dr. McKeown has told me that it's just going to take time to heal -- both the infection and the haemorrhages.

It's maddening to me when I'm not capable of doing what needs to be done. When I can't just take out the recycling that's piling up. Or do a quick jaunt over to Dollarama to get more photo albums so I can archive my pictures from the trips this summer. When I just feel like shit and there's nothing I can do about it to make it better at all except wait.

At least now I can read. The first part of last week, I couldn't focus on anything at all, it was all blurry and kept spinning by me. Today my left eye is blurry and annoying, but I can sit and read my forums, I can stand around and be super-greeter and chat in my silly pirate game. Thank god.

Plus I managed to clean my desk and file some crap. So, little silver linings, I guess.

God, I'm tired.

I started on Zoloft a week and a half ago. I just couldn't shake my depression, the unplumbed depths of my apathy, my general fatigue, how distant I was from everything and everyone in my quiet self. So my doctor and I had a chat and she prescribed Zoloft because it's an energy booster, apparently. And as she said "You don't need to be any more mellow than you already are."

After the first couple days I started to realize that I was really craving my naps. I wanted to sleep so much. This isn't a facet of my depression as it is now, so it was surprising. (I'm more likely to spend an entire day staring at my monitor reading forums and drooling on myself than I am to have a nap.) Now it's all I can think about.

It's taken on the flavour of some bizarre nutcase sexual fantasy.

*thinks of curling up around a hot water bottle and wrapping my huge pile of blankets around me* Oh yes, baby, just like that. *thinks of tucking the edges of my blankets under me so I'm cocooned by them, with just my nose peeking out to breathe* ooooh, ahhhh, thats so hawt! *Passing out* Yes! Yes!

The hell.

Yesterday I led myself around my chores and Need To Be Dones with the carrot of a nap. Get them done; just 30 minutes more and then sleep! Oooh, yes, baby. Then I napped for an hour, woke up, picked up Sara from school and Mike from work, and zombied my way around my evening. Until 10pm when I suddenly woke up.

I'm in hell.

The irony is delicious though. I love irony. The medication I'm taking to relieve my apathy and fatigue due to depression is making me so exhausted I don't feel safe to drive and all I want to do is pass out. Oh, and I'm still depressed. I'm also now clamping down pretty hard on a part of me that wants to freak the fuck out.

Practical says it's been less than 2 weeks. That it's going to take at least 4 before I can truly assess the benefits and negatives of the medication. That expecting something magic and instant is a sure road to driving myself batshit crazy. That it's not unknown to feel the side effects of a medication before I experience the benefits.

I don't care. All I know is that I'm less useful now than I was when I was a weeping, grieving mess and it's not like my responsibilities have taken a vacation. I still have a child to feed and mother. I have a home and a family that I take care of, that's my job, and I just can't. I have an hour until lunch, when I need to feed said child, and I don't know if I'm going to make it without passing out cold on the floor first.

Then I think about the what-ifs, what if the benefits don't kick in? I then have to wean off, wait for it to clear out of my system and try again with something else? Do I potentially have at least a month of this exhaustion? On top of my already considerable depression? What if it gets worse?

Borrowing trouble, I know, I know. I just... I just really wanted it to get better. Not worse. I'm pretty fucking tired of worse. *shrugs* Enh, patience is a virtue I don't have, I guess I get to practice. Lucky me.

30 minutes on the new digital cheap ass timer and me and Word. Where do the questions end? If I follow the paths they lay out for me to follow, how far do I go in the quest for the answers? Where do I stop? What's the cost I'm willing to pay?

Everything is a reflection of my life and how I understand it. I see god in the details of my life. I see hell in the details of others. I am insatiably curious about everyone, who they are, their motivations for how they are, the way they see and interact with their worlds. I am just as fascinated with myself.

At the same time I am supremely disconnected from everyone and everything. Including myself. There's a part of me that sits in the back of my mind and just observes, observes, observes. I write now because that observer part of my self watched me lose my breath over an away message on gaim.

A new question for me. A new path for me to follow. A piece of potential truth I need to tiptoe my way through the lies and self-deceits in order to follow. Even if this little message wasn't for me, it speaks to me and it gives me a sand grain of truth to search out.

I self-describe as endearing yet annoying. That I am both. People find my perceived innocence and openness and naivety endearing. That I am so determined to ask the probing, difficult questions makes me annoying. I'm stubborn and demanding. It's not terribly attractive, I know. But I figure my friends don't care... much.

I'm so very tired. I'm so very exhausted. I've been fighting a deep, blinding depression for 10 months now and it's just not lifting. It's left me vulnerable to being used; it's left me looking at my life, dissatisfied and unhappy. I have so very much to be very proud of, but I can't feel it. I'm so very disassociated.

All that's left me is this love of humanity. People make me feel something, this driving curiosity. I want to know. Perhaps to make up for the lack of knowing within myself. I don't know what's left to do. I've started taking the anti-depressants to try and lift it, and it's been a week. And all I feel is exhausted.

I used to plead with the heavens, with the sky I wanted to touch and embrace, to make me normal, to make me feel alive and human. To feel real. No, to be real. To be more than arms length away from my life. To be further away than immersed in the pain. I don't plead anymore. I just make it through my days as best I can, and give thanks that they're no longer such agony, and hope for something more.

I once wanted someone to want me. To have a crush on me. It was a quiet wish, because I was tired of being tired. I was tired of being practical and smart and in control. I missed a time once when I was wanted, by a lot of people. An empty time, but as time passes, so does the knowledge of how empty it truly was. Instead I get tired and I make wishes that are answered by liars with their stories perfectly formed to get to me.

This is the colour of my depression. This is the measure of my days. This exhaustion. I sometimes wonder what price I am paying, for what sin I visited upon another, what I did to earn a life like this. And then I realize what a life I have, coloured with such intense beauty. For what has broken the shadows have been moments of such intense and beautiful light.

And now I'm out of thoughts to follow and type out. Well, not really. I'm out of the ones I'll put out to be consumed, read, experienced by other people. There are always the thoughts that I follow around inside my head, where it's safe and no back-stories to be explained to have the entire context. Context just is.

It's time to step back and slow down. I have a visual in my head of the Tai Chi step, "Reach up to pat horse" when I say that. Step back and extend. I'm just so very tired. Here's hoping the drugs will make it go away, eh? *laughs*

Oh, the away message?

"I've been looking so long at my pictures of you, that i almost believe that they're real "

Lovely, isn't it?

Won't be able to post this for some undetermined amount of time since it appears that my host managed to booch scripts pretty badly. Aka, my movable type is down. Bah.

So I've been home from DC for 3 days now. So much to write down to remember, so many pictures to get transferred from film to digital so I can put them up. I need to find somewhere that scans from negatives. My prints are absolute shit. They have digital artefacts on some of them. I know what grain looks like. This is so not standard 400 ASA grain, it's the kind of crap I get on my pics from my digital camera. I really suspect that they're scanning the negatives and printing the pictures digitally.

Which would be fine, if it didn't look like shit. I'm really annoyed by this. It makes the actual prints I got done un-scannable. GAH! I at least have some pure beautiful shots.

I think I learned a few things this trip. The most remarkable to me is how fundamentally different the states and Americans are from my home and myself. I think the culture shock was such a surprise to me because I expected something a lot more similar. I mean, we look the same, we talk the same (for the most part), we watch the same TV shows, the same movies, so much is the same, and should be the same. But it's not.

I remember one of my history teachers once showing (as we studied the American Revolution) that the beginnings of each of our countries set our national identities. Set the type of personality we had en masse as a Country. Now that I've had some time experiencing the US from within her borders, I really believe he was right. Canada achieved her freedom as a country with patience and diplomacy. The US through war and aggression. And it really does show.

