a week off and thanks, federal government

So I have this week off of work. Unpaid but still, nice. Sigh. So I'm bored! It's true, I'm never, ever happy. When I'm working I want time off and when I've got time off, I'm bored.

although I have liked sleeping in, relaxing, reading, a bit of cooking! (shocking for me), shopping (a new frying pan with a lid, oh the excitement), getting a massage (nice, but apparently my WHOLE friggin body is tense), going out for dinner ($50 gift certificate from work, merry, merry), etc. But I'm spending too much time alone (funny how people haven't dropped their lives to spend all of their time with me! me! me!).

Oh yeah, a few blogs ago my title talked about a raise and then I never wrote about it. Well, in my wee union job we get two raises a year - $1/hour on our anniversary and $1.25 at Christmas time. Next year that goes up to $1.50 at Christmas time. Very, very nice. I've worked there only a year and a half and have gone up $4.25 an hour. This is amazing and as I've said before, my first longterm job in years and years. So it's great.

I was looking in my account online last night and lo and behold is an extra amount of like $1,700! I kid you not, I kid you not. Canada RTI, it says. Huh? I figure it's a mistake of epic proportions. I call the bank, they tell me to call the mutual funds people. The mutual funds guy tells me to run away with it, ha ha. He tells me to phone the federal government. I do and am transferred to three different numbers. Finally, I am told it's a re-configuring of my last couple of income tax returns. Yee haw! Yee haw!!!!!! It's like money from the sky. I want to spend it wisely, although I did go crazy at Superstore today and buy that frying pan and some freezer containers. Yee haw!

New year's eve coming up - can I buy a date?

but I travel

So I phoned my mother for Christmas. I live in Vancouver, my sister, her husband and their wee one live in Ottawa and my in their 70s parents live in Winnipeg. All of us together at Christmas hasn't happened since I think 1987. We don't do well together but that's another story.

Mom saw Father Beaudry the other day and he said to say hi to me. Father Beaudry was the priest of St. Bernadette's Catholic Parish in Winnipeg when I was growing up and went there. Unknown to my mother, I also saw him a few times for counselling when I was about 16. Now, now. He's a great priest and nothing untoward went on and he was helpful. He knew my father, Joe, and therefore knew why I needed the counselling.

"I think I see a light at the end of the tunnel," I remember telling him. "That's the Holy Spirit," said he. He was probably right.

Anyway, Mom tells me that Mrs. Gadient called her and said that there was some kind of general absolution on offer at one of the Catholic Churches in the area. Did Mom want to go, she asked. Sure she did, said Mom, who apparently finds confession difficult. "It was open confession," she told me.

"You mean like everybody does it together?" I pictured a bunch of people sitting in their pews and screaming out sins - "I had an affair!", "I killed my dog!", "I hate the Pope!" etc. I'm not mocking, I just don't know what that is. Turns out it's supposed to be not that but some kind of thing where the priest absolves everyone in one fell swoop.

"We were fooled though," says mom. Turns out there was a bunch of priests there and you could pick one or something. I'm not sure I really understood the deal. So mom goes to sit beside Father Beaudry, who she hadn't seen in years.

"He made casual conversation and then he said, "how's Joe?" And then he asked how I was. "She's about 40 now isn't she?"

"39," says my mother, "She's not married but she travels." Uh huh! I'm not married but I travel. Interesting.

"Oh yeah," says Father Beaudry, "I guess you want absolution?"

"Well," says mom, "I don't really have any sins - well, I guess I could be moere patient with my husband."

Father Beaudry nodded. He understood.

Christmas, raises, students, ideas, etc.

So I was talking on my phone yesterday. Funny thing really. Days can go by, weeks, years perhaps. My phone does not ring. Not even a wrong number. Nada, nothing, nyet. You get the idea.

So I'm driving late yesterday afternoon to my physiotherapist. The knees, remember. anyway, ring, ring. I pick it up. Then, while I'm talking to person #1, person #2 from Victoria calls. Well, Victoria. I have to talk to person #2.

"I'm driving," I say as I answer the phone, swerving along Cambie.

