*head*smash* *head*smash* *head*smash* *head*smash* *head*smash*

I have had a day of days.

I found out so many things about my boss today that I am unsure if I can keep working for him.

He does not understand the difference between "profit" and "cash flow". He takes his "profits" every month, leaving almost nothing to run the business with. He budgets for a company that routinely bills $30K a month on a "day-to-day, sometimes week-to-week" basis. He can't believe that you would save money you made in July to pay bills in December. He is running this business like a crazy person.

If he needs more money, he arranges to lease the tools and hire another person, having NO consideration for something called "debt-to-income ratio".

NO WONDER he can't afford to hire me on a part-time basis.

This is what you get when you start a business without a business plan.

This is what I get when I don't listen to the man who says "You're too professional to work for me."

< rant >

IT IS TOO FUCKING SUNNY ALL THE FUCKING TIME

***

Feels like thirty-five
IN LATE AUGUST. Fuck this shit.
Fuck. it. in. the. ear.

***

See what I did there?

***

I have so much to do. I have lists of things, but it's stupid hot and I hate it here and I don't really give a shit that the toilet needs scrubbing or that my business plan isn't going to edit itself or that my boss is doing fucking creepershit trying to find out if he can watch while I fuck his wife.

***

(The answer is "FUCK OFF, YOU'RE MY BOSS")

*shudder*

Thankfully he's in Europe until next Friday. Then I'm taking three days off after the long weekend to re-evaluate my life.

***

< / rant >

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Have you ever had one of those lives where every choice you made is wrong, or maybe the choices you made were the least bad of all the options?

At this point, as I enter my 40th year, I am now certain that the only good and pro-active decision I have ever made was marrying my spousal unit. Every other life choice before and since has just been an exercise in failure.

***

I hate it here. I hate it more and more each and every moment that passes.

That said, I am glad I am not trying to make it in Vancouver this broke. And this broken.

Windsor seems like the kind of place where dreams come to die.

***

This whole stupid life of mine makes me want to move the hell away from here.

***

My latest obsession is moving to Detroit. It's got so much more going on than Windsor, real estate is CRAZY cheap, and there are some tech incubators, creatives, and locals who are trying to find a new place for the city in the world.

That speaks to me. For some insane reason, there seems to be more hope for Detroit being awesome than there is is any chance of Windsor being awesome.

***

I want to live in a big city again. In many ways I crave the anonymity that having half a million neighbours can bring.

***

I also hate driving, but doing it 25 days out of 40 has made it less panic inducing.

***

I just want a life worth living. One that doesn't have thrice monthly panic attacks over money and resources.

***

Too much to ask?

Rain

The weather has been a combination of the worst parts of Vancouver and Ontario weather.

We've had temperatures in the mid 30s (with the Humidex) and torrential Pineapple Express-like downpours.

Toronto got the worst of the rain today, but for about an hour the water fell out of the sky in sheets. It was like someone was pouring an endless bucket of water on your head.

Luckily for me, I finished work a few hours before. I walked to a business seminar (more on that later) about four blocks from my house. I had to call Joe to come and get me, because even in my Vancouver-issued raincoat, that downpour was too great for me. The streets were under a couple inches of water by the time he got there.

***

I turn 39 for the first time in five days.

I also turn 39 for the last time in five days.

I'm not afraid of getting older. I'm afraid that no matter what I do, life is always going to be this hard.

***

I have a family reunion of sorts a week from this Saturday. Things have kind of sorted themselves out, and it's now going to be possible for us to attend and have some time to relax.

***

So, business seminar.

I really love my job, but he's not paying me enough for the few hours he can offer me.

I applied for a job that I really want, but I didn't hear from them today. My Magic 8-Ball says they aren't going to call until Friday. If I don't hear from them by Friday, I'm going to give up on them.

And by giving up on them, I'm going to try to do something real, concrete, and serious.

I went to a seminar on how to write a business plan. I'm going to register two businesses. I'm going to network my ass off, hustle every day, and I am going to do what I need to do to survive.