It shows in the language, the slang used. The flags everywhere. Even remembering the undeniable tragedy of 9/11 is so in your face. The presentation and choices of quotes on the WWII memorial. Personalities.

I was so out of my depth. I'm honestly so glad to be home, where everything makes sense. Where I understand where people are coming from, because I come from the same place. Where *I* am the freak because I fly my flag on a pole (kinda) year-round.

I want to travel more. I want to experience more of the world around me, including the States. I'm just reeling a little from having my assumptions both proven and dis-proven; depending on which one I was holding onto at that moment. I had never travelled in the States as an adult, and alone. The world looks different from that spot.

I'm also very very hesitant to explore in depth my reactions to the states on here. It's just what's coming out of my fingers right now. *laughs* I know some come from a place of strong bias, even to the level of hate, many Canadians have for the states. I know I'm biased like that. But that's not all of it.

And there's my 30 minutes.

Last week as I was dropping Mike off at work, I apologized for how completely useless I have been since Matt's death. He said, "Honestly, outwardly you haven't been much different these past three weeks than you were for the six months before." Me being the cranky ass I've been snapped at him something about implying that my grief wasn't a big thing.

Then I thought about it. I had it wrong, what it's been is I've been in a severe depression for 6 months now. The depression from losing Matt is just another barrel-full to the already huge lake I've been quietly drowning in. All the signs have been there, but I just haven't paid them any attention. The apathy, the thin skin, the increasing isolation from the people offline, the increased tunnel vision on my online life, how hard it's been to get myself in the damn shower, not writing, not reading, not photographing, being so incredibly tired all the time, my emotional disassociation, the list just keeps going.

Shit.

So there it is. I'm severely depressed to the point of lack of function. I am not suicidal, thank god. I just don't give a shit about anything; specifically, I don't give a shit about myself. This incredible apathy.

So what are my options? Go back on meds? I fucking hate the meds and anyways most of my depressions are situational. So back to therapy then? *sighs* I've been trained to do this for myself, I don't need a therp to help me dig around in my psyche to figure out what the fuck's up with my head. Might be nice though to have someone to talk to and to give me a marking point each week.

The time's just running away on me so fast. I keep trying, but by the time I get started my day's gone. Blink and a week has gone by, I haven't done anything that needs to be done. Need to slow that down then.

Simple truth... if you want to make a change in your life, you just do it until it becomes your reality. (aka the fake it till you make it principle.)

So where do I want to end up? This shit's not doing it for me. Matt gave me a much-needed injection of life to my life, but he's gone. Plus, I can't count on anyone else to give me my goals. That never worked with quitting smoking, why on earth would it work with my life. *sighs* Little steps.

Ok. I want to be at the point that I am clean, my home is tidy, and I'm writing. That'll give me my starting foundation to do the heavy work.

So a shower every day, at the same time every day. This will cut off at the knees one of my negative coping mechanisms of isolation. Super easy to say "I can't go out without a shower first!" and then never have the shower. Ok. First thing in the morning. Get up 15 minutes earlier and shower. Every day.

Home tidy. I punish myself for being depressed by allowing my home to get disgusting, then hating myself for my mess, then getting more depressed, etc. I've been not bad about it, it's manageable. I need to tell my family to get off their asses and pull their weight around the home or be willing to pay for a maid to get their share done. I need to get back into the routines I know work for me. 30 minute tidy every day, floors on the weekend.

Writing. I need to write to be able to work through the depression and come out on the other side. I put a lot of my truths here, but not all, and I need to explore the ugly I don't share with anyone. So, buy a new notebook, write in it once a week for an hour. Write in my OLJ daily for a minimum of 15 minutes.

And that's 30.

I get far too much of my sense of self from the people around me. It's one of my major issues and something I just don't seem to be able to budge from my psyche. I let their opinions of who I am alter the way I see myself. I question my feelings, my motivations, and my views. I may talk a good game now, but I know deep inside there's this part of me questioning, questioning.

I've been doing it in a big way over Matt, his death, and what we were. We never got a pretty shiny and secure label on it because it kept changing on us. I used to ask him to let me know where I stood, I didn't mind being insecure with him like that. I didn't mind him knowing how unsteady I actually am. Anyways, we never fit some package, pretty box with a bow and we were ok with it. I think in part because even though we both knew core deep that death was right there and could come at any time, we also thought we had lots of time to figure it out.

We didn't. Go figure. The one reality we both accepted as a part of life, is the reality I have to deal with in my face right now. And I'm not doing so shit hot with that. I've been taking my cues off of other people in attempts to find my pretty packaged box with the perfect label and to avoid causing more pain. But in so doing I've betrayed myself, Matt and the crazy mess we had together. We just knew even though it had no more of a label than 'crazy mess' it was something special, perfect and what we both needed so very much right then.

But Matt's gone now. I can't say to him "dude. I feel all freaky stupid insecure." and have him tell me what I meant to him. I deleted my fucking logs so I can't even go back a re-read them. I have to rely on my memory with its fucking holes and gaps. So I've been casting about to the people that knew him to tell me it's ok, that what I remember is right. Problem is, we didn't talk about it much to the people around us. It was our crazy mess, we didn't need anyone else mixed in.

So now that I'm absolutely numb, feeling so very little, I question myself. I question what I felt and how I felt it, if it was real or not. I question what I feel now, because love and care doesn't die, even when the person you love and care for does. I stopped yesterday and actually asked myself if my numbness meant I had been lying to Matt about how I felt.

I was thinking about it this morning as I puttered doing dishes and tiding. And oh my god, I am such a fucking moron.

My primary coping mechanism throughout my life, that kept me sane, kept me alive was my numbness, my disassociation from my emotions. I allowed myself two emotions, rage and fear. I've only started to learn how to feel other things in the past 5 years or so. So my god, how else would I deal with this insanely stressful, painful situation? I have never lost someone I love this much, this dearly to accident. I have never been faced with the brutal reality of one sunny afternoon, joking about life with this man I *get* and he *gets* me and the next afternoon I'm being told he's dead, gone, never going to come back.

I've said a few times that the first couple days felt like I had no emotional skin. And I think if I let some of my disassociation go it would hurt that bad again. I probably could, I mean I learned how to... I just don't think I should. Not yet. My subconscious is much much smarter than my brain when it comes to protecting me (it better after that many years of practice) so I should probably pay attention and let it take care of me.

And I have to stop looking around at the people that knew and loved Matt for my acknowledgement. They had no idea. I did and I have to trust that.

And that's 30.

So, 30 minutes on the timer and a lot of things on my mind. God, where to start.

Last week Mike and I had a talk about how much time I've been spending in game, what that's all about and how he feels about it. It was again brought to my attention that I've been avoiding my life. And that my starting in the game also coincided with a fairly shitty spring.

The biggest thing that sticks with me is the idea that I've been avoiding my failure. Not that I don't want to be an active part of my life, but my life also includes this big pink elephant in the room of the slow excruciating death of my business. SkyWorks has been finished for a long time now. I just haven't been able to accept or even face the reality.

I have nice polite letters asking where my PST remittance is piling up on my desk. I have an actual order sitting in my SW inbox that I can't be shifted to deal with because it means I have to actually pay attention to the fact that it's my first order in almost 2 months and it's for 10 bucks. I haven't made soap in months upon months. I have no inspiration and no desire for this anymore.

I just don't want to let it go.

I don't want to admit that I failed at something else in my life. That even though I busted my ass, it still failed and barely got above a trotting start. I don't want to go back to the drawing board to figure out what the fuck I'm going to do with my life. I don't want to figure out how to balance my PTSD, the simple fact that I'm always afraid, and my intense desire to have a normal life. I just wanted this to work. And it didn't.

