Backlash

I was going to unpost yesterday’s post.  But when you put something out there like that, it’s not fair.  So I’m leaving it there. And writing a follow-up.

I liked the comment about sometimes not getting my posts.  Sometimes I don’t get them either.  And usually, since this is public domain, there is more unsaid than there is said.  I’m sorry if I have to be vague sometimes.

Truth be told though: things are great right now.  I assure you, I am safe, happy and healthy.  I’m happy, safe and healthy.  I’m healthy, happy and safe.  I’m safe, healthy and happy. I’m happy, healthy and safe.  Are you getting the idea yet?

So thank you all for your concern.  But really, everything is great.  I think I’m just exhausted and every once in a while, I like to sit down and think things through.

Well, I went to be about an hour ago.  Couldn’t sleep then, but after a cup of Hot Blue Jello, I think I’m willing to try again.  Nighty –night folks.  And I promise to get back to some real writing soon.  Pinky swear.

Truth or Dare

Okay, truth.  It’s daring.

Today was a sunny day, and a warm day.  And I thought, and I knew, that it was not the day to mull, it was not the day to think things through.  So I diverted my thoughts to flip flops and peasant skirts.  I focused my energy on doing what needed to be done.

But it’s the end of the day.  And I’ve been out of energy since about 7 pm.  So I’ve spent the better part of the evening affixed to my couch.  I’ve spent the evening with my friends Ryan, Seth , Marissa and Summer, and Merideth, George, Christina, Izzy and Derek.  And after catching up on the last month of happenings in their lives, I’ve started to think through what needs thinking about my own life.

I said I felt fine about it.  And really, what choice did I have?  I played up the confidence – when inside there were red flags.  Optimism, yes – but that’s when the sun was out.  It was not the type of day that you waste away in a pity party.  That’s what after sunset is for.  And truthfully, since I stated that I dared to take that route, I did feel fine about things.

But I’ve been moping unnecessarily all evening, and it only just occurred to me that this might have something to do.  Sit here and continue worrying?  I don’t dare.

You've Got Mail!

Usually, I send emails to avoid talking to people.  Not that I want to avoid them—it’s often just easier to say what needs to be said, and do what needs to be done, over email.  I like the trail it leaves behind in my in and out box.  I can’t be accountable for what I say in person – I’m much too forgetful for that.

This morning, I received a call from someone who had misplaced my email address.  The tone of her voice was frantic as she said, “I’ve been searching for it for days”.  

Now, at this point, I would think she was also looking for me urgently.  Or if not so urgently, that there was something that she wanted to address.  I gave her my email address and waited patiently for her to explain the nature of the email she was about to send me.  

Instead, she wrote down my email address, wished me a good day and ended the call.  No explanation of the matter for which she urgently needed to email me.  

I guess I’ll just wait for the info to appear in my inbox.

Memory Lane

Flashback. 1993. Thirteen years old and scared beyond belief, I had to go to the highschool. A school that I would start in Grade seven and graduate from at the end of my Senior/OAC/Grade 13 year.

It's no surprise that hanging out here with her insipired a trip down memory lane. We took out, looked at, and poured over our documented existence at the school. It brought back fond memories, and not so fond ones.

Some disbelief, "Did I really look like that?" What the heck was I talking about in my year end message? References to inside jokes, code names for crushes, and complaints about generalized adolescent malaise. It's all there. Some of it easier to understand than others.

Time spent reflecting has led us to one very affirmative conclusion -- Highschool Sucked. But it's over.

The yearbooks have immortalized us in ways we can't beleive -- What was I wearing? Who was I with? I had awful hair back then.

But, we're immortalized.

Ottawa!

A somewhat sleepier than usual version of me boarded a plane on Friday afternoon. With the last of the last minute errands complete, I made it to the airport and checked in about 20 minutes later than they would have liked me to. Funny enough it was perfect. There was just enough time to check in, clear security, get a Starbucks Latte and board the plane. There was not a bit of sitting and waiting in there.

Interestingly enough, even Starbucks felt like Ontario. As she asked where I was headed, she interpreted Ottawa to mean I was going to Toronto. "Where in Toronto are you going?"

"I'm not -- I'm going to Ottawa".
Small talk, small talk, small talk. Grande Latte firm in my hands.
"Have a great time in Toronto".

But really, when i've got a Starbucks Latte, I'm a happy girl. And I don't care if they don't know where to find me. I'm right where I want to be this weekend

MIA

For days now, my blog has been MIA. Where did it go? I do not know.

But i'm going to publish this post and then try to republish the whole thing to see if it comes back. It had better, I have two funny stories to write. Not that I'm trying to get your hopes up. Stay tuned.

And now, we fade to black. Or white, actually.

Walking on Broken Glass

It’s the end of the world as I know it.  

That’s right. You heard it here first.  And I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news.

