Yesterday was our 15th wedding anniversary. We went out for dinner, and although we each ordered a margarita, M started to feel anxious after a few sips. No problem, I drank both.

Today, it is snowing. Which is uncommonly beautiful, here, with the huge trees all weighted down with snow, and the sky a backlit grey.

I've been thinking about my new year. This year's word was equanimity, and I had fun trying to find it. I think next year's word will be growth.

Christmas is done. It went quite well, although my parents were early for dinner and his were late. As in, we told them turkey dinner would be at 3:30, and Mum and Dad showed up at 11, and M's parents at 3:45. Then afterwards his parents took off pretty quickly and mine decided to stay overnight. Although Mum claims to have "almost" quit smoking, she forgot to empty the ashtray she was surreptitiously using (and filling) on the deck. I wondered what was up when the first thing she said to me when I came in the kitchen on boxing day was "I can't open the back door". I said, "Do the dogs want to go out?" and she replied, "NO, I do." Since I was half asleep, I thought she was just being sarcastic...

I have advertised for more help, due to the apparent desertion of the sick employee. Which means I have to train someone. Which I hate, as I think I have mentioned here before. I'm also supposed to be doing the business year end, as my new accountant is local, unlike my old one who was still in Alberta. My new one is a customer at the booth, so he's in a good position to harrass me. And I've volunteered (and I know why, it's because James fed me beer) to make paper flowers for the Crimestoppers mexican night, so this afternoon I was out pricing crepe paper. And I'm going to start my training for the Alternatives to Violence Project the weekend of the 10th in Victoria. Class at SFU starts on the 6th, and I'm looking forward to this one, as I've read some of the professor's work and he has some interesting ideas. It's about mental disorder and the law.

Oh, and just for fun, I got my marks and my GPA's now 4.16 hee hee.

Last night I dreamt someone gave me a cigar, and I was contemplating smoking it. It's been four years and ten days since I last had a cigarette. I wonder when the urge to smoke goes away...

About an hour ago I called to see if the girl mentioned in the last post was going to come to work on Saturday, and she told me she's going to be sick for another week. I wonder how she knows this? And why she has to do this right before Christmas? She hasn't even actually told me what she has, sickness-wise, only that she's "not up to working". Work is damn inconvenient, isn't it.

Anyway. Grannie is said to be feeling somewhat better, and is getting out of bed again, after Mum's visit. I informed Dad while Mum was in England that I was making Christmas dinner at my house on Christmas Day and they were welcome to come. Dad seems to think this is a good idea, and is happily planning a salmon dinner for when Roy comes after Christmas. Probably going to mail the leftovers to Graeme....

I ended up working seven days in a row, as circumstances are conspiring again. I think I've lost the girl I spent time training last month, but I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt at the moment. However, as I don't have to study at the moment it's ok. I make more money this way... but I'm getting behind in the Christmas preparations, never my strong suit at the best of times.

"Attempted Murder, huh, what's that about... do they give a Nobel Prize for Attempted Chemistry?" -- Sideshow Bob

wrote the exam. wasn't too bad. now I just have to get through Christmas at the mall.

Mum has gone to England, as Grannie has been ill and hasn't been getting out of bed any more. I've refused to discuss Christmas plans, as since Roy is coming after Christmas, Mum wants to wait Christmas until then. I don't want to explain this to the kids...

Classes are over, for this term. Just one more final, on Friday. I've only enrolled for one course next term, after four straight terms without a break I think I'd like to take it a little easier. I've been using studying as an excuse to be lazy and not get very much exercise. And I lost some weight while I was having the vertigo, as it was like morning sickness all the time. In fact, since it lasted for three months, it very much resembled pregnancy.... So I'm going to try and get a bit more fresh air and walk more.

I should be studying. Theoretical integration. I've enjoyed the theory course, but it's been an awful lot of reading. And I read fast, I can't imagine how someone who didn't would be able to get through all the material, 600 pages or so and all pretty dense.

I'm stuck into studying for exams. Santa is ensconced at the mall, he's a chatty kind of guy, likes to wander around and hug unsuspecting passersby. Because of the location of my booth, I am witness to little exchanges between parents and kids. "But he's a nice Santa, why don't you want to go and talk to him?" I'm sure he'd be hurt if he knew how many of the small ones were terrified of him. We tell them, don't talk to strangers, then we want them to go and sit on the lap of some old guy in a red suit... mixed messages...

I'm also in the middle of filling out forms to become a volunteer at William Head, the federal prison mentioned earlier.

Tomorrow I'm going to William Head, the minimum security federal prison in Metchosin, to a Restorative Justice Symposium. There will, I'm told, be drug dogs but no searches... yikes. I can't bring anything except myself and picture id. Other people from my restorative justice class are going, too, but no-one I really talk to. Should be interesting.

I'm swimming in schoolwork, and people are starting their Christmas shopping so the booth is busy. Santa arrives at the mall tomorrow, I've been watching the mall guys build his castle all week. The mall employs about seven little men, all with bad teeth, thinning hair, and pot bellies, (except one, who is almost cute) and they wear brown work shirts with their names embroidered on them, and suspenders. They've been fighting over the construction of the castle, dickering about the tape lines on the floor and the placement of the little fences, etc, and I'm beginning to see strange parallels with the seven dwarves...

paintballing finally happened today, so Rach and her little friend Kaitlyn and I went to see the Looney Tunes movie. Jenna Elfman, some guy, ducks and rabbits, it was good. There were some good jokes, too.

the worst of the vertigo has subsided. I'm so happy.

It's late. I'm trying to finish my burglary paper... after this, one more set of six little papers and a final. onward and forward...

Ian's birthday today. He's ten. He woke everyone up at six, so he could open his presents. We gave him 2 way radios and Rachel bought him some fudge. I also made a large sticky cake, which is mostly eaten. He seems content. M is going to take him and his friends paintballing. I have rashly promised to take Rachel to the movies while that is going on. I think I may have to sit through spykids 3d. think sustaining thoughts for me, will you? 3d (shudder).

An excerpt from something else I'm working on tonight:

I took over as manager of my first gas station on a cold weekend in February 1993. The previous weekend, the station had been robbed, and on Sunday evening my boss requested that I go and sit with Jay, who was working at the time of the robbery. Jay was grateful for the company. We served the occasional customer, and listened to the Sunday Night Sex Show on the radio. Len, a man who had once sold me a van, came in and wanted to talk to Jay about the robbery, but Jay didn't have much to say about it. At about 10:45, while we were counting the cigarettes, someone wearing a black hooded sweatshirt burst into the store and poked a gun under the glass partition. I thought, for one wild minute, that it was Len, trying to be funny. Then it hit, it was real. The person with the gun was demanding that we open the door. While Jay opened the side door to let them in, I ran out the back door, planning, somewhat fuzzily, to head for a payphone at the strip mall behind the station. Someone grabbed me and dragged me back inside. Since I had disrupted the script by trying to leave, they felt it necessary to make me lie down on the floor in the back, and the one with the gun held it to my head.