But, I'm no quitter. I might say I am about a million times over, but I'm still here. Everything I have in my life I fought for and is infinitely precious because of that. So I need to cut this dead weight from me and try again.

So. I'm closing SkyWorks down. I'm going to take the time this week and do a real inventory, and then I'm going to drop everything price wise to half and I'm going to let all my former customers know. Then I'm going to turn around and donate whatever is left to a local woman's shelter. I may sell off my FOs and EOs, I may keep them for the someday hope that I'll make soap for myself again. But I'm going to let this lass go.

And with that money I'm going to buy a plane ticket to a con in Washington, DC that my flag is having. I'm going to hug my friends I've made in these past months. I'm going to have raunchy girl chat with the women I'm sharing a room with. I'm going to have geeky conversations and laugh my ass off. I'm going to do this because even though I am shy and scared shitless, I've always had so much fun meeting other people.

And after that, and before that, I'm going to figure out who I am now. Where I fit in my life. What I want, and how I want to get it. This con is one of the first things I've actually wanted in such a long time now that I stop to think about it. I've gotten complacent. I've given into my fear.

I think I needed the time to regroup. The years I spent in hospital, in out-patient therapy, were so fucking hard. I think I burned out on wanting to be able to live so goddamned much. Maybe, I worked so hard and wanted it so much that I forgot being able to live is also just a matter of taking the day to day and being there.

So maybe instead of doing my usual bullshit of sitting back and thinking everything to death, I'm going to just do shit. I'm going to go to this Tai Chi class, because I've always been curious about it and I think it looks cool. I'm going to keep playing my silly game, because I have this community of friends that I play with and that's fucking awesome. I'm going to spend more time with Miss Sara, because she's so smart and awesome. I'm going to kidnap Mike and try to shake up his boring life a bit too. I'm going to have my intense, honest talks with Matt when we can. I'm going to talk boys with Karin and laugh my ass off at how impossibly foulmouthed we end up. I'm going to "Dude. Your Mama." with Ed every morning because it's just what we do.

I think I've decided to live again. What a fucking awesome feeling.

So a 30 minute free write. I'd probably be better served by getting back into the habit via short, sweet 15 minute ones, but oh well.

It's been really hard trying to figure out what my new routines will be, how they will serve me best. Having Mephostophilis changes so much. It's so easy to just get in the car and drive Sara to school in the mornings or to take Mike to work. The nice part of that is my hips have been incredibly sore in the mornings lately. I suspect it's just a bit of moving pain from my back (I've been very bad about doing my exercises)
but I'll have to ask Liz when I see her next. It's bad enough that my willingness to walk for 30 minutes is gone. So Miss Sara got a ride to school this morning. I fully intend to walk to pick her up though. It's beautiful out.

It's almost as if with the car I've given up even the appearance of work. All the running around I've been doing has been for persona stuff and honestly the business hasn't suffered at all. Actually, I can't remember if I've even had one sale this month at all. Well that sucks. But in other ways I don't mind anymore. I don't think I'm willing to do the professional socializing that my business required anymore. Heh, I don't think I was ever willing and I think that why I stopped chatting once I realized that my sales were directly linked to how much time I spent in a chat room.

It wasn't even the chatting really. It was the constant awareness that with every word I typed I was representing my business. There was no such thing as time off, or just Linda chatting. It was always through this filter of being the "soap lady". Which is fine, if I wanted to be in a chat room for 8 hours a day being the soap lady. I don't. So I quit and so have my sales. *shrugs*

I do need to work on my wholesale pricing some more. I think that's the only way I'll really stay in business. Not that I'm going anywhere, it takes very little effort on my part to keep this maintenance level going. I have to make a batch or two of soap every month and answer the occasional email and... rarely fill an order! Hah.

I keep looking at these various storefronts that are up for rent and think about getting out of the apartment. There's a part of me that wants a place to go during the day now. I toy with the idea of getting a desk job somewhere the same as I toy with the idea of getting a storefront for SkyWorks. I guess I'm coming to realize just how isolated my life is now that I have all these new options opening because of the mobility Mephostophilis gives me. Maybe I should look at saving my pennies to get into a watercolour course.

I know I had already decided to focus on my painting a few months ago. But there just isn't the money anymore. I don't resent the car, but I do find it funny ironic that now we have the mobility to go do these various things and we can't afford to anymore. I've been working away on a long-term budget so we can save for these various items that come up; like Sara's dance & swimming lessons, maintenance on Mephostophilis, the vet for the kittens, etc. They're broken down into their monthly amounts and I'll set aside the total when I do the bills. Within a couple months we should have a nice pad there.

This is really something we should've had going for years now but we never really needed to. We were comfy. If something came up, we'd just pay it and tighten our belts for the rest of the month -- but never too tight. You know, I'm really grateful for my life. I'm glad I know what that knot of pure terror of poverty feels like. The memory of a woman at Bell telling me that they'd need a $100 deposit to give me a phone line and feeling like I was going to faint at the very idea of trying to find that kind of cash. And the flipside of now, the knowing that finding a hundred is a piece of cake. I've never been stinking rich, but I've seen comfy and I like it.

Ok, I'm written out now. I have to remember to write about finally giving myself permission to lose it all over an asshole driver. Tomorrow.

That's not 30, but I'll pretend that it is.

I just finished the first 30 minute tidy I've done in its entirety in 2 weeks. And god, it feels good. My kitchen is ready to prep dinner in and our public spaces are no longer untidy and frustrating. I also got groceries for the week done this morning after I dropped Mike off at work. I seem to remember last year around this time when I was starting to develop routines as a way to stave off the depressions that Monday mornings became my ideal time to grocery shop.

Something new that's becoming a routine is going swimming once a week with R. So far it's been more of a giggle/chat fest than a real workout, but I figure anything that gets me moving in any way is good for me. Plus I love being able to get out of the house and my sometimes-stifling routines.

And because my sister phoned to chat, that's more than 30 minutes. :)

I spent a good chunk of yesterday prepping myself to make up a Wholesale pricing sheet for SkyWorks. There's been a fair amount of interest in my stuff from various companies over the past couple years and some fairly serious talks with a local business. I've finally decided that I can't continue ignoring how badly my sales have been in the retail end and stay in business. I need to expand into another stream of potential revenue to keep going.

So, a wholesale pricing list. I couldn't decide on an attractive and professional layout and look for it so I ended up looking at the various templates Microsoft offers for Excel. As usual I got sidetracked into looking at all the other templates they had. I found a couple useful ones, like a personal budget spreadsheet and a personal fitness chart.

The chart's interesting. I put in my height, weight, and various body measurements and it gives me back my rough lean body weight, fat body weight and BMI. I think the BMI is total bullshit, but the rest is kind of neat. That you can track your measurements and weight over time is the most useful. I think I may start using it on a every week or so basis. No more because that way madness lies.

It got me thinking about size, weight and self-esteem. I want to get back to my pre-pregnancy weight. It was a good weight for me -- comfortable, good energy levels, strong. The weight I'm at now is hard on me, on my feet, my back, everything. I had been within 20 lbs of my goal weight after I moved back from Toronto. (Oddly enough being unable to eat without vomiting from stress for months makes you lose weight! Imagine that! Hah.) Then I quit smoking and gained 60 lbs. According to the little scale I bought a few weeks ago I've lost 16 lbs since I bought it.

I can't tell but I'll accept that. I usually lose about 10 lbs every spring and regain it in the fall. It's just the way my body works.

That's the hard thing about talking/thinking about weight -- it's so hard to keep focus on how my body works. To keep in mind that I'm a German housefrau body type courtesy of my genes and I will never look like my sister, much less the "ideal". I'm ok with that, I really am. I've fought damn hard to accept that I'm who I am, my body is the way it is and I have limits. Ever since I hit my adult height I have never been smaller than a size 15 (cotton ginny) and my biggest has been a size 24. I'm best at a size 18.

