Meaningful work

I'm trying to be self-employed.

It's not going well.

I have two great clients that I love. If they had more paid work for me, I would work for them forever.

I have one client that makes me want to run away.

I have one client that doesn't really know what they want.

I have one client that doesn't actually want to pay me unless what I do for her allows her to make money, and the money making venture is terrible.

None of this is particularly lucrative, either.

So...

Do I find a doctor and get written off on disability for the rest of my life?

Given the way I feel most days, it seems like a good option.

***

Marketing tips for a personal service business also welcome.

If I had my way...

I would be packed and moved by now.

Right now I'm rationing the moving tasks so I don't just spend every waking moment living surrounded by all my packed up stuff until May 31.

Good news though! I still pretty much have everything I arrived from Vancouver with and we've barely added anything.

I guess there are bonuses to being fucking broke all the time.

***

I started a Coursera class on English composition to see if I can stop being tedious and stupidly wordy.

I'll let my future words speak for whether or not it was worth the time and effort.

***

I'm trying to focus on doing things that will propel my life forward.

I have no idea if its working at this point.

I'm not contemplating suicide so much anymore, so I guess it's doing something.

***

I think part of my problem is that I was being a hypocrite on a couple of levels.

See, I know how to get shit done. I know how to kick shit into order.

I just wasn't doing it because I don't like doing shit that is only for me. I don't like doing shit that only seems to matter to me.

There seems no point in doing shit if I'm the only one who sees it and cares about the results.

So I stopped doing shit because it was only for me and only mattered to me.

But then I realized that that attitude probably shows up in the rest of my life and if I want people to take me seriously professionally, I have to talk AND walk what I do in my personal life.

Otherwise, I'm just another person on the planet who wants you to do as I say, not as I do.

So fuck that.

I'm going to do some shit that will make people take me seriously.

On the next one

Got my official "we're moving in a different direction" email from the person who interviewed me last Thursday.

Officially that leaves my job interview on Monday as my only real prospect for gainful employment. I'm still applying for stuff, but I am really frustrated.

My new project is going okay, I guess. I'm too afraid to check the analytics because I'll be sad and disappointed, I think.

***

Are The Who going to sing all of their CSI theme songs on the Grammy nominations?

On a related note, I only recently found out that the band that sings Pumped Up Kicks isn't the same band that sings We Are Young. I clearly don't pay attention to pop radio or watch videos very often.

Also, Adam Levine. I would love to have a highly inappropriate relationship with him for a short period of time.

*rawr*

***

I'm leaving the house tomorrow! YAY!

Sad flailing

I am officially a math widow. Calculus, Statistics for Science Majors, and 300 level programming have left me spouse-less until December.

Who wants to hang out more regularly?
Who wants to watch football with me on Sundays?
Who wants to entertain me?

Someone come visit me.

The person who invented math? I hate that guy.

"And that, of course, is a cat."

I went to the TheatreSports Improv drop-in class at the community centre on Granville Island yesterday afternoon with an old friend that I've known since kindergarten. We haven't seen each other in over 20 years, and have lived about 30 minutes apart for the past 5 years. Yesterday we finally made plans to do something, and improv class, food, drink, gelato and a long walk were the order of the day.

We talked about the past in ways that made me extremely grateful I started dating smarter men in my 20s and relieved I decided to get the fuck out of my home town so many years ago.

Improv class was fun, challenging and tiring. Playing "Build a Story One Word at a Time" is exceedingly difficult when your partner is there because his ESL teacher has suggested it as a fun way to work on his English. It's also difficult to play a game that has ONE RULE with someone who can't seem to remember that single rule. It's maddening to be left hanging out to dry like that. There is also a tonne of walking in improv class. I had to sit down twice that I remember. Maybe three times.

We met a lovely young man named Ed from Salisbury, Wiltshire, England. He is 28. He loves it here in Vancouver but his girlfriend most decidedly does not. He had a drink with us before heading off to meet up with his girlfriend. That is pretty much everything I know about Ed.

I don't want to be an actor. That much is clear.

Bonkers

For the past couple of months I have gone walking on weekday mornings between 6:10 and 6:30 am. I walk the same route each day, for the most part because I walk for time  (not speed or distance) and I know that I can generally get around that route in my allotted 15 minutes. Almost every morning I end up interrupting the work of one of my neighbours.