"You've been in an accident?" asks she.

"No, no, not yet."

Cell phone talking and driving - all very bad. Especially for me. People who've driven with me are fully aware of this fact.

Anyway, person #2 and I start talking about my blog. Well, really, what else is there to talk about. She challenges me - can I write more seriously?

I appreciate this challenge. It is actually very difficult for me to write without sarcasm or irony or whatever it is called. I really want to because god knows I have enough darkness in me to accomplish it. I've tried to write a few dark short stories but unfortunately or fortunately, the damn "karenisms" pop out. It may be funny but it is definitely a weakness in my writing. I have the week between Christmas and New Year's off, so I'm going to try to head into the seriousness. I appreciate the challenge, person #2.

It was the last day of the session with students at work today. Off to lunch we go. The students liked me this month and gave me a lovely card they had all signed. Here's an example (grammar errors are theirs, I'm going verbatim here):

"Why are you so funny? Sometimes I was nearly dead because of laughing!"

"Hi. You're so nice. I love your joke."

"You are too funy and powerful! Please keep this character untill you become 100 years old. Have a happy life."

"You are very powerful."

I must admit I'm all thrilled and verklempt. A co-worker said I should frame it, for the next time I become the anti-Christ (refer to much earlier blog). I suspect powerful is not what they meant to say but was the translation in their translators. Mind you, I have been lifting weights so you never know.

Tis the Christmas season. On the news on channel 11, they are spending a few minutes each evening going to someone's house who has decorated it up amazingly. Tonight they went to this couple's home and their house is amazing. Here is my not-kind thought but the kind of things I think about. The woman was friendly and "normal" seeming. The kids seemed "normal." The husband seemed, well, slow. There, I said it. He talked kind of funny and all of that. Instead of looking at their lovely decorations I kept thinking, "Is he slow? Does she know he is slow? Did he have some kind of an accident that caused this? Is he brain-injured?" Nice house though.

Ah - I'm just jealous. I have no decorations. And no husband, slow, fast or otherwise.

Merry, merry.

i'm sure the mold will kill me or at least stunt my growth

I live in a basement suite as I've said. No natural light but not bad really.

Last night the damn suite flooded for the second time. From underneath the kitchen floor and part of the carpeted floor. Landlord rushed down and sighed. The last time it flooded he spent $10,000 to repair the sewage pipe thingys. So he calls sewage fixer upper who comes right over. Landlord also rents some kind of machine which mops up the pooling part of the flooding. This morning some guy knocked on my door with a large dryer-fan thing that I left on all day.

Now the floor is almost dry but my god it reeks of yuckiness. It's especially bad when I first come in but lingers. Gagging, I am. And I'm exhausted because I didn't sleep more than an hour last night worrying about the effects of all of this.

They will carpet clean it but when is the question.

I need to move. Please don't post any comments that will scare me further. Yes, I am very impressed with your wise knowledge of carpets and mold, but, no. Sorry I'm exhausted and in a bad mood.

possibly pithy, hopefully not

I hate pithy.

So there was this woman I knew once. I went to church for years and then stopped. Long story. Anyway, this woman, Barb was her name, went to the "last" church I attended. The church had its weird beliefs that I now mock, but it also had a lot of concern for the "throwaways' in society - homeless, mentally ill, etc. and that I liked.

Barb went to the church for years, I think. She really had an amazing belief in god. She was single, late 40s, a writer and an accountant, I think she was an accountant.

She'd battled breast cancer for a long time and then went into remission. Then, it came back. She would be healed, she was convinced. She kept coming to church, kept praying for other people, kept giving and sharing and being wonderful.

We all saw her getting painfully thin, gaunt really, lose her hair to more chemo. Walk around in pain. And then eventually, not walk around so much, get a wheelchair.

She insisted that she wanted to still live on her own, live her life. People rallied around her and one woman in particular, one of my roommates at the time, spent hours and days with her.

We used to have a yearly summer church camp. Not as boring as it sounds. Very relaxed, get to hang out, etc. Barb and I and some others played some Scrabble. She was so weak that I moved her tiles where she told me to. I was my usual competitive self.