That's just my body truths. I can be active (biking everywhere, working as a theatre tech, etc), eat well (according to the Canada Food Guide!) and I'm still fat. So where's the profit, the gain in being dissatisfied with how I look? I gain nothing but self-loathing. Who gains? It's no secret. The diet and exercise industry does. Millions if not billions of dollars are spent every year on changing who we are. It's powered by self-loathing.

I admire the people that diet and work out for their health, and only for that. The people that take joy in the power and movements of their bodies. The people that go to the gym because it feels good. I think I know one. Everyone else I've ever talked to about their bodies use phrases like "I'm fat.", "I'm ugly, look at this gut!", "I have to lose 20 lbs... I'd be beautiful then." and so on. Self-loathing.

I'm no different. If I really focus on my body I hate it all. I hate my breasts, I hate my gut, I hate my thighs, I hate my double chin, I hate the flab under my arms. I hate it all. I hate myself. The fuck? So then the diet industry says "DIET! Count calories! Micromanage your food so you can lose that ugly FAT! You're a fuck up if you're fat! You're bad!" (I once pulled out a print ad for diet pills that literally said if you eat a piece of chocolate cake you're bad. The fuck?) Then the exercise industry says "Come, exercise! It's not real exercise if it's not in a gym! You can't lose weight without a gym membership and you're fat! Bad!" -- And because I hate myself I buy into it. Then I do everything "right" and I stop at a size 15 because that's the way my body works. And then I hate myself and I spend more to beat that "plateau" and fail. Lather, rinse, and repeat.

So I don't even play that game. But because I'm so fixed on not falling into the trap of self-loathing, I'm not sure how to go about getting myself healthy. It's a tightrope.

And that's 30 minutes.

Just put a batch of Bobby to bed and it's only 10am. Granted I only got such an early start because I was up at 6am with my back aching. I've been really bad about my Physio exercises, so it shouldn't be a surprise when my back hurts me. I'm going to try to get back into the routine of doing them right after dinner tonight. I've definitely seen improvement in my pain levels and functionality over the past eight months I've been going to Physio.

So I heard back from the lovely Melanie yesterday. She had been trying to get us a better rate on the car loan than the 7.5% we have from the bank up to $20000. Of course here is where we pay for our previous bad credit decisions come back to bite us. It's still a gain, we didn't think we'd even get the credit card this application much less a pre-approval on a car loan. We're just going to pay through the nose for it.

We finally sat down with solid numbers last night and crunched them. This car is going to cost us about $600/month to have and use even at our limited planned km. To manage that we're going to lose most of our allowances, any savings we had been making, and I'm going to have to start pinching pennies. I personally think we had a nice comfy, lush lifestyle before. We could afford to do most things, we grocery shopped based on desire not frugality, we both got a fair chunk of cash to spend without justifications needed and there was room to play if we needed to.

Mike says that's a "normal" lifestyle. I don't think so, but I also know I'm coming from a fairly poor background. According to my "normal" we lived and live in the lap of luxury. The idea of being able to afford clothes when needed and getting my teeth taken care of outside of emergency situations is unbelievable to me if I actually stop to think about it. I've spent most of my life surviving with a rock of a stomach from the stress of figuring out where I'm going to find enough.

But that history and experience means that I can work with almost anything for a budget. So taking a $600 hit on our monthly income is more than doable especially when it gives me mobility. Part of the expense of our life right now is because I can't comparision shop. I can't get our canned goods at Food Basics for 20 cents less. I can't go to the market on Saturday Morning and buy the meat and produce for the coming week. I'm tied into the nearby Zehrs for everything.

I think we need to get this car. The smart move would be to wait another 6 months, or even better another year and then buy. In that amount of time we could improve our R rating through the credit card enough to qualify for the various financing incentives. That would be smart. But what happened was we realized that we could make a car happen. We started thinking about it. We started wanting it. We were never happy without a car, but there was no other option. Now it's an option. Not a wise one. Not a frugal one, but it's an option.

And with that I can't say no. Rather, I refuse to say no. I refuse to go back to "making it work" at the expense of my self-esteem, my time and my back. I've had enough and just knowing that there's a way out makes me desperate for it. I'm so glad that we decided on the car we want before I got to this point. Until we sat down and said, "ok, we want to buy it. This is what we want." in Rheal's office it was still an option. After that it's a decision.

Mike agrees with me about all this. We crunched numbers and cursed and swore until we found a number we could live with. We can live with this. We just have to change nearly everything we do, everything we prioritize; basically the way we live our lives. Enh.

And that's 30 minutes.

We're at the point now in our car shopping that we're heading out to do the test-drives as soon as we can. We got the loan for $20,000 but frankly we can't afford the monthly payments on that much of a loan. I did some math and we can manage at the most $18,500 so that's become or top limit for the final purchase price, including delivery taxes and everything else.

(Totally off topic -- I have some seriously weird stuff in my iTunes playlist that I have no idea how they got there.)

Anyway, playing around with the taxes and the approximate delivery fee we're looking at roughly $15,000 available for a car. Means my highly desired automatic transmission is out if we want to buy new at all. Fine, I know how to drive manual; I just don't like it. I'll survive. Means we have no room for air-conditioning or power locks or anything else people think we need. Enh.

So within that budget we can afford to buy in new cars (All 4-door sedans. I want 4 doors more than I want auto transmission.):

The Chevrolet Aveo
The Hyundai Accent
The Toyota Echo
The Saturn Ion.1

The Ion was the biggest surprise. We figured anything from Saturn would be completely out of our budget. We already knew about the Accent and the Echo from last year's trip out to visit various dealerships. The Aveo was something new that we blanked on last year. So four cars within our budget... it helps as a boil down for us. Can't debate what we can't afford to buy, right?

So the next stage is to take the four of them out on test-drives and see what we think and boil it down a bit further. I want to get the majority of the decision-making done away from the dealership and pushy salespeople before we have no choice but to deal with them. I'm both dreading and looking forward to the test drives. I'm excited because it's a serious step. I'm nervous because it's been years since I drove stick and I figure I'm going to stall all over the place. (Even though I've never stalled all over the place driving stick, even when I was learning initially)

One thing that's been fascinating and frustrating about this process is how weird people are about cars. I've actually gotten into arguments about what I want in a car with people other than Mike. Mike and I are the ones going into debt, paying for it and driving this car but you'd think we weren't by the force of some of the arguments. We need air conditioning. We're "fucking stupid" because we're buying new. I should consider Kia, even though I've stated clearly there's no way in hell. Apparently Mike's been hearing about what we should buy from co-workers too.

It's so weird. Why do people care? Is it an extension of the car culture? That the idea of a car being an extension of the self is so pervasive that what the car your friends own says something about you? Frankly for us it's a means to an end. It's convenience, mobility and a measure of freedom. I don't much care what we end up with as long as it's comfortable, reliable and you know, moves. It sure as hell isn't an extension of my self.

And that's 30 minutes.

You know, whenever I do dishes/wash my tools I end up thinking over whatever has caught my interest at the time. It's like a prefect place to think about stuff, I find. I mean, what else am I going to think about? The cutlery? "Oh yes, a knife. Swipe here, swipe there, dip, put in rinse water. A fork. Swipe here, swipe there, dip, put in rinse water..." I guess when I started doing dishes I would've needed to pay attention to what I was doing; but by now and however many thousands of hours spent doing the exact same thing I have it down to a process as automatic as breathing.

So I just finished up washing my tools after making a batch of Angel Wings (finally!) and I found myself going over and over my interactions with Ryo this past weekend. I used to be friends with her once, when we were still in High School but then she moved to Toronto and I got married. When I moved out there we rekindled the acquaintance and maintained a sort of friendly relationship until I finally got tired of her continual comments and brutal bluntness.