I have it all sketched out; they're the beginning notes of my business plans. There's only one thing really holding me back...

***

$$$$$

***

In a nutshell, I need to raise a not huge, but significant, amount of money to get set up and float some bills while I get working on building the business. I have no idea where this money is going to come from.

***

Thinking about it makes me feel ill.

Confined

I'm posting this from the Blogger mobile app. I'm doing that BECAUSE MY APARTMENT HAS NO INTERNET.
It's been like this for more than 2 hours.
Having figured out that my day doesn't ever start until I put a bra on (yes, I just figured that out like 4 days ago) I think I'm going to do that, then attempt to have a super-productive day.
Thankfully, almost everything I need to do online can be done on my phone.
Almost.
I hate the internet in my apartment building. As soon as I start making more money, we're getting a faster, more reliable setup.
Speaking of more money, the job I have wanted more than anything in the past three years has just been posted by a company here in Windsor. I love my current job, but it's part time/on call and that doesn't look like that's changing anytime before October. I'm not sure I can afford to keep loving my job.
AS SOON AS I GET INTERNET BACK (said loud enough for someone who can fix it to hear) I'm going to apply for that job. The worst thing that can happen is that they never call.
Right?
I'm hot and bored now.

Humidex

It is 10:00 PM. It *feels* like 35C. That's 95F. It's fucking terrible.

It's been like this for two days.

I am living in my bedroom with the window unit air conditioner, except when I want to use the internet. That can only be done from the living room, because that's where the wi-fi signal works. Internet is intensely complicated here... so long story short; we only have internet in the living room.

My vision is out of whack, I'm constantly dizzy, and I'm ANGRY ALL OF THE TIME.

Joe's cooking dinner (yes, at 10 PM.) and once I eat I'm going to take the coldest shower I can stand, put on a tshirt, and lay in bed until I fall asleep.

It's cool enough in there that I will know I can sleep.

I hate this. I hate this weather with the white hot intensity of one thousand suns.

I can't function. I can only leave the house if I am going somewhere that is climate controlled. I alternate in 20 minute spells of being in the bedroom and then trying to do something in the rest of the apartment, or being online, for 20 minutes.

It's not working well, because I can rarely do 20 minutes in the heat.

It is at times like these that I question our decision to move. This weather is TERRIBLE for people with heat sensitivity.

What's worse, my cooling devices don't really work in humidity.

I had a long, detailed rant about how much I hate everything, but I've had to stop and start this so many times that I have forgotten what it is. Suffice it to say that I am really unhappy about a lot of things, and this bullshit weather is only amplifying my distaste for life.

***

I have now eaten. I'm getting in the shower. Fuck this day. Fuck this weather.

A Breakup Song for a City

White knuckles and sweaty palms from hanging on too tight 
Clench of jaw, I've got another headache again tonight 
Eyes on fire, eyes on fire, and they burn from all the tears 
I've been crying, I've been crying, I've been dying over you 
Tie a knot in the rope, trying to hold, trying to hold, 
But there's nothing to grab, so I let go 

I think I've finally had enough, I think I maybe think too much 
I think this might be it for us (blow me one last kiss) 
You think I'm just too serious, I think you're full of shit 
My head is spinning so blow me one last kiss

Just when it can't get worse, I had a shit day (no!) 
You had a shit day (no!), we've had a shit day (no!) 
I think that life's too short for this 
I'll pack my ignorance and bliss 
I think I've had enough of this. 

Blow me one last kiss. 

As promised... Fuck This Shit

If you were reading last week, the title of this post means that I didn't get the job.

For the fourth time, it's come down to me and one other person and I wasn't "the right fit".

So that's it. We're done.

This decision was made weeks ago, contingent on this one last job prospect. Now that I have failed, there's only one choice. Joe and I will be leaving Vancouver at some point after April 20 and before April 30. There's no reason to stay.