The little group, probably four in all, cleaned out all the cigarettes and money, and left. Jay fell to bits, pacing up and down, repeating, �Not again. I don�t believe it happened again.� My own relief at still being alive made it possible to deal with the police and to call the owner and tell him. Later, on my way home, my calm broke, and waves of adrenaline kept cresting and breaking over me, and I put Pink Floyd in the tape deck and turned Comfortably Numb up really loudly. It was a ritual I was to repeat numerous times over the next month or so. It reminded me that I was alive, and that they couldn�t do anything further to me.

I'm procrastinating. Control Balance theory and Coercion theory: how they explain burglary. (my original, laziness theory still stands: don't want to work, ergo will steal your tv and sell it. beats working at MacDonalds.)

What Kind of Drunk Are You?

well, not really. but it was fun anyway.

The doctor says: it's your ears. If things are spinning, it's related to otoliths. He was talking about it being like a snowglobe, and the otoliths like the snow, and that mine are floating too much, if I understood correctly. He gave me a set of exercises to do to try and shake them back down where they belong and he wants to see me in a month...

Yesterday in Vancouver, after my class, there were extremely high winds. 100 mph, apparently. Skytrains were going slow, but I managed to get a bus (full of German schoolchildren) out to Horseshoe Bay to the ferry terminal just before the 7oclock ferry. Sitting upstairs in the departure area, and suddenly they announce that there will be no more ferries to Nanaimo.

After an abortive attempt to get my money back, since I had somehow lost my ticket, I headed off to the one motel in town. There were a number of people in the lobby, including one that I recognized as being attached to the German school party.

He got up to the counter, about 5 would-be motel-stayers ahead of me, and tried to persuade the proprietor to give them all the rooms that were left, for 28 kids. Without changing expression in the slightest, the proprietor told him there was only one room left. Although this man desperately wanted to make his problem the motel-owner's problem, Mr. German Schoolteacher ended up leaving with a brochure for the Holiday Inn in West Vancouver. The motel man then gave out five or six more keys to all the rest of us waiting. I don't know if I've ever been so happy to know that someone was telling lies......

The room was very clean, and the water was hot. I had a bed, and in the morning the winds had died down and I took the 6:30 am ferry. I even made it to work on time. If the school party had managed to book the whole motel, I would have been forced to go back into Vancouver, and I wouldn't have made the 6:30 ferry...

Kirsten is dealing very nicely with a current situation, but it's driving me nuts... She has two little girlfriends, Caitlin and Brooke, who have started tormenting her in subtle and not-so subtle ways. A few weeks ago she approached me with the idea of having a Halloween party at the house. I said ok, and she went off to start planning it with her friends. They soon fought over the preparations, and to make a long story short, cancelled the party as far as Kirsten knew. Then, suddenly, it was back on, at Brooke's house, but they were refusing to let Kirsten take part, and on Thursday at school invitations were ostentatiously handed out to most of the class except for Kirsten. Yesterday the party happened. Next door but one. Kirsten was resigned, and fished out Mad Gab and made us all play it. This morning, the phone rang, and it was the girls who had stayed overnight at the party, making prank phone calls to upset Kirsten.

Ok, so don't invite her to the party. But then don't call and taunt her, that's just cruel.

Kirsten, predictably, doesn't want me to talk to parents or teachers. I'm respecting her wishes. These girls are going to grow up to be the office bitches somewhere, I'm sure....

frogs, I've decided, should be green. so, a color change.

I'm still supposed to be researching armed robbery, but the search takes me off on bizarre tangents. Did you know that it's been scientifically proven that your personality at 3 is exactly the same as your personality at 26? So if you tormented the cat and crayoned on the walls at 3, you'll be prone to much the same behaviour at 26. Within age-appropriate limits, of course. You'll probably have a girlfriend to torment, and your own room to stencil.

Yup, armed robbery. Apparently, surprisingly, it has to do with wanting money but not wanting to work towards getting it. Never would've guessed that.

Work is still busy, but I'm settling in. I'm hoping not to have to work tomorrow, as I worked all day today so Liz could go to a wedding in Vancouver. I ran an ad in the human resources website and got a whole bunch of hopeless folk looking for work. Just a tip for anyone looking for a job: smile and say hello when you approach your potential future employer. Don't walk up and interrupt a customer to say "Are you hiring?" I'm serious, the woman I gave the job to was the only one out of 35 who smiled at me and said hi. I had already decided to hire her before I read her resume. Even though the ad specified "Experience preferred", I got folk who were in their fifties and seemed to have never held down a job. One woman described her last five years or so as "artist with limited success". People are funny.

good books today. On how people are made violent. Why they commit armed robberies. People tend not to want to sit next to me on the bus, however.

hoo, boy. lots to do. Roy was here. Unfortunately, while he was here, someone broke into his house and stole his computer, tv, and dvd player. He suspects the cable guy. kidding. luckily they didn't let his cat out, and Robyn wasn't home at the time.

well, lots of work got done today. Happily I will be able to hand in my six short papers tomorrow for the Restorative Justice class. That means, however, that I've got not much time left this weekend to do anything holidaylike, as I spent yesterday working on a presentation for my criminological theory class, and Saturday I worked. Oh well, at least I got to sleep in...

my mother is being her usual provoking self. What's wrong with me that I let her push all my buttons all the time? she's got email now, and she sent me one last week saying that she wondered if I remembered a playdough recipe that she could use with the 18 month old twins that she babysits. I poked around on the net, and came up with a few, but they all involved cooking the dough in a saucepan, so I wrote back and said, "I don't remember, did we used to cook it?" Her reply was, "No, we used it like play dough. Never mind, you obviously don't know what I'm talking about".

Huh?

So I wrote back, saying, "no, silly, I mean do you cook it to make it?" and got no reply. Apparently she also emailed Kim, her former secretary, and Kim, she told me on the phone, "being Kim, went straight on the net and sent me a recipe the same day".

She also told me that being with the twins is just like being with her grandchildren. Strangely enough, her grandchildren live 20 minutes away, and she shows little or no inclination to be with them. The last time I invited them over, they said, "We don't want to drive all that way just to sit with kids and dogs."

Time to move to Arizona. Me, I mean.

good things today:

three people won the super seven, which now goes back down and we can all relax...
getting to go home early from work
walking home in the rain
subsequently, hot shower, hot coffee, warm dog
quiet, with opera (not Oprah) and laundry when I got home
new friends at the lottery booth, one who brought me white chocolate
Roy's coming soon
leftover potato salad
Halloween preparations
the Saturday crossword from the Globe and Mail awaits
laziness............................................

yesterday on the way back from class in Burnaby I caught a ferry by jumping onto the cardeck from the rapidly rising ramp... had to walk through a barricade with flashing red lights to do so. And I got home early. (don't worry, I was in no danger, the ferry workers gave me permission, and someone helped me down, and I Did have a ticket...) Next I want to try driving my car over one of those bridges that folds up. Oh, wait, I don't have a car. probably for the best.