Since then I've kept my distance except for outings as a group, like last Halloween and last Saturday. Anyways, that's not what I was thinking about. What I kept on remembering was a conversation we had in Lee Valley while waiting for the boys to finish ohhing and ahhing.

We're sitting there talking about her business (making and selling handmade sock animals -- beautiful creations and work) and how she's going to one of the One of a Kind Shows. These shows are big, major shows. They cost a lot of money to get the table space. I know this because my Dad has been doing Shows for at least the past 15 years and we talk about it. I mention that Dad's been doing craft shows, kind of offhand (he's been doing them as long as I've known her, not that I expect my acquaintances to remember what my parents do for a living but I also don't expect it to be a complete surprise, you know?) and we talk about what he makes and sells.

Then she says "Well your Dad doesn't do the type of shows I do." -- clearly implying that she thinks he's hawking his wares in some rundown flea market.

I swear to god I was torn between ripping her head off and laughing in her face. I only said "No, he doesn't do One of a Kind, he does Signatures." And tried to leave it at that. (Signatures is the main competition for the One of a Kind shows. They're equal, IMO, in prestige, cost and income.) She made another snarky comment about his product (which she has never seen) and then a woman came and struck up a conversation with us.

On one hand, that's just the way she is, but on another it's a perfect example of this attitude that I fucking despise. It's a mix of arrogance, pride and ignorance. That she knows everything and there's nothing she can learn from anyone else. Almost every time I talk on the phone with my Dad we talk about the shows, about business, about what he does and what I am a bare neophyte at. And I am grateful for every minute of it. I don't agree with everything he does but I don't close myself off from learning because of it.

She in that one sentence displayed her complete dismissal of a business that has succeeded in the area she's just begun working in. He's done shows all over North America, has made enough money at it to finance a comfortable lifestyle with no other source of income, has created a business that is respected and desired at these shows.

I can take snarky comments about my business being part-time or a hobby because I know that I'm unwilling to take the risks I need to take to ramp up to a full time commitment. It's not a hobby to me, but fine. But listening to her snark on my Dad and what he does is hilarious, infuriating and kind of sad.

That's 30 minutes and I still haven't articulated what I was ruminating on while I washed my tools. Ahh well, they can't all be complete essays, right?

... Actually as a final thought... I lost my admiration for her remarkable, beautiful creations because of her rudeness. Losing sight of what you have to offer as remarkable and admirable because you're focused on putting down someone else's remarkable and admirable gifts is a tragedy, an honest to god tragedy.

I just realized as I was finishing up my 30 minute tidy that I spent a lot of time talking about how I needed to find a routine and a balance in my life but now that I've found one that is working (somewhat) I haven't really written about it. It's like that a lot when I write a journal anywhere. I focus on something that needs changing, but instead of taking some time to celebrate and chronicle the change I simply move onto the next challenge, the next change.

So over the past while I've been trying to create a home for my little family and me. Some place clean, safe and comfortable. In many ways I've succeeded beyond my wildest imaginings. It would now be unthinkable to live in the type of mess we had before. Simply because we've been getting used to both the clean home and the work it takes to keep it clean.

I found some pictures hidden away in old directories here on PtF of the way it was before. The very idea of ignoring the mess the way I used to makes me shudder. We'd ignore it for months at a time and then we'd have to clean up for whatever reason and we'd take 2 days and clean like mad. Now it's a matter of 5 minutes tidy and closing of the bedroom doors. Nothing is spotless, I couldn't live in a spotless home but it's tidy and clean.

I was thinking about routines and habits that make this possible when I was wiping down the kitchen counters. I like reading the various "How do you clean up" threads on forums because it's so neat to see how people approach the same chores. I have two backbone chores to this major change of mine. The 30-minute tidy and weekend floors.

The 30-minute tidy is simply that. I set the timer for 30 minutes and I start at the entryway. I pick up garbage, lost items and put them where they belong. I fold the couch blankets and put the end pillows back at the ends of the couch. I wipe down the coffee table and tidy the TV guides, remotes and candy dish. Computer desks get their dirty dishes removed and then are ignored (desks are personal spaces and are the responsibility of the owner). The kitchen table gets cleared and washed. Then it's rinse and stack of the dishes in the kitchen for washing later. And then a final wipe down of the counters and stove. Usually that's the end of the 30 minutes there. If I have extra time I'll do a quick tidy of the bathroom.

The weekend floors came from a truism I've always known -- If your floors are clear and clean your house will always look cleaner than it actually is. I figure it's something about open spaces reducing the impression of clutter. This routine also comes from reading about how you need to do 4 passes with a vacuum each time you vacuum to actually clean it well. So I've started doing my floors every weekend, usually on a Saturday morning.

There's a whole process to it too. I pull out all the rugs on the various floors; sweep the hard floors (I mop every month or earlier if it gets gross) and then swiffer them. (I love the swiffer. Cat hair and dander is so much less of a problem now) Then I vacuum the rugs and put them back. Finally I break out my Discman and vacuum the hallway then the living room. I actually look forward to vacuuming because it's a chunk of time I take to listen to my various CDs, sing along (much to Mike's disgust) and vacuum-dance. So much fun.

I figure those two little things, those two basic changes to my daily and weekly routine has enabled us to live in a better home. There are other things we've been working on. Doing dishes together every night is one. We're trying to get into the habit that we eat dinner then we wash the dishes. I don't count it as a changed routine yet because we're still having growing pains and finding it difficult to stick to it.

I really want to do more fancy stuff with the place in the future. I want to paint the walls in the hallway and the living room in this coming year. I want to build in shelving in a couple of the closets. I want to sew comfy pillows for the couch. I want to sew curtains for Miss Sara's room and buy her a fabulous flop rug for her floor. I want to build shelves for the unused wall space right above my desk.

Let's see if I can do it. :) And that's 30 minutes.

So it's time again to sit down and do a 30-minute entry, I think. I debated doing a quick 15-minute one but I have time today. Not much to write about off the top of my head, but who knows what'll come up, right? Heh.

Miss Sara and I finally did the threatened major cleanup of her room yesterday. I've been after her to keep up ever since I lost my temper with the mess a month or so ago. She's expected to do a daily 5-minute tidy after she's finished her homework and a clothes pick up when she changes for the night. The main problem has been the disaster area she had to work in. At one point her 5 minute tidy was "here's a garbage bag, fill it" tidy.

I've been threatening to come in there and clean up my way for a couple months now. I set the first deadline for sometime in early January but then realized that she would have no time to clean up over the holidays. So I pushed it forward to March 6th. The threat was that I could potentially come in with big garbage bags and clean that way. I was serious about it too.

Instead we got a system going. I grabbed all the laundry baskets in the house and set them out in the hallway with signs above that read: To Keep, Donate (Still good, but never used things) and Throw Out (Broken, Ungiftable things). Sara took a basketful of various junk I was sweeping out from under her bed, in her closet, various stash places and then sorted them into those 3 areas. After that we bagged the garbage, packed up the to donate stuff and sorted the to keep.

I'm really impressed at how well her sorting went. There were only a few things that she kept that I felt could've gone elsewhere but she managed to explain to my satisfaction. That was the big thing, see, everything she wanted to keep she had to justify to me. She has so much stuff. For the most part I agreed with what she was keeping. Now that we have everything broken down into stuff she wants to keep in categories she can start the really hard part -- figuring out her organizational system.

The worst part so far has to be the nasty sandwiches she was hiding. I found two mouldy nasty allergy hell bombs tucked into a suitcase that was also a toy chest. I threw out the "sandwiches" while cursing up a storm about it. I also threw out the suitcase and everything in it. Basically in that one move Sara lost most of her small Barbie things. But there was no way to get it clean.