For 48 weeks I have been unable to secure long-term, somewhat secure, non-exploitive employment. We've spent our savings, we've maxed-out our credit cards, and now we are almost out of Employment Insurance. We have no prospects. We're at the brink of poverty.

Joe has a plan for his further education that he'll be happy to share with you if he knows you.

I have no plan.

For the second time in my life I'm taking this absolute leap of faith and hoping for a survivable landing in a place I have never really been, pretty much sight unseen. I am unconvinced this the right thing, I just know that it's the only thing Joe can do, and I might as well go along for the ride.

***

That said, if we own something that you want, it's yours for $20 OBO. We are only taking our clothes, laptops, and a few personal items. Everything else must go. If it can't be donated or recycled, it is going in landfill.

***

I want to be full of foot-stompin' rage right now, but I just don't have it in me at this moment. I feel so defeated, rejected, and hopeless. Vancouver has made it clear that there is no place for me here, so all I can do is hope that something will be different somewhere else.

***

This is all I have to say about this right now. I'll be back shortly to vent my spleen about my experience with this city.

I Didn't Tell Her To Go Fuck Herself

... but I totally wanted to.

Today I was at the hospital getting some tests done to see if we're doing the right thing when it comes to treating some unpleasant symptoms that won't go away.

I went into the cafeteria and came face to face with one of the health care "professionals" from the MS Clinic. She asked me how I was doing and asked if I was still working.

I told her my employment history in two sentences including details that I had been laid off and was trying to find new employment and she looked me straight in the eye and said,

"Why didn't you just go on disability when you lost your job."

I am sure I mentally killed her with the daggers in my eyes. It took all the power I could muster not to hiss at her when I replied,

"Because I'm not disabled."

And then she got that patronizing look of amused pity and said,

"Oh...you think you can still work.

Good For You, Dear."

And she smiled the patronizing smirk of someone who thinks they know better and patted me on the arm in the "There, There." fashion.

I said, "It was nice to see you."

I turned on my heel and abandoned the idea of picking up a snack before my appointment.


I run into this A LOT, especially around people connected with the MS Clinic and the MS Society and I get it from MS patients who's disease has progressed further than mine. Fortunately I don't get it from my neurologist and family doctor. There's this thing, almost like a need for people with this disease or in this work to lower my expectations for my own life... as if I really need help with that.

Even though it took every fibre of my being not to say it...

I didn't tell them to go fuck themselves.

Not sure where this is going...

I have been there, hating women because of the "girl way" they act.

I have also been there, being hated because I didn't act like a "good girl" or a "nice girl" or what that person thought a feminist should act like.

Gender norms fuck us all over.

Some days I wear lipstick, watch hockey and talk on the phone.

Other days I like football, shoe shopping and shooting guns.

Some days I'm overtly intelligent, sexual and neurotic. Other days I'm forgetful, quiet and self-assured.

All of these are the days I "act like a woman". I act like a woman because I am biologically and gender presentationally an adult female who doesn't know any other way to act than like a woman.

I don't want to perpetrate misogyny. The world is sexist and misogynist enough that I don't have to be part of it. I don't have to like what someone acts like, but I can also realize that maybe that woman doesn't know she has other options. Maybe she doesn't know why she makes bad choices. Maybe she doesn't know that the socialization of gender norms begins the second a parent is told "what it is" after a child is born, and maybe they don't know the bulk of that socialization is bullshit.

I really don't know where I am going with this... I just saw this quote this morning and it reminded me of how I used to treat women different. It reminded me how I used to perpetuate my own misogyny. I reminded me that I stopped hating myself right around the same time I stopped seeing other woman as a threat to my desires.

It reminded me that even though we are 51% of the population, we're still considered a "special interest group" who needs to be placated, pandered to and infantilized instead of being considered what we are - the majority. Part of the reason that this still goes on is that women are hating women with the same kind of gender socialization as men are. I can't be part of it. I can't do it and not hate myself.


I still don't know why I wrote this.

