Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Just call me a dwarf


I realize it's been almost a month since I last posted, which is a record, guys.

I also have continued getting paid for my blog, which just makes me feel kind of crazy happy instead of guilty, because I'm an awful human being.

So, what have I been doing all this time while you've continued checking this blog, wondering if I've posted today, and then finding out that, once again, I haven't, and then you think about maybe emailing me to find out if I'm okay, but you don't because you end up forgetting, which would pretty much be the story of my life. 

Anyway, this is what I've done this past month, shortened for your reading ease:

Worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, started Grade 12 Chemistry, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, dropped out of Grade 12 chemistry, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, decided I'm no longer sure what I want to do with the rest of my life, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, inhaled a lot of helium, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, decided maybe I'd be happy continuing what I've been doing, which is working, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, felt very very sad about our poor Japanese countrymen, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, worked, and worked.

More later....I have to go to work.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

R.I.P.


I was going to entertain you today with stories of me falling off chairs,,  getting stuck in a bathroom stall in the dark and having my head compared to a pimple. But not today.

Today, I'm going to talk about a man. A man who had a great impact on my life, and on many others.

Ian was my boss, in charge of making sure everything ran smoothly in our real estate office. He was the reason I went to work there back in 2005. He was the reason I stayed there. He was supportive, and kind, and gentle, and fearless.

Ian passed away last Saturday after a four-year battle with cancer. 

The entire office, the one I just returned to after a two-year absence, is in shock and a state of utter despair. Because Ian was a man who meant what he said and said what he meant, who always had nothing but wonderful things to say about everything (including how he felt, even when he felt like utter crap), and about everyone he met.

Ian and I had more of a relationship than just manager and realtor. We shared jokes, we shared the same views on religion and god, and we also shared a special bond regarding cancer. When I told Ian about Dee's fight with cancer, he became a friend, someone who'd been there and knew what it was. He and Dee had a special connection, and it touched me deeply whenever Ian would ask about the kids. Which he did often.

Ian fought prostate cancer, and then, a year later, discovered he had colon cancer. This was not a man who abused his body. And yet, somehow the disease found him, and wouldn't let him go. No matter how tough things were, however, Ian always had a smile, and whenever you asked him how he was doing, he had nothing but positive things to say: "If I was doing any better I'd be too good," he say. I knew that couldn't be the honest truth, but this was his way of dealing. 

He also refused to burden anyone else with his troubles and his pain, which is more than anyone I know could do, especially when going through what he did.

This is a man who was on one form or other of chemotherapy for four years, who had his liver severed and removed, one lobe at a time, all in an attempt to live.

Ian will live in my heart forever.

If you can hear me Ian, I want to thank you for giving me the honour of meeting you and knowing you. You are one in a million. See you in a while. We'll go for a ride on some nice Harleys.

Monday, February 7, 2011

I am old, and there's nothing more to say

Although I have often spoken about feeling about a million years old these past few years, I honestly know what it actually feels like now, and I can also now honestly say that I AM OLD. Now excuse me while I sob into my fifth gin and tonic of the morning.

So, I worked at my new library job last week, full days both Thursday and Saturday. The job basically entails a lot of shelving of books, moving of books, and not thinking too much about anything except barcodes, the Dewey Decimal system, and whether 906.1782346879 BLS comes before or after WHO GIVES A CRAP. You can pretty much say the job is a little mind numbing, but only in a good way.

Seriously, though, libraries all over the world owe everything to pages (which is what my official title is, which is also a little funny because I'm a page at a library -- get it?). Without us, books and magazines would be strewn pell mell throughout the library, reference books on Floor 1 instead of Floor 3, and (god forbid) mysteries shoved with romance novels.

Working Thursday wasn't too bad, although by closing time, I was tired. And happy. Because yo! I am no longer just a burdensome sponge on the counter I call my husband, sullenly soaking up every little bit of kindness the poor man has left in him. No, I am now making some serious coin, dudes. 'Serious', as in, I can now almost pay for the groceries for two days a month. YESSSS!!

Saturday was another story, however. It started off on a bad note, with my head almost exploding and throwing mounds of brain matter all over the carpet (only figuratively speaking, folks). My sinus infection was back with a vengeance, so I had to work with a headache from the devil himself. I popped extra strength tylenols all day long, which is quite possibly why today's library patrons may not find any of the books they're looking for. Not my problem: I don't go back until Thursday.
The other problem I had on Saturday was the rest of my body. It decided that, although I managed just fine on Thursday with the bending and the stretching and the pushing and the pulling, Saturday was not going to be such a day. In fact, Saturday turned out to be The Day Mary Turned 178. Guys, by the time I was slated to go home, I could barely walk to the car, and I am not exaggerating. Not even a little. I was so sore and tired that I should have just called 9-1-1 because I am sure I was a lot sicker than 90 per cent of the people at the hospital at that time. THAT'S how bad I felt.

I came home, moaning softly the whole way, lay down on the couch, and did not move (not even twitching an eyelid) for three hours. My entire body felt as if a very large, very heavy, very unforgiving machine trampled over it, back and forth, for nine hours straight. Every single joint hurt, every muscle was strained. Even the hairs in the crook of my elbow were crying.

Mr. Handsome made dinner, I made it to the table to eat, and then I lay down again. The only time I moved was to go to bed, which I did pretty soon after.

And that was when I decided that I'm an old bag, ready for the nursing home. It was also then that it dawned on me that I must be crazy, trying to get into the nursing program at university. WHAT AM I THINKING, people?! I must be insane. Because if I can't even manage to shelve books for 8 hours, how in god's name am I going to save lives for 12 hours?! Please, someone, tell me. Because at this moment, I'm thinking I might as well just apply at all the funeral homes for a job, because my time is coming fast.

There can be no other reason for feeling the way I was feeling on Saturday. Age is it. No argument, no excuses. And then, of course, my mind started to weave through manic thoughts at a frightening pace, thinking about how awful life was going to obviously get from here on out, because if I felt like that, I'd clearly feel twice as bad in a few years. And twice as bad = dead.

So, instead of taking it easy, I instead accepted a second job to take up the rest of the time I apparently have so much of. 

To be continued ....

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