Somehow she had gotten the idea that she couldn't throw away food. Why hiding food so it rots was a reasonable alternative I have no idea, but hey. I don't like seeing food thrown away but I'm more concerned about food poisoning and the creation of allergy hell bombs than I am about a sandwich being discarded. I've tried to make that clear to Sara last night and today that if it's time to clean out her lunch bag after school and she's not going to snack on what's left -- it goes out. Especially if it needs refrigeration.

Since I opened that suitcase I've been finding it so hard to breathe. I haven't wheezed and coughed this much since the month after I quit smoking. I'm basically having one hell of an allergic reaction to the suitcase from hell. What's sad is how long it took me to take some allergy pills this morning. Heh. Ahh well, it's out in the garbage now and Sara's room is clean. Finally.

I also went out with the Boys and Ro to Mandarin, Lee Valley and Ikea on Saturday. That was an interesting outing. I'm pretty proud of myself, actually. There were a few things that just pissed me off greatly and one occasion that it started becoming "poke Linda so she gets mad" but I managed to keep my cool.

And that's 30 minutes. Time to get the laundry.

I keep trying to write about our pending car loan pre-authorization and the pending Visa application but everything feels too personal or too vague to put online. We've been debt free (and credit free) for years now but it's always so fucking hard to get approved for credit. So we've been patient, taking our time, living life on cash in a credit driven society. It's a lot simpler and a lot complex at the same time. So many things require a credit card for identification, for purchasing, for ease and convenience. But on the other hand we know exactly what we have and what we can do each month.

It's not from a true desire to live credit-free and debt-free that we do without. For the most part it's because we can't get approved. I wish someone would explain to me how a couple that is debt free, has a rent that is less than 35% of total net income, and bring in a combined gross income of just under $50,000 can't get approved for a lousy $500 Visa. How the fuck does that work? I mean, seriously, how does that work? We go in, we apply, we get a call saying, "we're sorry but your application has been denied". I ask why and they don't know. I check our credit ratings and we're clean.

Then I look around at some of the people I know who can't be given credit cards fast enough. Their cards are maxed out, they can barely make the minimum payments, but here's another pre-approval! I remember my first credit card joint with my ex. We had no income to speak of, just OSAP and his part time job at a restaurant. But here's a $500 Visa, because you're a student! Some of the most fiscally irresponsible people I know have credit cards and we can't get approved. It's a nightmare.

Hopefully we'll get approved for the car loan. I'm so very tired of buses and waiting and hour long trips to get to the dentist and getting rides from relative strangers. I'm tired of planning monster grocery shopping trips so I can get more for the cab fare. I'm tired of feeling like some kind of freak failure as an adult because we don't have a car. I want the convenience and the ability to get in the car, our car and just go. I want to be able to do a market trip every Saturday morning before everyone else gets up for the day. I want to be able to go on adventures -- it's a favourite memory of mine and I want to put those memories there for my daughter as well.

I keep saying we should join the local car co-op because it's more fiscally and environmentally sound, but I really don't want to. I want my own car parked in our parking spot out back. I want to walk out the back door and go out when I want to without the contortions errand running takes on a bus. And a trunk! Oh god, a trunk! I could run errands without carrying everything I get on my back. Oh god, a trunk.

So there's a part of me just praying right now that we'll get approved. Just pleading with the gods to give us a fucking break, we've been so good. I want a Visa to make our lives easier but I want a car so much more. But I tamp down so hard on that part of me because if we get turned down, again, I have to manage and I can if I just don't think about it.

*sighs* And there's the 30 minutes buzzer. Time to go make some soap.

Mike pointed something out this morning while I was debating the cost of darkroom access. He said that my continual inability to focus solely on one thing at a time is probably the major reason I have a hard time with my life. Specifically we were talking about my interest in both Photography and Watercolour as art forms and a means to express myself creatively.

I want to improve in both areas. I want to learn technique and methodology in Watercolours and I want to get back into a darkroom with my Photography. I want to commit to both, but I just don't have the time or the money to do both at the same time. So instead of leaving one to focus on the other, I attempt to do both in a half-assed fashion. That diluted focus means I stay mediocre in both areas.

I think I do that all over in my life. Mike shared a comment from his father, that I was disgustingly talented. (With the underlying question being, if she's so talented, why isn't she doing something with it?) And I am. I make no bones and no false modesty about it. I am disgustingly talented. In everything. Which is the hard part about it. I'm talented to a point, and so many things come so very easy to me that when I hit the point (that everyone hits talented or not) that requires me to struggle I switch off to something else.

I don't think it's because of laziness really. I think it's more that I'm a jack-of-all-trades. I haven't found anything that fits me yet and because there are so many options I get overwhelmed and find it difficult to focus. It's always been this way -- as far back as I can remember.

I'd be good in English so I'd think about being a teacher but then my hands would itch. To stop the hand itch, I'd take Shop (machine, auto, woodworking, drafting, electrics) and dream about taking on a trade, and then my mind would die of boredom. The best fit ever was Tech Theatre. I could be an artist; I was challenged intellectually and physically. It was both social and solitary and I could scatter myself to whatever interest caught me for that show. I was carpenter, costuming, electrics. I was grunt work -- I was TD. There was so much there for me.

But even now when I think about trying again, digging up my old contacts and see if they remember me and if they do would they be willing to use my free pair of hands I realize it wouldn't fit anymore. I can't do the work. My back is fucked. I like to pretend to myself that I'm just a wimp and the pain isn't that bad and I'm just as capable of doing anything I used to be able to do. But I know the truth. I know that I'm a liability and it would be unprofessional of me to pretend otherwise to someone that would count on my abilities. And even though I haven't worn my blacks in 9 years, I am still a professional Theatre Technician.

So I sit here not knowing what to do with myself. I run my business as well as I can, in my normal half-assed manner. I both accept and deny my injuries and my abilities. Everything appeals to me and nothing does. I'm living on the goddamned fence and I have no idea where to go from here.

I think maybe I should choose between the littler things in my life. Watercolour or Photography? Where do I put my time and my money for now? Let my non-career life fall into place before I figure out where I fit best in the bigger spaces in my life. I keep on coming back to this point in my journals and my thoughts. Where do I go from here? How do I get there? How do I even start?

I've had good ideas but most of them haven't been followed through on. Some because I'm unwilling to put the work in, and some because they were out of order. So maybe I need to decide between Watercolours and Photography right now and see where that takes me next.

My cats are druggy freaks. I suspect Stella was the one to jump up on my desk and discover the bag of catnip I had forgotten there. All I know is I came out from the kitchen after starting a new loaf of bread to find the two of them rolling around on this now very holey bag. They look so disgustingly pleased with themselves. Heh.

I'm not terribly pleased with myself today. I'm having a flare-up with the nerves issue and my back. This is the one that makes it very difficult to walk. I've been sleeping a lot better over the past week, but it always seems to be a trade off. If my spine to leg nerve (I should really find out the name of the damn things) is fine, I can't sleep because of back spasms. If I can sleep, I find it hard to move during the day. I just can't win with my back, can I? Ahh well at least it's not everything at once anymore.

I'm not feeling quite as beaten down anymore as well. So the lack of sleep must have been a big part of my doldrums. I'm still tired and wanting my afternoon naps but it's now more a feeling of playing hooky rather than a need.

You know, during the summer I never felt really bad if I decided to take a Tuesday off to watch the new releases. I keep wondering why it's such a big deal to my nag in my head to take time off in the winter. It's not like I have summer vacation the same as Miss. Sara does. I'm not free from the need to work -- I just seem to be free of the guilt to work.