I have a doctor's appointment. I've had vertigo nastily since August, it's probably time. However, it's not until the 30th.

I'm sad today. Don't know why, exactly, just wanted to share that. I think it's because I've been so busy. I want to curl up in bed with the dogs and watch the rain. Instead I'm working on all my papers. Rachel's gone to Brownies, M and Kirsten have gone to feed Jane's cats, and Ian is meeting nice people online and shooting them. Warcraft. I can hear the gunfire, intermittently, from the basement.

Despite my self-induced panic, the transition has gone quite smoothly in the new booth. The new owner took over my old one on Wednesday last week, so I got my staff back. Liz likes the tvs at the new booth, although I'm not sure how she's going to like how busy Saturdays are. At least at Rutherford now (my new mall) we have two lottery machines so I can come and help her, which I did on Saturday.

ack. I'm tired. I don't know if I make any sense any more. I just keep wanting to say, "You've won a free play. Would you like to buy the extra?" Last night I dreamt about lottery tickets. endlessly. Oh well. eventually the superseven will go back down to a reasonable number and people will stop being so gaga about it. Kirsten was reading something in a magazine recently that said that last year two people in Canada were killed by being run over by lawn tractors. She figured it out, and your odds of winning the superseven, at 1 in 62 million, are worse than being run over by a lawn tractor...

things seem to be moving along. My new booth is cosy, and not surrounded by video games and people looking for Wal-mart. as a matter of fact, there is a Telus store right next to me with four televisions hanging from the ceiling, with closedcaptioning on. I watched the Simpsons for a while last night when it got slow, and the little cutie who works there brought me a remote, so I can change the channels if I like, as they can't see the tvs inside the store. Today was the busiest lottery day I have ever worked... I literally stood in one spot all day and dispensed tickets. For a good portion of the day I had a line up of about four people in front of me at all times. By the time I finished with one, another had added to the end of the line. All pretty good and happy, though, as I'm fast and I laugh at all their jokes. Anyone who started questioning me about the old owner, I just looked sympathetic and said, well, Wednesday was his last day, I'm sure you'll all miss him.

There is also a comfy chair, and the security guard is a woman I know from Woodgrove, and lotsvof my old customers came and said, "What are you doing here?" and when I told them I've moved, they all said, "Oh, we'll come buy from you here". Now I just have to deal with my homework...

So, just for fun, the fire engines showed up in the middle of the night. Seems the neighbours had a bonfire, and when they were done they put the embers into their compost heap. At 4am, the compost heap was burning away merrily, along with the fence in the back right-hand corner of our yard, and two trees that were in the same general area. Firemen came and chopped down the fence and drenched the area, and then everyone went back to bed.

Bonfires, in this town, are illegal. Backyard burning is banned. And even if it weren't, what species of idiot puts the remains into the compost heap?? We had to put up orange safety fence this afternoon to prevent the dogs from running mad in the neighbourhood. Which is also illegal. But perhaps we should let them anyway. Perhaps I'll give them little fire hats. They might need them.

Strange thing is, the neighbours don't seem to think it's nearly as funny as we do. Although I often find that to be the case.

I don't know how people who have seven or so kids manage... we used all the dishes in the house making pancakes for seven children this morning. Every room seemed to have at least two children in it for most of the day. I hid in my room (gotta love laptops) and tried to write my paper on exhibitionism. It's not due for three weeks but I get the idea that the next couple of weeks will be a bit scary.

To recap:

I have seven papers and a presentation due by Oct. 11.
I take over a new booth on Thursday this week, but I have to run my old one until someone is found to take it over. Lottery folk say this will take 2 weeks, tops. we'll see.
Two of the people I have filling in for me at my current booth are on call for the ferries, which means that if the ferries call they will abandon their posts.
M's job is teetering as usual on the verge of collapse. The major shareholder has maxed out the company AMEX card buying groceries, as no money is coming in. The government has given them an ultimatum, Sept 30, pay up or else (they owe more money than I like to think about).
wheeee.

somehow I have managed to end up with all the children's friends sleeping over tonight, Rachel's friend Jade, Ian's friend Llewellyn, and Kirsten's friends Caitlin and Ted. Yup, Kirsten's friend Ted is sleeping over. His mother is apparently ok with this, although his dad did, I'm told, have something to say in the background about it being Ted and Two Girls...

I'm tired. I'm apprehensive about this week, I hired someone to help out at the Woodgrove booth while I'm doing the other one on Thursday but I have to train her on Monday. I hate training people. And the Super 7's gone to 20 million dollars. Ack.

Yup, got told on monday that they're letting me have the busier booth. unfortunately my stomach hates me currently, and is trying to kill me. not helped by having to fire Alison for chronic unprofessionalism. Which I did yesterday. I'm taking over the new booth next week, so am scrambling around to get all hookups etc accomplished, along with trying to write a paper on exhibitionism and a short paper on penal ideology. and it was open house at the school tonight. my children are smart but deeply strange, it seems. I'm kidding. Rachie's class has a guinea pig that is going to have a baby, and Rach insists on calling it a "he". Kirsten's teacher is dealing very well with Kirsten's current nonchalant phase. I'm impressed. Ian's teachers have picked out a new friend for him, an equally studious boy named Ryan. All in all, successful. Next week, I take over a booth that has been run by a legend named Roy for the last SEVENTEEN years. How long before people stop asking "where's Roy?" I'm thinking, oh, 2007.

today was one of those days when all the loons come out of the woodwork and tell me their little stories. One woman came and told me that she had to buy a new teapot because the handle fell off her old one, so she glued it back on, but then every time she made tea, the glue melted and the handle fell off again. Strange thing is, she wasn't actually even buying anything, she just walked up, told me the story, then left.

yesterday there was a really loud bang in the middle of the afternoon, which wasn't an earthquake, according to the earthquake website.

I was lying in bed reading a book, and Ian came in and said, "what are you reading, Mum?" I showed him, the Forensic Sexology Handbook, and he said, "I wish I hadn't asked."

had the rather gratifying experience yesterday of training someone who absorbed what I was teaching her and ran with it. A few of my customers who have complained about Alison came by while I was training Liz and said nice things to her, and to me. My biggest critic, a crazy little man who runs the dollar store around the corner with the dubious assistance of a fleet of surly "nieces" behind the counters, came by and told me Liz was "very good, you will have lots of customers now". I will still probably end up working some Saturdays, but not ALL of them.

I'm researching exhibitionism. too much fun.

nosology, apparently, has nothing to do with nostrils... but rather the classification of diseases. I'm reading about psychopathy, the last few days, and the fun part is that (if you believe in the concept of psychopathy, which is problematic) therapy doesn't make them better, it makes them worse, because they learn, as this article explains, how better to manipulate people. Tricks they hadn't known before...

p.s. -- anybody know what "nosology" means?

back to school. And I like my new courses, the reading load is a lot lighter, I can carry it all to work in my backpack without hurting my neck.