She's an older Chinese woman. I hesitate to pin her age down any more than that because she could be anywhere from 50 to 90 and I could not tell. She's less than five feet tall and always wears a blue plaid lumber jacket just like we did in the grunge era.

When I say that she sweeps her sidewalk, that is understatement. She details those eight or so linear feet of concrete slabs with first a push broom, then a corn husk broom that has been worn down to a nub, then one of those little sweeper brushes that comes with its own little dust pan. She then trims the blades of grass that grow up to the walkway with a small pair of scissors.

And she does this every day.

I have no idea how the walk to her house and the public sidewalk out front of it gets so dirty every day, but evidently it does because she's there every morning shortly after 6 AM sweeping and sweeping like there is no tomorrow. She even gets down on her knees to use the little sweeper and dust pan.

At some point during our trip her next door neighbour took it upon themselves to tear their house down and pour a new foundation for a new one. There is topsoil, sand, gravel, bits of construction debris and other leaves and yard waste *everywhere* around the west side of her house.

She was sweeping the walk closest to her house on Monday when I went by so I didn't get to see how she would deal with all this destruction around her home, but when I went by on Tuesday there was a clear demarcation line on the sidewalk between the two houses.

Wednesday I caught her trimming the grass at the property line. This morning she was scrubbing the concrete  closest to the next door property with a bucket of water and a bristle brush.

I don't know that I have ever had that kind of free time.


PS: I up my walking time tomorrow to 20 minutes a day.

Saturday Night's Alright

My nightclub days are done.

I think I knew this before last night, but it's now really clear.

The place wasn't even close to full, but I couldn't even dance for more than one song before I got too hot to keep moving. After a while all I could do is just sit because it was too hot to move around or even stand.

After a couple of hours I realized I needed to go home because spending my time perched on a bar stool listening to music I wasn't really interested in while being terrified to stand up because I wasn't quite sure if my left leg would hold me up wasn't fun. And if I am going to expend my energy to stay up on a Saturday night, that shit better be FUN. Though it might have been better if the $7 drinks weren't as weak as hell.

So... I am officially Ye Olde Laydee.

If anyone has any suggestions for how I should spend my Saturday nights in the near future, my inbox is open.

Ch-ch-changes

I quit my job. I am more than stoked about my $1,100+ in unused vacation pay.

I have just been informed that my new job "thinks" I am cleared and I should report to my new job on Monday morning at 8:30 00 AM.

I am SO EXCITED.

I am so happy and excited and thrilled to be leaving my job. It served its purpose - got me back into the workforce after my first MS attack and helped me keep Joe in school. But the ongoing challenges with having an elderly man as an employer were grating on my last nerve. I did my time for almost two years and now I'm moving on.

The only downside to my new job is that I'm only guaranteed work for a finite period of time. That means that I could be hunting for a job sooner rather than later. I'm hoping that this job will lead to further opportunities, but I can't bank on it.

I've updated my LinkedIn profile just in case. I'm squeamish about asking for recommendations or putting myself out there, but I guess you just gotta.

I fell asleep at 10 PM last night. As a result I have been up since just before 4 AM. The coolest thing about this morning is that I drank a cup of coffee and enjoyed it. It did not smell like barf to me. This is a fortuitous occasion as that doesn't happen very often.

Love and Pain

I love my MS Walk team. They show me that people are good and they will get up stupid early and stand in the rain to help a friend. I feel unworthy of their love. I feel unworthy of all the love I was shown by Team Gl*tterB*tches 30+ donors. Next year I swear I am going to get my stuff together earlier and try to reach more people.

(As a side note, donor pages are open for another two weeks. If every participant raised just $20 more, we would raise another 1.2 million dollars!)

It’s taken me a couple of days to write this, mostly because my wrists, elbows, shoulders and knees are screaming in pain most of the day. I save up my typing time for work because I don’t actually get paid to blog, but I do get paid to transcribe dictation at the office.

I’m settling in to watch the NHL playoffs whilst my husband leaves for a two or three week get-away to the US to see his friends and family once his final exams are done.

I’ve missed some work this month, which I always find aggravating. I find it upsetting because I really don’t know if I am sick or just sick and tired of my job. I keep pushing myself to show up for my obligations, and until yesterday I had been mostly successful.