I'm going to try to get into the habit of making a batch of soap each week. Sometimes I can get into a mood and then I end up making soap like a crazed woman. Then I don't make anything for months afterwards. I made a lot of soap in October and haven't really wanted to make more since them. That's kind of sad when I think about it, I loved making soap all the time when I started. It's the reason I started the business. Too much soap for us to use. Now I don't even make the special soap for us to use up.

Anyway, I'm going to set Wednesday mornings as a time to make a single batch each week. Routine, probably sometimes boring, but it'll keep the supply steady. Not that there's a big worry about running out of stock at this point in time. Business is bad. I've had 2 orders in 2004. In some ways it makes me damn grateful I listened to my gut and stayed so small. If I had rent to pay on a storefront, a loan to repay, all those various things -- I'd drown. The business would fold.

But because I stayed small, just a little business run out of my PC and my kitchen I can just float through this dead spot. I finally finished posting all my receipts for 2003. I have the rough numbers, and the definite final sales totals. I'm showing a 40% loss over my first year in business. Forty percent. That's crazy. I talked to my Dad about it and he said he's showing a major loss in 2003 too.

Which was a relief to hear. I figured I had done something wrong, that I had screwed up in some major way to have such poor sales. Dad says it's not just me, not just him, that it's also hit the people he knows from the shows. These are people that make their living from selling the things they make. They take it a lot more serious than I ever have. If they've been dead in the water... yeah.

And that's 30 minutes.

Put 30 minutes on the timer and let's begin a new week.

It's funny, my weekends seem to fly by but I never seem to do much in them. I finally got out of the house this weekend just past. My Mom threw a shindig yesterday and I helped with some of the setup and most of the cleanup. She managed to fit 28 people into her house, which worked out fabulously. It was tight enough that people had to visit with each other and moved around enough that no little groups really formed. It was a good party.

I called the boys when I got home at 6pm to be a little silly and suggest that we get together sometime that weekend. I keep having these great intentions of making plans and going out with them and I never do. I've been thinking about maybe inviting them over for a little dinner party thing. I also need to return some dinner invitations with my own at some point. It's just hard to get myself thinking socially when I am so reclusive lately.

It's not a great loss, I don't think, my lack of sociability now that I am older. I did the social butterfly routine for a few years in my early 20s. Clubbing every Friday night, the parties, the get togethers, the meeting of hundreds of people from the various online communities I hung out in. I was busy, I was social, I was miserable. It shouldn't surprise me that the slower my life gets the more stable and contented I become.

I don't want to be the classic man-island though. ("No man is an island") I do need the experiences and viewpoints of other people outside of my little family and my quiet home. I've come to realize more and more how much I am losing of my ability to make small talk and light social banter. I've tried over the past year to reach out to the people from my past that still mean something to me. I've tried to re-establish contact with J & J with no success. The boys and I are still friends but we suffer from the "I can see them anytime! They live in the same city!" syndrome. (You can always see them, so you never do. Heh.) My sister is busy with her job and life, I rarely see her socially anymore.

Add into that the ending of other friendships this past year and I'm left with a very insular life. That sucks. Enh.

I hate how awkward I feel now. Maybe I've felt this way always, actually. Used to have to get drunk to feel really social. I've always been shy and awkward, but I seem to remember being charming once upon a time. But memory can lie and maybe it is to me now. Who knows, really? The people that might know aren't talking. I was never charming with the boys. I was a dork and they loved me anyways so I can't even ask them.

I guess in some part of me that I try not to pay attention to I'm hurt. I'm hurt that I tried to reach out to people that were once my best friends, that once told me they loved me and whom I still love and they're not here now. There's the smart part of me, the wise part that says things change, people change and I used them hard before I walked away. That wise part says I shouldn't do anything more and just let it go. Wisdom and experience says that people come back when they need to, and sometimes the thread that ties us together has simply come to an end. When that thread ends, there's nothing that can be done by me except for plain old acceptance.

I've been working on that one. I really have. I tried. Still hurts though. I wonder if it's worth trying to make friends now. It seems like so much work sometimes. I miss being young and making friends the way I did then.

And that's the end of my 30.

We're running out of room.

We're growing out of our little two-bedroom apartment, we really are. There's enough room if we remain anti-social and with differing schedules. I don't know what we're going to do when Sara's computer is finished being pieced together. I don't want it in her bedroom, but there is no room in the living room with ours. We need more bookcases for both books and our media stuff. But there's nowhere to put more bookcases, really.

I love our apartment, for the most part. I think the long useless hallway is well, useless, but it's great for spacing the noisy areas from the bedrooms. Our living room is a long rectangle and split between a living room, den and dining room. Our bedroom doubles as a library. Sara's room is hers and poorly laid out. But for the most part it's pretty good for us. It has fit us well over the past 3 years.

But now that we have Sara full time it's starting to fit like last year's jeans after a growth spurt. She got these wonderful toys for Christmas, but they require space to open them up and play. Space we just don't have. To do my Physio exercises on the floor I have to tuck myself between our computer desks and the kitchen table. I can't even imagine how sardine like it'll become once Sara starts bringing friends home with her.

Ideally I'd love for us to have a room the size of our living room dedicated to the computers and all the crap they need. Hell I'd even make it into a cubicle farm. I'd love to have a bedroom slash nothing else for everyone. The idea of a guest bedroom thrills me. I'd say that a library would be nice, but I know we'd never keep our books contained to a single room. A play/work room would be heavenly as well. A corner for Sara's big-ass toys and a corner for my various projects. (I think part of the reason I find it hard to work on my projects is they have to be unpacked and repacked every time I work on anything)

Eventually we'll buy a house and get some of those spaces I crave. Until then we're stuck in rental land. So I've been thinking a lot about getting into a 3-bedroom apartment or townhouse somewhere. Use the third bedroom as a computer den and free up the living room to be a living room. I've been looking across the street at the big red building and the 2 empty apartments and thinking it might be nice to live over there.

Then recently our next-door neighbours moved out. Their apartment has been mentioned to me before by Fritz. He's told me about the three bedrooms and the dishwasher. I've wanted to get in there to take a look for months. I never wanted to intrude while someone lived there but there's nobody there now, right? So I jumped at the chance to check it out quickly yesterday when I caught Fritz heading out after doing some painting in there.

It's more a two bedroom, two den, two bath apartment than a three bedroom. The bedrooms are on opposite sides of the apartment with a bathroom right beside each one. The kitchen is the same size and layout as ours, but with the fabled dishwasher right across from the (avocado green) fridge. The living room is the size of our current one, but there's an offset den area leading to the master bedroom. There's a separate room section leading from the living room to the master bedroom that would work as a computer den.

The biggest downfall for me is that the master bedroom is it's all french doors between it and the dens. If someone was playing on a computer or watching TV while someone else was trying to sleep, the poor sleeper would hear everything. The carpet is cheap, and of course and as usual with this landlady the place is dirty. Plus we'd lose the balcony.

But there's more space. We could start separating out the work areas from the social and play areas. Sara's room would be bigger. There are two bathrooms. But then again it's remaining under the "management" of this incompetent idiot. Not to mention paying her more money to do shit all. There's the hassle and adjustment of moving even when it's just 30 feet down the hall. We'd still be just outside of Sara's School's catchment area.

Debates. Debates. And that's 30 minutes according to the new super-silly cat timer.

I went out to Zehrs today to get some groceries and pick up our prints from Christmas. Three rolls of film from me and maybe, maybe 2 decent pictures in the entire lots of them. Nothing terribly fancy, just plain old snapshots. Blurry, grainy snapshots. I'm not terribly impressed, but I can't expect much more from sloppy photography.

I've been thinking about buying myself a tripod sometime soon. I want to get a bit more serious about my photography, and I really want to do some light painting and night shots. All of those need a tripod. So it's on my little mental list of things to buy when I get around to it. Right now I'm saving up for a sewing machine. I should be able to buy it by March.