I've hired someone new to replace Alison on the weekend. She seemed quite happy when I informed her of this fact... The company M works for has until September 30th to make the government happy, or they're going to lock the doors. I don't know what will happen then.

just in case anyone reading yesterday's entry thinks that I'm feeling sorry for myself, or sorry to be myself, or just plain sorry, let me rephrase...

vertigo is a trip.

It's like the world becomes a very mobile and unpredictable place.

Once I sort of get the hang of a particular outbreak (I don't know what else to call it?) I can roll with it, it makes me feel quite literally as if I'm always just pleasantly drunk. Without any of the annoying side effects like telling the same stories over and over again. Or wanting to kiss random people. (Oh, no, wait, scratch that, the random kissing urge still happens. not related to the vertigo)

This evening I went to my police volunteer group meeting, and for some obscure reason I left my purse sitting on a bush in the driveway. Along with my coat and my notebook. I got to the meeting clutching a pen I had in my pocket, and Dale, who was sitting by the door said, "You'll need some paper" and I said, "I've left my bag and my notebook sitting in my driveway." He said, because he's 67 and worries about these things, "You should phone home and tell them to bring it inside" Then I realized my phone was in the pocket of my bag... One of the officers lent me his phone, but I could tell by the look on his face that he had filed me in the "dippy chick" file, and that if I ever call to report anything missing, he's going to tell me to check the bushes in my driveway.

The lottery people called me today and asked if I'd be interested in another booth. One at a mall closer to home. That makes a lot of money. I said yes.

I have been, for the last three weeks or so, having a nasty bout of vertigo. I fell in the kitchen last night, quite worried Kirsten. I still haven't gone to the doctor, but Mum actually came round one day and looked after the kids. I had woken up in the middle of the night to find that I couldn't get out of bed because I had bed-spins, despite having nothing contributory to drink since Graeme was here. Mum called in the morning while I was still in bed, and after I answered the phone the room started to spin and down I went. When I explained what had happened, as I had dropped the phone, saying, "Oh, no big deal, I got dizzy and fell down", she said, "I'll be right over." I argued with her, saying, no, I was ok, and she hung up, only to call back two minutes later and tell me she wasn't taking that for an answer, and she'd really be right over. Kirsten was horrified, and told me disgustedly that she could have looked after me. I didn't really need looking after, but Mum made pancakes for the kids, which they appreciated, and I had to go to meet my territory manager in the afternoon, and it was useful to have someone to drive me, if nothing else.

I think, however, that I am going to wait a bit longer to see the doctor. I don't want to hear that it's "nothing, just stress", again, and I equally don't want to hear that it's MS. So, until I get thoroughly disabled, I will continue to work and volunteer and study and tell people, "I have floaters" when they ask why I don't drive, and "oh, this hand is stupid", when they ask why I'm wearing a wrist brace....

because I am such a good mom, (feel free to laugh, I won't be offended) I agreed to go down to the Bingo Palace tonight and be the designated money-handing-out volunteer for the kids' school. The parent group, to which I do not belong and never will, is supposed to send two volunteers six times a year to help out at a four-hour bingo session. The poor man who is in charge of getting volunteers has a hell of a time convincing people to come out and help. I like him, he's very earnest, and I don't mind going and spending a late evening in his company. He told me tonight that I'm the only person who never turns him down / stands him up. I've come every time he's asked me. Even though I hate it and there's too much smoke, which makes me have nic fits in the morning. What I find amusing is that all these other parents have plenty of time to go to meetings at the school and be the parent committee, but when it comes to bingo, which makes us a whole load of money, they either say they'll come and then don't, or they have much more important things to do...

well, it was a good holiday. Camped at Green Point, on the beach at Pacific Rim, Saturday to Thursday. Only a little rain, the first day, which of course soaked the tent we had borrowed and made it so we were slopping around in wet oogy sleeping bags for a few nights. Once something's wet, on the west coast, it stays wet. Unless you take it down on the beach and bake it in the sun for a while. There was a bear in the campsite but we didn't see it. On Tuesday there were frantic messages on my cell phone that no-one had turned up to work at the booth... as I expected. Boys. He'd slept in, but it wasn't Dylan, the new boy, it was Joseph, who for some reason had agreed to work for Alison, who for some reason was in Parksville. When I said I was leaving her in charge, I kinda meant that maybe she'd work? And not parcel out her shifts to the unreliable? Whatever. By the time I persuaded my cell phone to make outgoing calls (by standing on the hood of the car) Joseph had arrived at the booth and was deeply apologetic.

It was fun to lie on the beach and watch the others swim. I find the water too cold (read: I Can't Feel My Lower Extremities) and am quite happy to leave the fun to them. We headed into Tofino one of the days but there were too many people so we just bought chocolate and went back to the campsite.

The boy who is working for me this week, while I'm on holiday, is hopeless. The other booth in the mall hired him and trained him, and sent him down to me when Joseph, as I mentioned before, the boy who was supposed to be working for me while I went on holiday, got a job on the ferries. Yesterday I heard that they'd fired him, and since he insists on showing people his newly pierced nipple, and fancies himself a ladies' man, I'm not surprised. He called me, just after I started writing this, to see if I was coming in, and I said, yes, at 4, because it's payday, but he wants someone to work a few hours this afternoon while he "does a few things" before going to a friend's birthday party... Won't be me. I'd not much like to be him in a while if he calls Alison, either.

I'm worried that he won't show up next week. And I'll be at Long Beach...

miraculously, although I was called in to work on Sunday, I have managed to have Saturday, yesterday, and today off. So I've been baking, and reading, and mucking about in the garden. I've made biscuits and blueberry muffins (courtesy of a fabulous case of blueberries that I froze two weeks ago) and pavlova, which I've always wanted to have a go at, and was happily gobbled up tonight when Mum and Dad came to visit. I've read a big fat Jilly Cooper book about a bunch of loons making an opera movie , a hitherto unread Ruth Rendell, No Night is Too Long, that Serra who used to work for me was in the movie, and Margaret Forster's Have the Men had Enough, which made me miss Grannie. I've weeded the bean patch and made a salad with the harvest, and also weeded the front garden, which was beginning to look like tiger habitat. (Observe behind the dry grasses, as the tigers play with their young...) Also I've been making coffee and drinking it, reading the newspapers from cover to cover, and Rachel and I have been to the park and to pick blackberries.

So far, a very satisfactory vacation.

last exam tomorrow. Had one on Tuesday, I think it went well. My eyesight is fuzzy with this hot weather, and my right hand doesn't want to do what it's supposed to. And the vertigo is still lurking, waiting to capture me if I turn my head too fast. I'm contemplating going back to the doctor next week and telling him that I still can't drive, and seeing what he has to say. I also had to give up yoga, which was sad, because the vertigo gets really evil when I try to do the moves where you stand up and then bend over, lie down, come back up, etc. I get really massive nausea, to the point where I have to go to bed afterwards and lie there for an hour or so until the world stops going round.