"It's fun to help each other, don't you think?" she asked me. "Oh, um, yeah, yeah," I said back and meant it.

Barb died a little more than five years ago. I remember when I found out - I burst into tears and was pissed off, because she was so convinced that god would heal her. At the end though, she apparently overcame her fear of death. Phew.

She'd never married, her parents were dead. Her only family was a brother, who himself was in and out of psychiatric hospitals.

Is she still remembered? I hope so.

Vancouver and Mennonite Chamber Choir

I just heard the most amazing, amazing, amazing choir on CBC radio - the Mennonite Chamber Choir. Buy one of their CDs! I'm going to. The $$$$ goes to support Mennonite Support services in Vancouver, which helps all kinds of folks. https://ssl.mccscs.com/catalog/

Amazing music, I say again.

I do love Vancouver. Yesterday, in the middle of December I was able to jog OUTSIDE in my shorts. Yes, I'm back to jogging despite the knees. Jogging keeps me sane, lowers the anxiety, etc. Must jog.

And today, another gorgeous day in the middle of December. I'm from Winnipeg where the only thing you can do in the middle of December outdoors is shovel the driveway. So spending part of this afternoon outside at English Bay was incredible. I was there with my friend and her two-year-old. Said two-year-old was just not feeling well. Sleeping a lot, that kind of thing. Said friend couldn't figure out what was going on - wee one didn't have a fever, nothing apparent.

Well, it all became apparent when suddenly - wee one began to sob. Friend looked under the blanket in the stroller and wowza - there was a lot of proof of the illness. At first I thought wee one had spilled her milk all over herself and then, no, no that's not milk. Friend whips things here and there. I instantly back up 10 feet, "I'll get some paper towels from the washroom," say I, promptly finding out there are no towels. "Here's some toilet paper."

Poor wee one. Apparently it is going around, this virus. So now I'm nauseous.

But other than that it was a beautiful, beautiful day.

Vancouver.

to relax, perchance to, um, relax

My new brainfixerupper person has suggested that I make a list of things that I find relaxing. Excellent. So here is a list. And fanbase, please add what relaxes you (um, perhaps the G-rating, you never know when those under 18 will be reading this) Or perhaps use a euphemism, like "nookie, nookie"

1. taking a bath

2. reading a really good book

3. watching The Apprentice

4. Listening to Johnny Cash

5. Tylenol PM the next day (refer to earlier blog for my information on that)

6. Talking on the telephone to someone who I can laugh with

7. Getting a massage (I get $500 coverage a year at work - yee haw!)

8. Listening to people with British accents - not only do they always sound more intelligent (except for Tony Blair), something about their intonations soothes me.

9. Ativan - although I've only ever had two in my life.

10. About an hour after cardio-type exercise

11. Playing Scrabble, unless my opponent has all of the good letters - X, J, Q, Z, blanks and S's

Feel free to add. I am hoping to add yoga and some kind of prayer to some kind of god in the new year.

obsessing about the last obsessing post

I'm obsessing that my last post was excessively self-pitying. Since I now have a few new Craigslist fans (mind you, after they saw my photo a few didn't bother to write back - me thinks they were looking for Pamela Anderson) I don't want to appear too obsessive.

Obsessively,

Karen

i obsess, therefore i obsess

Oh my god I'm obsessing, perserverating even more than usual. This can't be good. Thank god I have an appointment with a new brainhelper-outer all lined up.

More vulnerability and awkward honesty coming here. Be prepared. I've never felt particularly physically attractive. No, I'm not fishing for compliments. If i were doing that I would say straight out, "please leave a compliment in your comment." Even when I was in my 20s I thought "yeah, I'm okay but whatever." Now that I'm nearing 40! I feel even less so. I think I'm fairly normal looking - a face, curly hair, not fat, blah blah, but not anything so great.

My rather dismal history with men (see recent blogs) helps to confirm this for me. And since in my obsessing I'm almost looking to be proved right, it well, proves me right.

I'm overly-obsessed with how other women I know look and how I just don't measure up. Oh my god this sounds shallow or perhaps I have body/face dysphoria.