I have the two cameras; the Yashica and the Olympus Digital. The Olympus is actually Mike's, but I seem to use it the most. It's handy to carry around and since most of my photography ends up online here it makes my life easier. My print images that I am willing to show to the world are a waiting the day I can get access to a scanner. So I end up using digital for anything casual or artsy and the 35mm for anything I want a permanent record of.

I've been a photographer (that feels so pretentious to type, but it's be most apt term for what I am and what I do) for as long as I can remember. I really got into it seriously when I hit high school. Our school had a darkroom, camera club, and a generous loan policy on the equipment. I'm not sure what year I took Photography as a course, but I have the feeling it was gr.10 or so. I have a box filled with old negatives in my artsy craftsy rubbermaid tub from those years. Black and White pictures of friends, family, and very few things.

Now I seem to only photograph things. It never seems to be people. I think in part it's because I think it's rude to do street photography of strangers -- legal or not. And I don't have that many people in my life the way I did when I was younger. I miss that sometimes -- having a group of friends to do things with. Like photo shoots in abandoned buses. (I was a model in that one.)

I like capturing life around me. Catching those brief moments and keeping them still forever. I think if I had my way, I'd buy myself a decent kit -- a digital SLR, a 35mm without fungus ruining the lens -- two of them so I could have both B&W and colour going at the same time, a tripod, a flash, filters and a cable release. I'd also have a darkroom all to myself. I'd really enjoy that, I think.

I'm disjointed today. I had some thoughts for an entry about photography, but they don't seem to want to flow today. So I'll leave this now and try again another day.

So the phone rings this morning while Mike and I are chattering away. I figure it's my sister, but check the call display anyway. Bell PayPhone. Er... ok. The conversation goes something like this:

Woman: Hi, Linda?
Me: Hi, that's me.
Woman: Hi! I'm *some name I forget*... I was looking at your website.
Me: *Which one? Damn.* Uh-huh.
Woman: I am really interested in Soapmaking and I want you to teach me. You could come to my place or I could come there for lessons.
Me: *The fuck?* I'm sorry but I don't teach anyone how to make soap as it is my business selling it. There are many resources online with very detailed instructions. There's the Soap Dish Forum -- many of the people there helped me learn how to make soap.
Woman: Oh... Ok....
Me: Best of luck, ok? Bye.
Woman: *surprised* Thanks! Bye.

First off, good on her for asking. It takes balls to ask for help and I admire that. I just wish people would think about whom they are asking.

It comes down to sales. If I teach someone how to make soap, especially someone local enough to "come over for lessons", I am creating competition. I'm creating competition that knows how I make my soap and hell, my recipes if I was dumb enough to not use something different from my standard.

Then there's the danger aspect. My lye water mix is stronger than the standard used in Labs. It's very easy to fuck up and have an accident. I know my timing to get under running water in the case of a spill, but add another person into the mix and my safety plan goes to shit. Plus this is my home; it's not a workshop.

I don't want anyone coming into my home as a part of my business. I run SW from here because it's cost-effective and I'm small enough to manage. It makes sense for me as a parent to be available in the way I am when I work from home. But this is my home. I have personal issues with safe spaces and strangers enough to have very few personal friends in my home, much less strangers inviting themselves over for lessons.

Finally, my most personal beef with it all -- I taught myself. I spent a month wandering all over KW looking for handmade soap without finding any. So I decided to make my own. I went online and read for 3 days straight, anything and everything about soapmaking. Then I walked all over on a hot August day to buy all the equipment I needed. That night I made my first batch of soap. It was lye heavy and made with Crisco (I have a contact allergy to Crisco). So I tried again. And again. Until I got it right. Then I kept making soap.

Nobody taught me how to make soap. Nobody. I got advice. I got recipes. I got instructions. But I learned how to do it by doing it. And there's a part of me that thinks if people aren't willing to do the work, make the mistakes, then they can look elsewhere 'cause they're not going to get it from me. That's just the personal part.

I used to be more flexible about this. Then came the bullshit about the label tutorial and the bullshit with a friend using me and my willingness to help and teach. Now it feels like most people are more willing to have things handed to them rather than dig it out for themselves. As someone that finds pride and a sense of self in my ability to independently learn, I'm annoyed when I'm asked to give over my hard won knowledge for anything. Not that people actually offer anything in exchange for the knowledge or my time.

*sighs* Plus it's just rude to ask someone running a business to teach the skill their business is based on if it's not clearly offered. And trust me, there's nothing on SW that says "I offer soapmaking lessons!"

Pfft.

I was actually woken up by my alarm this morning. That's impressive because it means I wasn't woken up in the middle of the night thanks to my back. It's been interesting watching myself getting so grateful for the ability to wake up in the morning without pain. It's happened 3 times (counting today) this past month. But no matter how grateful I am for the lack of pain, the majority of mornings I wake up at 4-5am unable to sleep.

So I get up, take a Vioxx and sit in my chair waiting for it to kick in. That takes about an hour if I'm lucky and the single pill works. Sometimes I have to take a second pill to make the pain go away enough to sleep again for an hour or so. Then my alarm wakes me up and I'm off to get Sara ready for and to school.

Sometimes I can't carry the Brita filter over to the coffee maker to make my morning coffee without the weight setting off spasms. Most of the time the simple, simple act of bending over to feed the cats is more than I can handle. Then there's not knowing if I should ice my back or heat it to make the pain ease. And most of this is on the dose of painkillers I had taken a couple hours before.

What's been happening because of this is how tired I've become. Life still moves around me and I still have responsibilities to it. I have to get up at 7am most school days. I have to move and live. But my business can stand a fairly large amount of neglect and it has been. I haven't been working at all, really.

I get Sara to school, come home, spend some time online and then I nap through the middle of the day. I've already napped for 2 hours today alone and this was a day I woke up pain free.

I guess in all my bitching and complaining there's just this -- I'm so very tired. It's no longer that light exhaustion that had me worried I was getting depressed from a couple weeks ago, now it's something eating my time and my energy. I'm sitting here seeming unable to wake up fully. This sucks. I need to figure out how to beat this.

And that's 30 minutes.

The first is my slightly nasty living room carpet with the bits of dirt needing a vacuuming. The second is Miss Sara's room. I finally lost my patience and my willingness to not nag about her room this morning when I couldn't get to her dresser thingy. In front of the T-Shirt bin was; a Barbie cruise ship, 2 cardboard boxes ("cat palaces" that the cats won't go near) and her old laundry basket.

If it had been just the cruise ship I would've let it slide. Toys in a child's room are to be expected. Garbage everywhere isn't. *sighs*

I won't clean after her in her room. Every time I'm tempted to do it I remember teaching my 17-year-old brother-in-law how to do laundry. To me that memory reminds me of the other place Sara calls home. Where there are "magic cleaning fairies" (Sara's words) in the form of her grandmother and the maid they hire. That's ridiculous to me.

The only way to learn to be self-sufficient is to do it, I believe. And for me to follow after my daughter cleaning up stuff that she's more than capable of taking care of herself is doing nobody any favours. When she came her full-time this summer she was presented with a spotless, well-furnished room. In the months since it's become a garbage can.

There's crumbled pieces of autumn leaves in each corner, then various papers on top of that, then more garbage then toys. She has so many toys and nowhere to put them away because all the put-away areas are filled with crap. There's a chest for the bigger toys but it's buried under a foot of piled stuff.

It's not squalor -- yet. It's skirting that edge enough that I'm angry looking at it. I'm angry that my daughter doesn't know how to clean up after herself. I'm angry that she even has the thought of "magic cleaning fairies", (much less apply that term to a human being)