Anyway. I'm still mostly upright, which is good, although I'm having to train myself not to nod my head in response to people's questions at work...

hate my job. hate hate hate. jumping up and down putting my tongue out and thumbing my ears at customers hate. I hate it that people keep coming round to complain about Alison, but when I want to know why their reasons are very vague... that she's sitting down, that she's reading a book. What exactly would they like her to be doing? I think what offends them the most is that she's overweight. They actually feel comfortable saying, "That fat girl", to which I am not sure how to reply. Apparently she merits no consideration. No-one has told me that she's dishonest, or rude, or unkempt, just that they think she's "lazy". To be frank, it's a damn boring job, as I think I've mentioned. I keep my sanity some days with difficulty. If I was tall enough to sit down and still be able to reach the machine and the cash drawer, I probably would.

I'm studying in earnest now. First final on Tuesday next week...

I was supposed to have a day off today, but Alison who works for me's mom had a stroke last weekend, and needed to go for tests in the hospital today. So I agreed to work so Alison could accompany her, because I know how much it sucks to go for tests in the hospital all by yourself. Also, strangely enough, with the fact that the mall's air-conditioned, I get a lot more studying done there in the cool without kids and dogs than I do here. Apart from the interruptions from customers, of course.

Rachel is very worried tonight. The parade went well, I sprayed the convicts while they supposedly pulled the Crimestoppers car with ropes attached to the front bumper, and Joy, who was driving, kept putting the brakes on and jerking them backwards, which the crowd thought was pretty funny. At one point, Tim, one of the convicts, started yelling at me "Water, I need water" (I was wearing the cop suit) and I yelled back at him, "No water for you", and a small boy came out of the crowd and gave Tim a bottle of water, to widespread amusement.

The fireworks were also good, tonight, we got waterfront perches and although Kirsten was convinced we were going to catch fire we remained unsinged and all was well. And our car escaped towing from the no parking zone we parked in.

Rachel is worried because there is, she says, a butterfly somewhere in the house. She is worried that the butterfly will come into her room while she is asleep and crawl up her nose. I don't know where she got this idea. I told her, yes, in fact it probably was an evil butterfly, and it was probably hiding in a corner somewhere thinking up things to do to her... When she finished laughing, she said "Would a butterfly realllllyyyy go up my nose?" No. it would not.

it's good to have them back, even if they did bring all their laundry.
I'm going to be in the bathtub days parade on Saturday, with police volunteer group I belong to.

email from Rachel, when I got home from work: "Hi mommy I miss you I know you are at work but now we are in enson so be happy I,m home towarwo I lov you bye."

M sent me email this morning saying that he doesn't want to come home yet. I think he probably will, though, as he was supposed to be back at work on Monday. The new plan is that they'll be home by Monday night but I guess we'll see. Joseph, mentioned previously here in dispatches, came to see me yesterday and told me that he thinks he's got a job on the ferries, so he might not be able to work for me while I go camping with the kids in August. The curse of my holidays returns.

In 1993, when Kirsten was 2 and I was pregnant with Ian, we took a week off and went to stay at Alberta Beach at M's parents' cabin. We'd been there about twenty minutes when the kids at the gas station we ran at the time phoned us and said there was an irate customer who was planning to sue us, for M overfilling this guy's daughter's oil in her car. That pretty much meant the week was spent on the phone with lawyers... and it rained non-stop.

Didn't take another holiday for a long time. In 1999, when I'd been running the coffee shop for two years, I tried to take a week off, and stay home, and M went down to the shop and had a big fight with one of my staff, and it was hell for the whole week, with people crying on the phone. The next year, although you'd have thought I'd have learnt, I tried to take a week off, had it all arranged, made M promise to stay away from the store, and the guy who was supposed to be working for me fell down the stairs while drunk, and I ended up working anyway.

Patterns? Oh, probably. The universe just wants me to keep working, I guess.

as I think I mentioned, it has been a very long time since I lived alone. Ages. I'd forgotten. How little space and stuff I need for myself alone. Kids certainly do fill up life and space, there's always something someone wants, or something that could be cleaned or tidied or tied down or sewn, if it stands still long enough. Someone always has a plan of something fun you could do, be it swimming or walking or playing cards or going out and weeding the garden, I usually order my time based on the demands of four or five other people, if you include M and the children's friends... I come home, and they one by one come and tell me their plans, want to make a cake? play cards? go to the mall to get such-and-such a birthday present? go to the movies? read a book? give the dog a bath? sell Rachel to gypsies? and I give them all time frames: cake, maybe later. I'll play a game of cards with you at bedtime. We can all go to the mall tomorrow, when I get off work. I don't have money for the movies, maybe on the weekend. If you pick a book I'll come when I'm finished the dishes. The dog doesn't need a bath, she needs a crewcut. We're not selling your sister. Typically, twenty minutes after I come home from work I will have promised all my spare time to one project or another, and that's after I do my homework and the housework.

Right now, with just me and the dogs, I come home from work, make my supper, eat it, and then? Nothing. Just my homework. I did the housework on Saturday and nothing's moved yet. I remember this from before I had kids... before the tide of clutter invaded my house. Tonight the dogs were goofy so I took them for a walk. Maybe they'll let me sleep in in the morning.

so he calls and says, what are you doing, and like an idiot I tell him the truth: drinking gin and watching Australian porn... (to be fair, however, I didn't know how much sex was in it when I rented it, it Claimed to be a Romantic Comedy...

apparently everyone's worried I won't eat... Mum and Dad are coming to take me out for dinner.

it's very quiet here. The dogs are sulking, they're convinced everyone else went somewhere exciting and they're stuck at home with me. They're right... M and the kids called me last night, they were in Blue River, so I imagine they'll get to Alberta Beach today.

It's been many years since I had a house to myself. I woke up this morning and my first thought was, "I wonder if they're up. What should I make for breakfast" and then I remembered, I'm the only one home. Yesterday I got a ton of school work done, and today should be more of the same. Rachel was very worried, she said I didn't have enough food for a week, and that I couldn't live on Nutrigrain bars...

so anyway. I went to court yesterday again, to listen to more of a trial I was observing about two weeks ago. It was submissions from the defence and the Crown yesterday, in the case of a man who was professing to be a doctor of traditional Chinese medicine, and ten women were accusing him of sexual assault. When I went a couple of weeks ago, he was on the stand in his own defence, and I thought he was very... glib... I know the lawyer who is prosecuting, he used to be a customer at the coffee shop, and he talked to me outside at the break, and helped me with the spellings of the case names, for which I am eternally grateful. I now have to write a paper on consent issues and similar fact evidence. In other words, he says the women said it was ok, and the Crown says that under the Criminal code all bets are off because he abused a position of trust, which vitiates consent. The similar fact thing has to do with him being tried for all ten cases at once, and whether that constitutes prejudice. Meaning, is something being said about his character... that's a hard one. Ten women saying similar things. The defence suggested collusion, but the Crown said that two or three of the women not only didn't know the others, but went to the police separately without knowing that anyone else had.

some things the defence said seem, if you'll excuse the word, indefensible. He, the defence lawyer, compared these women, who kept coming back for treatments, to drug addicted prostitutes who kept coming back for more drugs. He also tried to insinuate that they were all flakes and all had mental difficulties. Granted, I didn't see any of them, I took care not to go when they were testifying as it seemed too voyeuristic. I liked it that Danny, the Crown counsel, knew who I was and why I was there, I figured if any of the others involved said to him "why was that woman in the back taking notes," he'd at least know the answer.

today I harvested the first radishes from my garden. this year I have: radishes, green onions, lettuce, peas (two crops, one early, one late) carrots, tomatoes, and some things I can't identify. this is due to the joy of compost. I think one is pumpkin, but there are some others that could be watermelon or squash or zucchini... the surprises will come in the fall. I tried a different variety of lettuce this year, and I'm really happy with it. I ate a leaf the other day and it was really tasty, not bitter at all. I'm supposed to be studying. not messing around in the garden and writing this. back to work.