My neurologist suspects that much of what is wrong with me stems from my psyche not my damaged nervous system. I suspect that she’s correct.

I haven’t cried in weeks… maybe months. I choke up every time I hear “Born This Way”, but that’s not the same as having the meltdowns I used to have daily. I kind of miss them. At least I had hope. Or something.

What ever it was… I don’t have that anymore.

The Apocalypse. Bring it.

I was going to sit down tonight and write about the next chapter in This Year I Will... but then I got reading the news and the posts in my Facebook news feed and all of a sudden I was just overcome by it all.

We, as a species, do not deserve this planet or opposable thumbs.

Just look at the front page of the CBC website. As I write these are the stories in the first screen view.

Tories slapped with 2 rulings

Quebec boy survives 3 hours in snow bank

Nurse disgraced in US working in Canada

UN investigator opens Libya torture probe

Egyptians clash in Tahrir Square

Chara avoids suspension for Pacioretty hit

Ovechkin has way with road-weary Oilers

(Okay so that last one isn't really bad news. Ovie is a loon, but I am so not an Oilers fan that I just can't bring myself to care.)

But let's break down the news of the day!

The party currently in power (aka the Harper Government) has an MP that misled parliament and the government hid the costs of items in the budget, putting them in contempt of parliament. There is so much snow in Quebec that you can lose one of your kids shoveling your driveway. Licensing bodies have no legal obligation to provide information to another jurisdiction when someone has been disciplined or been stripped of their license. The "government" of Libya is torturing its own citizens, as well as bombing and shooting them. The Egyptians who got together to overthrow a dictator now have found something else to fight over. And finally, it's okay to smash a guy's head into an immovable piece of metal, both rattling his brain and fracturing a vertebra, as long as you are playing hockey.

Got all that?

Then this petition showed up in my news stream.

You read that right. The New York Times wrote a story blaming an 11 year old girl for being raped by 18 boys and men. I could not believe it either. If you think that this is no big deal, get the fuck out of my blog and never speak to me.

The people of this planet suck. Why am I so worried about how to change my life or the size of my gut or getting a job I don't hate, when the entire human race is just interested in tearing each other down, exploiting the vulnerable and building small communities based on mutual scorn and mutual vengeance.

Maybe the secret to living sanely on this planet is ignorance? Maybe it doesn't matter what I end up doing with my life as long as I can stay medicated just enough to not pay attention, but not so much as I can't make it to work.

I'm really angry about the state of affairs. For tonight, I just throw my hands up.

TMI?

I found out today that in 4 weeks my family doctor is going on maternity leave until July of next year.

I also found out that my lady parts are pink and healthy looking, so the day was 1 for 2.

I bought a new raincoat. I like it a good deal.

I am FINALLY getting a haircut, after going far, far, FAR too long without one because we were broke. The appointment availability came up so suddenly that I am now at a loss as to what to do with this mess of hair once I get there tomorrow at 6 pm.

I really feel like I'm getting bigger chunks of my old life back. I'm coming up on my second MS-versary in December. I spent the first year just mentally *dealing* (and not very well) with the idea that I now have a chronic, progressive and incurable illness. The past 10 months or so have been steady, upward progress and I now feel like some of that progress is starting to reap benefits.

NOW I have to get back into my swing of things. The weight is coming off because I'm watching what I eat and exercising in some way each and every day. I'm trying to get out more. In November I want to have a cocktail party housewarming. I have some vacation time and so I'd like to take a couple of days off to write over an extra-long weekend.

For the first time in forever I feel like I am moving forward. I've given up on certain dreams only to come up with new ones. I have an idea for a plan, but since it relies on me having actual talent, the US government and me staying healthy for quite a few more years... I will probably have to rewrite it or scrap it entirely.

Now to get this move over.

Lease signed.

It's ours. We have keys and everything.

I've started packing. I want out of here as soon as humanly possible. As soon as we were told that we weren't wanted here it's like this place became sullied, like it wasn't home anymore.

The place we got is really small compared to the place we have now, but most of our stuff will fit, and that's all that really matters.

I just want to get all of our accounts moved, the mail forwarded and get out. I don't want to be here any more.

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.

I'm lazy and don't have enough time.

I totally posted this elsewhere on the web.
But this is why I am lazy...