A wonderful colleague complimented a couple of my female co-workers today on their stunning looks. I, of course, bit her head off about this. How embarrassing.

I love sleeping

I worship sleeping. I have a wee altar in my wee basement suite to sleeping. All praise be sleeping. I don't often sleep well but I love it. It's rare for me to love something I'm not very good at. I love that feeling when I'm reading before sleeping and I know in just two minutes I can snuggle under and sleep. Love it, love it, love it.

I need more windows in my humble abode. I have a few windows but they all, I kid you not, face walls. Wall, wall, wall. The two small windows in the living room/bedroom are frosted for insulation and therefore I can't see a damn thing outside. Mind you, no one can see inside which is good but still. It could be snowing out right now with pelts of snow peas and I would have no idea.

I love sleeping. I also love Ativan (like Valium) but have only ever taken it twice because I know I could easily get addicted to it. When I take an Ativan I love everybody. Love.

I want to audit a political science course this fall. I also love learning stuff that I love learning about. It's been impossible to find a continuing studies course in this area - I've looked everywhere - so I am now trying the expensive auditing route.

I now also love Johnny Cash's music.

comments back on

I've turned the comments back on. I trust that only blog-related comments will be left here. Other comments? E-mail me. Thank you.

Sigh. Craig's List. Some jerk sent me an enraged, abusive e-mail about how I was not being honest, hiding behind my computer, etc. It made no sense whatsoever and so I sent it along to Craig's List as an abusive e-mail. Yikes. I was really upset after - I know that this man will never know who I am or how to track me down but it felt really, really intrusive. I was so discouraged. I'm nearly 40! and I'm having to put a personal ad online and then take crap like that. I have to stop beating myself over the head with that. Although I did avoid a baby shower I was invited to this weekend because I just couldn't deal.

Sorry if this sounds self-pitying. Self-pity or depression? Or maybe both.

So I went to the gym and rode the stationery bike for an hour.

Thanks for reading.

why I've hidden the comments

Hello, fan base of four. You'll notice that you are not able to access the comments. I've hidden them so that only I can see them.

Why? Well, sigh. My friend, who shall remain nameless. Okay, my friend Chris. He suggested that I put up a personal ad on Craigslist. No way! said I. But now I have and I've mentioned my blog address on it. Know my blog, know me kind of thing. Plus, I can use more of a fanbase for the blog.

I notice though that these readers of my ad are commenting on my blog. Eeek. That was not what I intended and I'm embarrassed that my regular fanbase will think weird things about it. So, for now, you can still leave a comment but you can't read comments of others.

Phew. Putting an ad in is a risky thing. I've already had one guy suggest that I might like to give him a sensual massage. "I said sensual, not sexual," he wrote. Yikes!!!!!!!

So, for the readers of my blog from Craigslist. First, thanks for reading. The more the merrier. Second, um, hmmm, um, hmmm. A little depth I think is what I mean. Philosophy, spirituality, the meaning of life and blah blah blah.

I'll stop now.

Dear Santa

Dear Mr. Claus:

I believe that you are familiar with me. We have spoken before. I have just two requests this Christmas:

1) A man to have a deep and long-lasting relationship with. I've asked god, psychics, friends, enemies, co-workers et al for this and have had no luck. Hence, I am turning to you, Mr. Claus. I hear good things about your work. But hurry, I'm getting deep into the abyss about this one which translates into bitterness in conversation.

2) World peace.

Faithfully,

Karen

it's Christmas time in the city

Ring-a-ling. Here them sing. It's Christmas time.

So I've discovered, thanks to my pal Maria who is in China at the moment, LimeWire. Wowza. I've downloaded a bunch of songs already. Unfortunately, I don't have a CD burner so I can only hear these songs from my computer. But still. Nice, nice, nice.

Maria tells me that she cannot access my blog from China. Wow, I'm blocked in China. I suspect all blogs are.

I'm not feeling very creative here - hmmm.

Yesterday, I went into a funky coffee shop type thing on Commercial Drive. This mother and daughter sitting behind me were arguing. Arguing and the tension was unbelievable. I loved it of course.