While in the midst of a sleepy stupor, I broke my full length mirror.  If you’re thinking this story sounds familiar, it’s because I broke one about a month ago.  Both times, I walked into it, and it fell forward, glass side down and shattered.

So now I’m up to 14 years of bad luck.  It feels like I’m walking on broken glass.  Speaking of which, I should go sweep that up now.

Red is Best

My roomie hadn’t been feeling well for the past few days.  I offered to make her some hot jello.  She’d never heard of it before, but thought she should give it a try.  To be quite honest, I had never actually tried it for myself.  I’d just heard all about it.

She was skeptical, but I explained how I knew a whole family that swore by it.  So we fished out a box of jello from the box of the cupboard and thought we’d give it a try.
We mixed her up the package, I poured her a cup and eagerly waited her reaction.  She liked it.  I was jealous, I wanted to try too.  Then it dawned on us… you can’t put it in the fridge and save it for later.  So we poured me up a cup too.

I can’t believe I didn’t try this sooner.   It’s great!

Tonight, I made some more.  Just because.  I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  
I think I’ve just found an alternative to coffee.

Egocentric Messenger

The messenger.  Please, don’t shoot me.

I am the unknowing bearer of bad news.  I answer the phone.  

I ask people to wait patiently while I try to track down whoever it is they need to get a hold of.  I never know what I’m dealing with – that’s not really my concern.  I don’t know the stories, the news, the questions or the answers from the people on the other end of the phone.

“She’s just with a patient right now, can I put you on hold for a minute?” They almost never say no.

“Thank you, it shouldn’t be too long.  Please hold.”

And just like that, they wait.  Are they rehearsing the news they called with?  Are they thinking about their day, their grocery list, their laundry, their favourite TV show? Maybe they’re thinking about what they have to do tomorrow.  Maybe they’re just thinking about how they’re going to make it through the next few minutes, few hours, or few days.  Maybe.  Maybe they’re too tired, scared or angry to think.

Sometimes I have to go back and let people know it will be a few more minutes than I thought.  They wait, patiently.  Maybe silently rehearsing, maybe silently thinking.  Or maybe patient on the outside, and anxious on the inside.

I see how the news affects people.  And I stop to think about what news I just passed along.  And really, when I see someone that upset, I want to cry not only for them, but also with them.

Crossing the Line

In the midst of chaos, I had things under control.  All four of the phone lines were lit up, but I knew who was on hold, why they were on hold, and what they needed.  I took a minute to clear some of the call bulk.  I announced everyone their respective calls with the usual what line they needed to answer and who it was that was holding for them.
As everyone scrambled to find an available phone, I swiveled in my chair to return to the one call that was holding for me.  Someone else had picked it up.

In fact, several someone else’s had picked up someone else’s.

Confusion and panic. And chaos.  I knew who was on each of those lines. And I know I gave people the right line numbers to answer.  And the people I work with are smart. So when I say Line 50, they wouldn’t just answer Line 51 for the heck of it.  Unless – and here comes the lightbulb moment—the phone line numbers on my phones don’t correspond with the phone line numbers on the other phones.

So we tried out the theory, and sure enough, what we have is a labeling issue.  What is line 50 on my desk, is labeled as line 51 on another.  Line 51 on my desk, is line 52 on one phone and line 51 on another. And on my desk, I also have two lines that are not labeled on any of the other phones.  Whether or not they’re just for me, or for everyone else is now an entirely new possibility.  
My bias sides to my phone having the correct labels-- only because it’s my job to answer the phone.   Mind you, the ward clerks got a new phone last week… so that could have something to do with all this.  And to think, the first time I worked with it, I was more concerned that there is now capability of 5 different phone lines to be answered on it.  And to think, at the time, I thought that one more number for me to worry about was crossing the line.  But now, this opens up an entirely new can of worms.

Jewels

I stumbled into Jewelry class about 15 minutes late.  I picked up my tool box on the way into the studio, parked myself at my usual bench, and sat.  I looked at the box bewilderedly.  I sat and tried to collect my thoughts.

“No coffee this morning, Tracy?”

I grumbled as much of a response as I could muster.

The fact that I didn’t have a coffee was kind of a sore spot.  Despite the fact that I was late, I did stop at the usual coffee shop on the way in.  The line was long, and after waiting for about 5 minutes in a line that went no where (big downside to fancy coffee shops that also cook breakfast), I decided it wasn’t worth my while.  So I left, and went to class empty handed.

“Let’s grab a coffee after class – my treat.  I could use one too”.  The look on his face showed frustration as he mulled over the 4 mm stone he was setting in a ring .

The invitation surprised me.  But it was coffee and it was morning—how could I say ‘no’.  I also knew that after three hours of fine detailed jewelry making, a coffee would be long overdue.

Workbenches cleaned and swept. Projects secured in toolboxes.  Toolboxes in the cupboard.  And off we went.