I hate the paper I'm working on. It doesn't say what I want it to. I know I only have myself to blame. It's not due until Friday, maybe there's time to save it...

M has come home early. Kids are happy to see him... He enjoyed his stay in Victoria, apparently the campus is full of rabbits?

The weather was lovely, a slight breeze and a few clouds, and we duly headed off to Newcastle Island. Although I decided not to bring a backpack, so it wasn't really a picnic, but we did have icecream from the concession. We found a little beach and made a sand castle which, as Ian pointed out, looked something like Buddha. And we discussed a whole bunch of things, and got sand between our toes, watched ferries and saw a snake and fleets of crabs and sat on the deck of the little ferry with the wind in our hair. I put the end of my icecream cone in my mouth and told the kids I was a wasp, and Ian said, "You'd have to put it up your bum to be a wasp..." Kirsten told us the story she heard when she came out to Newcastle with her class, about the Hawaiian Islander who was hanged at Kanaka Bay for murdering his girlfriend's entire family. She says the authorities knew he was guilty because his girlfriend's father managed to bite off the Islander's thumb while being attacked.

The kids are sad that I'm not going to Edmonton with them, they're going on the 12th for ten days, but I have two big papers due the week after and I want to wait and take time off when I'm finished school in August. Miguel is taking them to stay at his aunt's cabin at Alberta Beach, and they're looking forward to it.

Just to prove that dogs have more fun...

went to a barbecue at Joy's house tonight. I actually drove, which gave me obsessive worries all day, but it was ok. Even though I got lost and contemplated eating the sushi I was bringing and heading home, I found her house in the end. It was a bit bizarre, because everyone else had significant others in tow, and I didn't. Kirsten had very kindly agreed to babysit for me, but I promised I'd be home by eight, so I didn't bother bringing anything to barbecue since I don't eat meat anyway and drew a blank as to what I'd consider cooking. Of course, that meant that everyone kept asking me "You're not eating?" To which I replied, "No, I'm not staying." Which really didn't make sense in the end as I stayed until they were ready to have dessert. The mayor was there, and Joy's barbecue sprung a leak and sprouted alarming flames underneath. (Unrelated facts, but there you have it.)

Tonight I'm working on a paper. In a little while I will put the kids to bed, and I don't have to get up to go to work in the morning so I can please myself whether I go to bed or not. I went down to the booth this morning to check in on Joseph, who was meant to be working, and he seemed to be doing fine. Rachel wants us to go to Newcastle Island tomorrow for a picnic, so we'll see what the weather does. I'm quite enjoying my mini holiday...

went to Canada Day in the park today. We (the volunteer group I belong to) put RCMP tattoos on (I swear) most of the people downtown. Had to go down to work first and give the little talk to one of the employees... the one where you hint that others might like the shifts if she can't do the job properly... Maybe it's just too much for you? Sometimes this works. She professes to need the money. We'll see. But the having to do it always puts my stomach in knots. As if it wasn't already mad at me. my stomach, I mean.

I'm only working tomorrow, then I get four days off as M is leaving tomorrow and he's going to be out of town until Sunday night, so I'm staying home with the kids, as I think I mentioned.

drinking was fun. we had beer, and it was good. Then we walked home, about an hour, and along the way we changed a sign outside a church (not telling you which one). the message didn't make sense, it was one of those InsPiRational ones, and it said something about "That which it is, it is, and always will be your" or something, and we took an A and an S and another S and added them to the bottom, on a line of their own. Then a bit further on, some boys in a car shouted rude things at us (it was almost 3 am by that time) and Graeme mooned them. So we felt it necessary to sit behind a fence for rather a long time and hope they didn't come back and beat the shit out of us.

My stomach still hates me. As a mostly non-drinker, it wasn't sure what to make of the amount of beer...

Graeme is here. It's good to see him. We're going out later, hopefully to drink.

kids are done school. I still have to work, which leaves them bouncing about at home... I'm having a few days off next week with them. I wish we could just all go and sit by the lake and forget about lottery tickets...

I'm cross-eyed from spending the weekend writing about patriarchal gender-role expectations and aboriginal women in the Canadian justice system. (I know, I really have too much fun, don't I). I love the bits of the essay-writing process when I get to pit my experts against each other. There is some disparity in the idea that Canadian Indigenous culture was, before contact with us whitefolks, a non-patriarchal/women-oppressing type of society. I get to quote all the pundits who disagree with each other, like Jerry Springer with a wordprocessor.

Seriously, I watched Jerry Springer the other night when I had an electric foot and couldn't sleep (one of those things that happens) and it was a man whose wife had left him for a hermaphrodite. Someone in the audience asked the hapless hermaphrodite what he/she had "down there", and the hermaphrodite dropped drawers and demonstrated.

Also, it was a dog mascot suit, and I did dance by the side of the road and wave to motorists. It was a blast, and I think if I can't find a job when I'm finished university I want to become the A&W RootBear. I found myself seized with an uncontrollable urge to shake the flappy tail on the back of the outfit, and dance like Gumby with epilepsy.... too much fun.

I got my tax bill today. Due to the sale of all assets of the coffee shop, I owe a big chunk. I was beginning to think about leaving town without forwarding address, until Kirsten said, what about all the money in the cupboard?

It's a long story, the money in the cupboard. With moving out to the Mall (capitalized, naturally) I left my bank downtown. I get off work at 4. My bank downtown closes at 4. I stuff my deposits into the bank machine at the Mall. I am given, every day, large amounts of change from people's purses and pockets, as I think I've mentioned. I can't stuff these large amounts of change into the bank machine. So, to keep them from choking up my safe, I started bringing them home with the idea of one day making it to my real bank.

This of course never happened. So tonight, in the despair engendered by the tax bill, I counted my cupboard full of money. Since those of you who know where I live aren't burglars, I'll tell you: 3726.00 worth of two dollar coins, quarters, dimes, nickels and pennies. For some reason, nobody gives me one dollar coins. This, in the spirit of money under mattresses, will go a fair way towards paying my tax bill. And depending on how I feel, I might just take it to the government and dump it on the counter. Voici, Madame ou Monsieur/ Here, Mr. or Ms. taxman, is all your money. (this is Canada, after all) Hope you've got a bank that's open past 4pm.