The mother was a wee Scottish woman. The son, a bald 30-year-old. She was not happy in general, and yelled at the waitress for having the spinach beside, but not in, her eggs as she liked it. That type of thing.

"Greg," she kept saying to her son, "you have to get a job."

"Shut up mom," he said back, numerous times, "you don't control me. Stop trying to control me."

"I pay your rent, Greg."

"You do not, not all of the time." Etc. You get the idea. He was so angry at her and she did sound rather, um, scarily controlling.

"Stop cancelling your job interviews," she said.

"It's my business. I don't want to live in Canada anyway. I want to go to Germany."

"You need to be mentally balanced for that, Greg."

Uh huh. Perhaps a mental illness issue here.

I've never heard such disdain for each other in a public place.

"Nobody will love you like your mother, Greg."

"That's not true, lots of people love me."

"Not like your mother."

Yikes.

It's Christmas time. I'm trying to get into the spirit. I do love Christmas carols and tinsel on trees and lights out at night.

Sigh.

Sudan and Andy

I sometimes hang out with friends who live in a community house in the Downtown Eastside. They have been there for 12 years and they are committed to the neighbourhood and the people. They are renovating for low income housing some houses on Jackson and Cordova. If you happen to be in the area, pop into the greenhouse and find out more about them.

Anyway, Andy came to visit there today. Andy is from North Carolina and had previously been working in the Downtown Eastside at one of the drop-in centres. Last year he headed off to Sudan to work with an aid organization. He stayed 15 months and just got back recently. I had a chance to talk to him for about 15 minutes.

The rebels have been fighting for control in part of Sudan where they feel things are drastically unfair. The government, he says, basically didn't have the time or energy to fight back so they sent some roaming militia men in to "straighten out" the situation. This has resulted in, as I'm sure you've read, millions of deaths, rapes and displacements. Andy was working in a variety of IDP (internally displaced persons) refugees camps. Food, water, education, that kind of thing. He learned a lot about Sudan in that time and the players in the political situation. It is fair enough to say the U.S. has not intervened as some think they should. But he also notes that without the significant financial aid of the U.S., little or none of the aid would be happening.

After 15 months and one bout of Hepatitis E that brought him back to the States for three weeks, he is back permanently. He hopes to hold an information session/slide show in January.

He tells me that of all the big aid organizations out there, OXFAM would be the best and most efficient (he was not working for them.)

Tylenol PM, friends calling mothers, workouts, etc.

Apparently i can never be a drug addict. Tylenol PM, or its generic brand actually. When I was in NYC recently, I had the worst insomnia. It might have have something to do with sleeping on a top bunk in a hostel room with 7 others, but I' m not sure. Whatever. So while in Harlem one afternoon, I go into a drugstore and buy some generic Tylenol PM. I didn't want sleeping pills specifically, because cause a great hangover the next day.

So last night I have insomnia and decide to take one. Extra Strength they are. It takes about two hours to work for me but then in the morning I sleep and sleep and sleep. And even now, at 3 in the afternoon, I could fall asleep right now. And my brain is more relaxed than usual, like I'm minorly stoned. I'm singing Silver Bells in the shower. I'm obsessing a bit less. Joy to the World.

I got my friend Tracy to call my mother last night. Tracy talked to her once before about two years ago when I was wondering aimlessly through Europe and Tracy was the "go to" phone number.

"Your mother is French Canadian," Tracy observes. "Oh yeah," said I. I've never really heard the accent, growing up with it. It is apparently quite strong.

Anyway, I'm not especially close to my mother but I feel guilty because she is old and lives in another province. I hand Tracy the phone. "What am I going to say?" she says, freaking out a bit.

"Don't know," I say. Mom comes to the phone and they talk awkwardly about Christmas trees and I am laughing my little pre-drugged head off. Apparently mom says, "will Karen be coming to the phone?" So I do. Giggle.

I had a really good workout today at the gym. Must be the drug high. I am not supposed to use the stairmaster for awhile (knees) so I did 40 - count em - 40 minutes on the bike and then some weights. I am Rocky on Tylenol PM.