I have put in 8 hours at the office.
I have put 500 words of non-fiction on paper.
I have researched public spaces for a product launch party for 30 to 50.
I have put together the to-do list for that event.
I have researched and put together a short report on 5 e-commerce merchant account services.
I have eaten food and accomplished the unthinkable... I hit the targets in every single area I'm tracking.
I have done my strength training and physiotherapy.

It is not quite 9:30 PM but I still have half a dozen things left to do, and my stupid effin' to-do list won't load in a timely fashion tonight.

I am posting this blog. Then I have to sweep the floors, layout my clothes for tomorrow, put my purse and stuff together for the office, track my MS symptoms, and file my nails. I need to have a shower and dry my hair. I have to do my shot. Then I want to get another 500 words down before I fall asleep watching Colbert.

I am not sure that it is humanly possible, but I am going to step forward and try.

Uncomfortable

Random strangers often comment on my public transit cane, and immediately start recommending a acupuncturist/therapeutic touch practitioner/ear candler/what ever kind of whatever that saved their lives. When I say "I have MS, that probably isn't going to help me." they all put on this sad frown and say "Oh, that's too bad. You look so good though!"

You. Look. So. Good.

The four words I fucking can't stand any more. They rank right up there with

It could be worse.

or

Look on the brightside. (Okay, that's five words and I cheated. Fucking sue me.)

What I really want to say is

"WHAT the fuck did you think someone with MS should look like?"

but what comes out is

"Thank you."

I think I make Joe uncomfortable with my cavalier attitude about future disability.

I often say things like "That'll give you practice for when I can no longer lift my arms." or "I think I should get a scooter now to practice for the wheelchair I'm going to end up in."

I'm trying to be realistic about this. While it's certainly not guaranteed, it's not outside the realm of possibility.

I'm okay with this bit of information. Novantrone (mitoxantrone) saved my life and having a 0.8% chance of leukemia is way better than the alternative.

I suddenly got really bored of this so I quit.

Joe and I went down to the cauldron today. It was 10:30AM on a Saturday morning and there were hundreds of people and a two hour wait to get to the unobstructed viewing platform. Not worth the wait so we just had to deal with across the street or fence views. (The photo above was taken through the fence gap.)

As we were walking to the cauldron area we came to the space between the Shaw building and the new Fairmont and caught our first view.

The word "wow" popped out of my mouth before I could stop it. I didn't think that I would feel anything upon seeing it, but it was a sight to behold.

The masses moving along West Cordova were mostly Canadians, with quite a few Americans & smatterings of Italians, Poles & Russian soldiers/sailors. What struck me about the crowds wrapped up in their red maple leaves was the diversity. Every race, every shade within those races, accented English, accented francais. It was incredible to see the great mosaic that we talk about as a theory or an ideal laid out before me. Sikhs with red turbans and maple leaf pins, young Islamic women wearing white with red maple leaf hijabs, an American couple with their three kids in Team Canada jerseys, the gay couple wearing their rainbow Canada flags as capes.

While I don't even pretend to think that Canada is "post-racial" and that we're some awesome utopian land of equality, tolerance and fraternity, for 17 days in February, 2010 in Vancouver, BC - Canada was pretty okay with being Canada - and the definition of the Canadian soul as something that it is, rather than something it is not, became just a little less vague.

For now. Come Monday we'll be back to our hand wringing, navel gazing selves when the UK Guardian spits it's last bit of vitriol our way over the closing ceremonies.

Walk, walk, Fashion, baby.

This is my favourite piece from Alexander McQueen's Fall/Winter 09/10 collection. Fall/Winter fashion has always caught my attention because the clothes, the creations, are more substantial. As with many of AMcQ's fashions, this one looks almost architectural; like it was constructed not sewn.

Seeing this brings tears to my eyes. There will be no more creations like this. No more substantial garments that are works of art. No more couture skulls and bones. No more high fashion trainers/running shoes.

I've battled depression pretty much my entire life and I understand deeply what it feels like to be in that pit of despair. I never had the means or the bravery to do it and that's why I am still alive.

It bothers me, deep down inside, when people of talent, promise and riches kill themselves. If Lee McQueen can't find a reason to live through another day, where the hell am I suppose to get the motivation from? I don't have talent or prospects and I'll be lucky if I can still work a crappy 40k a year job 5 years from now, yet I manage to find *something* to get out of bed for. That reason might be one of obligation to the man I married, but its a reason.