Tomorrow I get to go dress up in a bear mascot suit and dance by the side of the road to entice people to visit the karate bake sale, fun fair etc. Should be a laugh.

My midterm did indeed go well. I got 87%, and I'm really happy about that as the class average was 60%. So tonight I feel better about the whole thing. I was beginning to wonder if maybe I had gotten in over my head. With getting permission to skip the pre-requisites for the the 300 level courses, I felt a bit in the deep end, and so compensated for that the only way I knew how... studying obsessively.

Ian has the sickness Rachel had. I still haven't managed to throw it off. Stress, I'm guessing. I'm once again making turtle cookies for a bake sale. And contemplating weeding my bean patch. Which is growing nicely. Also my lettuces. Peas are a bit scraggly, and something's eating the radishes as fast as the leaves come up. No sign of carrots yet. Slow growing root vegetables. Graeme will be here on Tuesday. Yay!

Long week. Rachel is better, and her birthday was all right, although a bit low key because she hasn't been well. I had to go with her to Brownies on Wednesday night, as they were doing year-end things. Then Thursday I went to Simon Fraser for my Crim 330 midterm (which went well, despite my obsessing) and stayed overnight there in the residence, as the test went til 9:30 at night. Came back Friday to work (this entailed getting up at 5 am to catch the 830am ferry...) and then yesterday I did Rachel's birthday party with her little friends, swimming and cake.

Graeme will be here soon, it will be good to see him.

Rachel is much better today, she's pink again. A bit tired, still a bit weak, but better. So no IV. Bought her a skateboard for her birthday, which is tomorrow. She'll be 8. Hard to believe.

spent the evening in the emergency with Rachel, who has been fighting a fever for the last few days. I've been sick too, but not as bad as her. Tonight she was at Gramma's with M, and he brought her home about seven thirty, and I didn't like the look of her. She was sort of out of it, and her lips were bleeding, and she was restless and fretting. I asked M if he thought he could take her to the Dr. tomorrow morning but he said, no, he had too much to do, so I got him to take us to emergency.

They were very sweet to her, she's obviously ill, and they managed to bring her fever down, (although she didn't like how they did it..."do you know what a suppository is, Rachel?") and they said she's on the edge of dehydration. If she doesn't start taking in fluids, tomorrow she'll have to go back and get blood tests for electrolyte balance and go on an IV but I'm hoping we can avoid that. She's asleep at the moment. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

I wish there were a way to make it all go away. To sit down in a corner and say, no, I've lost my sanity and I'm just going to sit here for a month until it comes wandering back of its own accord, and apologizes for screwing with me for so long. Then the dust under the couches and the pine needles in the bathtub and the clothes festering under the beds would be remedied by some sort of kindly matron person, and I could knit little sweaters for squirrels and the state would pay for it. I'm sure the squirrels would have all the answers, too, and if I listened to them they'd tell me that work is for suckers and life is for hanging upside down in trees and yelling at people.

I'm writing a paper on poverty and socio-structural disadvantage.

So, naturally, I'm reading about this.

No, it's ok, really, it has nothing to do with what I'm writing about. I find that if I take a little break every hour or so and surf aimlessly it helps my concentration. I'm chasing schizophrenia, today, after reading about the man who got the Supreme Court to say that he couldn't be made to take medication.

And he even has holes in his underwear, now.

things could be worse, my name could be...this

On Thursday of last week I actually went out. To a bar. With other people. Granted, it was underneath a hotel and we were the only folk in the place with teeth, but I had a beer, courtesy of Emilia, and the men (six of them) all had wings to celebrate it being Chuck's last night with us (the police volunteers). He's retiring. The wings looked dire, but Chuck got all sentimental anyway.

This week I am working all week again, the Tuesday girl didn't get her knee surgery but she's convinced the pain in her side is cancer and is trying to find a doctor who agrees with her. This, apparently, is a full time job.

It's official. Everything that happens in the mall is My Fault. The change machine breaks down? My fault. The mall isn't open past 6? Again, my fault. Your ticket didn't win the big prize? Must be, oh, I don't know... My fault?

And my personal favorite, when, on Friday the network went down, and I had to tell potential customers that I couldn't sell them a ticket at that moment... "What did you do to the machine?" Oh, hey, I broke it myself because I wanted to sit here for an hour and piss people off. That must be it. Then, they go to try and check their tickets on the automatic ticket checker, and, surprise surprise, it doesn't work. I say, again, "The network's down". They bring their tickets back to the front counter and say to me "Well, can you just check it on your machine?" Um, no. Here, give it to me. I'm just going to rip it up right here and now because you are far too stupid to be allowed to win. Money in the hands of imbeciles. Can't have any of that.

Dad came over last night, and the first thing he said when he walked in was, "Where's the sheep?"

I was supposed to have tomorrow off, but the Tuesday girl has decided she has appendicitis. "I have a pain in my side... I have to go to the hospital. So I won't be in tomorrow. Or next week. Because I'm having knee surgery this week too." If I add that she weighs at least 300lbs... nuff said.

Jazz has pulled my coat off the rack and is sleeping on it in the front hallway. When the literature says that Eskies shed in the spring, it doesn't mention the three weeks or so when every room in the house is knee deep in clumps of fuzzy white wool. Every spring, I wear out a vacuum and have to buy a new one. She keeps scratching herself and pulling off clots of fur, then dropping them and moving to another spot. "Here's a clean spot..." Unfortunately, the carpet is a sort of red rusty color, which shows the fur to great advantage. I keep taking her on the deck and brushing her, and getting enough fur to make a few more dogs, but it doesn't seem to help. Someone bred these dogs with sheep, I swear. Still, she looks so cute with tufts hanging off her. Like a llama, but smaller.

When people speak badly of you, you should respond in this way: Keep a steady heart and don't reply with harsh words. Practice letting go of resentment and accepting that the other's hostility is the spur to your understanding. Be kind, adopt a generous standpoint, treat your enemy as a friend, and suffuse all your world with affectionate thoughts, far-reaching and widespread, limitless and free from hate. In this state you should try to remain.

-Dhammapada

hmmm. not asking for much, are they?

I'm studying prosecutorial discretion. Some folks have spent a lot of time writing almost unreadable articles on the subject. In an effort to stay awake, I went to read it in the bath. Ran the risk of drowning. I still have far too much work to do... I'm currently chasing "unendorsed warrants" and whether or not you can sentence someone via video monitor. For the record, you can't. Not in BC, anyway.

More today about the events of yesterday. Not nice... sounds like a very nasty party.

Dear kate,
Here is your horoscope
for Tuesday, May 20:

Patience is your strong suit. Take notes as your experiment plays out along its logical or surprising lines. Who knew that you could have this much fun without breaking any laws?