"Letters make words, and sentences make paragraphs"

I surround myself at all time with something to write on. I have note pads and notebooks and pens and pencils all around. I spend some time once a month making sure that every pen I have works and every pencil is sharp.

I suppose this is just hope that eventually the Muses will show up and say “Write this down, it’s brilliant!”.

But that day hasn’t happened. The story, whatever that story is, hasn’t come out of my brain or my fingers or where ever in hell stories are kept before they are put on the page. I find not writing exhausting, but I find what I have written exhausting when I read it later. Sometimes I am just so embarrassed by what is there on the page.

Today I scratched some words out in a notebook I keep in my bedside table. I doubt they will ever see the light of day. They might, but it isn’t likely. Even these words began with a thought that just popped into my head and as soon as the first three sentences were down I just started making shit up. It’s only the first three sentences that meant anything to me, the rest of this is just making shit up to fill in the space so I feel like I wrote more than three sentences today.

I need to write everyday, or I think I should write everyday, but I really can't find the reason to get up in the morning. I can't always show up to eat food every day, even when I am physically starving. I can't always show up to get dressed every day. If I have a reason to leave the house, I can totally get it together. But if I don't I don't show up for anything... not even the blank page.

Not Negotiable

By September 15, 2010 I wish to have the following:

1. A 1 bedroom apartment,

2. SouthNorth of Kingsway,

3. West of Victoria,

4. NorthSouth of 1st.,

5. East of Main, and

6. For $900 a month or less or $1000 a month for all utilities included.

How hard can that be?

According to Craigslist, pretty fucking hard.

It's true that I don't have to be out of my apartment until October 31, 2010, but if we're out by September 30, he'll give us September's rent back. That means we get a cheque for almost two grand on the day we move out when you include the eviction penalty and our security deposit IF we can get out of here by September 30.

The thing of it is, September 30 is the day we fly to Toronto to be back in Ontario in time for my cousin Angela's wedding. We need the place for September 15.

We've lived in this place for five years. We've got good references and I'm fully and completely employed and, if I might add, Joe and I are a lovely couple who work hard and pay our bills.

We've been informed that we were only one of several people who applied for that apartment on the corner we so coveted and also the landlords won't call back if we aren't the chosen ones. The property manager went so far as to say if we hadn't heard by tonight we didn't get it.

The time now is 19:51 PST. We're banking on the fact that we didn't get it.

I'm freaking out. I'd have another drink or 12, but I am a responsible adult who has to work in the morning.

Edited to fix the absolute physical impossibility that happens when you mix up north and south.

Fuck this

Having MS is needlessly complicating my life.

I have MS and access to a host of specialists in non-neurology disciplines through the MS clinic. The problem is that there are only one or two of them and they don't work at the clinic full time.

I've been having anxiety morning, noon and night for about a month now so I am pretty sure that it isn't going to go away by just thinking calming thoughts. Knowing that the psychiatrist at the MS clinic isn't available more than one day a week, I called my family doctor.

She won't deal with me because the anxiety is probably MS related, and tells me to get in touch with the psychologist she referred me a year ago. I call that psychologist and she tells me that the anxiety is either related to MS or to the anti-depressant the psychiatrist at the MS clinic put me on, so she won't touch me because she doesn't treat people with MS because she knows nothing about it. (I was referred to her because of stress and anxiety, interestingly enough.)

All I want is some fucking Xanax and to get on with my life. There is no fixing me. I am broken. This is not going to get better through therapy or exercise or whatever. Just give me the fucking drugs so I don't care any more and let me plod along.

It's funny, since I gave up all hope of ever doing better or achieving anything with the rest of my life, my job bothers me way less than it used to but the general anxiety and the dreams about being trapped on the stairs at my parents house whilst black balaclava wearing strangers shine flashlights and take photos through the window got worse.

So I'm on the cancellation list for the psychiatrist at the MS clinic and have an appointment set for September 20 at 2 PM.

I could fucking kill myself by then, but hey, at least I won't see someone who doesn't treat people with MS.