It just seems like such a waste. People like me should kill themselves, not people like Alexander McQueen. He had so much more to give the world than I could ever hope to. He was special.

And now he's gone and I'm left here thinking, what is this all for anyway?

February

I do not have enough hours in the day to accomplish everything I want to in a day AND play Mafia Wars, FarmVille and FishVille.

Something's gotta give and it will probably be Mafia Wars and FishVille.

I'm still stitching, but it is going painfully slow because my job and my virtual mobstering, farming and aquarium-ing keep me from it.

Damon offered up a great line for a new pillow and I am trying to figure out how to make it artistic.

I have a long time internet friend who's coming to visit in May and I love her eleventy for picking Vancouver, BC, Canada as her holiday location. I have another long time internet friend who is coming in July and I love her eleventy as well.

10 days until this place really sucks.

Too bad there isn't a god to have mercy upon our souls. That would be useful at a time like this.

MS is now just this never ending annoyance that just grates on my last nerve day in and day out and then gets followed by a hot flash. It's awesomesauce.

I need more hours. I need more will to live. I need a less sucky job.

Dear my last two fingers on each hand:

I need for the feeling to either come back or stay gone. This variable level vibrating nerve thing you've got going on really drives me to distraction.

Best regards,

Lori

I am weirded out by one of the definitions for my first name in the Urban Dictionary.
I want Amazon to ship my stuff because their shipping date estimate expires in one hour.

Fuckers.

Too Personal

The lists in Listography started getting way too personal for a blog my mum or siblings might read, so I'll do lists as I think of them from now on.

The stupidest of MS symptoms have been acting up all day. Not the ones that make me fall down or leave me unable to move or stay awake. I lose all feeling in my right index finger whilst I am typing. I get a sharp, stabbing pain in my left cheek as I am filing. These are the kind of symptoms that remind me throughout the day that I’m not right and I never will be. Irritating rather than devastating, I just keep trudging.

Speaking of trudging, I have figured out that I bring foot drop on by trying to hurry or walk to fast. If I can just walk slow and steady I can go for much longer in both time and distance than I can if I am even trying to go a short distance by hurrying.

I’m trying to read, write and stitch every day. Most days I get two out of three, and sometimes just one, but it is really rare that I get all three done. With the vertigo caused by my vestibular problems I can't read on transit to work without the threat of motion sickness so all my want to do list has to wait until I get home from work.

I have a MUGA scan on Monday to have my annual check in after getting mitoxantrone (Novantrone). It has been known to cause heart problems so I have to get this scan every year for five years, unless I start showing symptoms of cardiac problems.

I go to my How to Deal with Injection Medication education class on the 20th. I see my neurologist on the 28th to get my Copaxone script, a pep talk and then head down the hall to Victoria the physiotherapist to learn some exercises to help with my vestibular problem.

February 1 is day one on Copaxone. I'm not sure how I feel about that yet. It's not real to me nor will it be until I'm confronted with the auto-injector on the evening of February 1.

I often wonder how many other people with stupid "But you look so good" MS (that is, the kind that doesn't keep other people from having expectations of you) feel like their lives have been complicated by more than just symptoms and/or disease progression. Shots, vitamins, shower stools, yoga, therapy, canes, drugs, research, low fat, gluten-free, blah, blah, blah.

I haven't had fun in weeks. I haven't had an absolute *Blast* in years. Between my disease, Joe's schooling and our brokeness for most of the past year it feels like it is impossible to have any kind of fun. Every time I try to plan for regular fun it doesn't seem to work out. I'm not sure it ever will.

Listography 12B - List Your New Year's Resolutions

(There isn't an actual list in the book called this. I made it up given the time of year.)

This list is a work in progress. I will come back as I see fit.

92% of resolutions fail because they're just an outcome that fails to account for the process of getting to the outcome. This might be useful information for those people trying to build a list of resolutions.

In the Year of Our Lady Two Thousand and Ten, I hereby resolve to:

1. Bring sexy back.
2. Get some (literal not metaphorical) balls and put them to proper use.
3. Join the cocktail class.
4. Engage in some hockey related rioting.
5. Just Dance.
6. Take this job and shove it.
7. Ladies Night, oh what a night. (Erin, Donna, I'm looking at you. You too Adrienne.)
8.