Well, I went to court. and so did this gentleman. He wasn't given bail, surprise surprise. The courtroom was full of kids, 17 or 18 yrs old, most of them, and every now and then one of them would break into tears. Also there were the mother of the victim, who was dry-eyed but very tired looking, and the mother of the accused, who sat in the same row as me... I took tons of notes, lots of other things went on too, and I'm hoping to get some sense out of what I wrote down. A woman got a week in jail for shoplifting 6.99 worth of cosmetics. Another woman had a bench warrant issued for her, but it turned out that she had just gotten the wrong courtroom, and when she did show up, her lawyer said, "She's here now, so we can throw out the warrant." In some ways it was more formal than I thought it would be, there were a lot of requests to adjourn things to later dates, but in some ways it was less formal. The accused people sat in among all the grieving kids, and the judge was actually very sweet to some of them. One guy with a 'failure to provide a sample of breath' charge was also up on possession of marijuana, and the judge said to him, at one point, quite mildly, "Four ounces is rather a lot of marijuana..." Another guy with an impaired charge told the judge he was taking welding at the college, and the judge said, as if they'd just been introduced socially, "Welding is a good career choice. I wish you the best in that."

Another young man was up on armed robbery charges (stole cigarettes and phone cards by brandishing a syringe full of blood at the cashier) and when the judge was sentencing him, he said, "Many thousands of people go out every day to their minimum wage jobs standing behind counters in stores, and we have a duty to protect them from people who come with guns or syringes..." Guy's lawyer wanted a conditional sentence, but he got jail. An interesting morning, all in all.

Another holiday. Another day at the mall. I'm working on a difficult paper, one which seems to have no backbone and threatens to drop into little pieces on the floor if I look at it wrong. I've got three weeks to finish it yet, but I've also got another one due in a week and a half, and a book review and a midterm. I'm crabby today. Tomorrow morning I'm supposed to go and observe at court, so I can write about remand. Might be interesting, I guess we'll see...

so, it's really not true about the monkeys.

woohoo. I manned a Police Week booth at the mall for my evening. As a change from, you know, manning a lottery booth at the mall all day. A few people commented on the fact that I'm "everywhere". Well, maybe, but not all at once. I think I will probably end up manning the same booth at a Safety fair on Thursday. We had a police car in the middle of the mall, and a fair number of people came over to look at it, climb inside, ask to take it home, were we selling raffle tickets, etc. All in good fun.

I want time to go a little slower, right now. I've got a lot of essays to write, and school is winding down for the kids and there's all these other demands on my time... And I'm tired.

Vernon was a lot of fun. A bit tiring, though, as I slept somewhat badly on the bus on the way out and then on Saturday night ended up staying up all night again because I was talking to some fascinating people (and drinking, which I almost never do...) My head is still reeling from all the information I took in, I'm trying to sort it out and decide where to file some of it. At 4 am Sunday morning we (James, Nancy and I) were discussing with two cops about how being in dangerous situations changed their view of life and death. Then someone pointed out the time, and James said to me, "aren't you supposed to be leaving at 6?" so we made some coffee and then the sun came up and I went home with a nice lady who had offered to drive me home so I didn't have to take the bus home. I spent a lot of time with three women who are RCMP from here and down south on the Island, and they all have a terrific sense of humor.

well, I'm off to Vernon until Sunday. Everyone else left this morning but I'm taking the greyhound. Which means that I leave here at 8:30 tonight and get to Vernon at 8:30 tomorrow morning... hope I don't have to sit next to any loons.

better chance of being struck by lightning And what he doesn't mention is that you roll the dice each time, so according to one of my customers who is a math teacher, you don't increase your odds very much by buying a whole bunch of tickets...

And the sun continues to shine.

Slow day today... The sun is shining, and the inhabitants of this town are all mowing their lawns into meekly manicured submission. So I got lots of reading done at work. Unfortunately, when it's slow, I also have to deal with the people who think it's funny to come with their tickets and say "You look like you need something to do." Umhm. Thanks.

It's Kirsten's birthday. She's twelve. She put on her orange dress, and we went to the school dance. Rachel and I danced a bit, and I sat with Paula and listened to her stories of how she's going to make a big success of her life and then rub her ex's face in it. Kirsten and her friends danced the entire time. Three boys and eight girls, from her group of friends. There was an inordinate (to my way of thinking) amount of slow dances, near the end. Kirsten and her friends danced these in couples, some boy girl couples, some girl girl couples, at arms length regardless of the sex. At one point, she was at arms length with Ted, whose father leaned over my shoulder and said, "Kirsten and Ted are burning up the dance floor". I looked, and they were just standing there, Ted with his hands on Kirsten's hips and Kirsten with her hands on Ted's shoulders. Not moving. On the way home, one of the boys, David, was walking with us, and Kirsten and her girlfriends were complaining about the lack of boys. I said, "But it's good for the boys," and David said, with this evil little grin, "Why do you think I requested so many slow songs?" M, who of course hates to dance, went to the movies.

This morning, a (presumably) teenage boy on the Habbo Hotel website married Rachel, who told him that she was sixteen. (she's seven) It's a funny site, you get to have a little animated lego-type person and navigate rooms and chat to people. Rachel took me there this evening, we made me a little lego girl, called her frog17 and set her loose. my frog-girl ended up taking a bubblebath with a very nice young man, who kindly offered to answer all her questions. Rachel, who was prompting me, kept saying "ask him to marry you, you need a boyfriend". Little rat.

If you had a choice of what to do on your Good Friday, did you go to the mall? If you did, for the record, you are part of the problem.

At about four o'clock, just when I was heartily wishing all the Easter shoppers to a similar fate as our dear departed Jesus, a man came to buy a lottery ticket, and he said to me, "I don't know why the malls are open today." In a tone of righteousness, he added "It's a sign of the times, you know."

What I wanted to say to him, was: The malls are open because you lot are here. If you didn't come, next year they'd be closed.

Yesterday the cold returned yet again. Apparently it needs to create some more phlegm before it goes into hiding for the summer.

Just for the record, the previous entry was not an attempt at sympathy-gaining. (Well, maybe a tiny bit) I was merely commenting on the strangeness of want. And the undeniable fact that the people I want to be friends with generally don't want anything to do with me... I am, as Cas has said of herself, very bad at small talk. I have been riding back and forth on the ferry for the last few months, an hour and a half each way into Vancouver, and not having a car to hide in, I have found myself stuck on the passenger decks, inside because it's raining, mostly, and sitting with random passengers. Luckily only a few of them have wanted to talk to me, but they do talk at great length among themselves. And I've noticed, by and large, that they talk about two things. 1. The things that they and their friends have bought, or are going to buy, or want to buy. A lot of this discussion revolves around cars and home decorating, and there's an awful lot of taking things back to stores because it wasn't just perfect, and relating the conversations of salesfolk who are unlucky enough to serve them. 2. Other people. In excruciating detail, judging every aspect of their friends and acquaintances' personal lives. "I just can't believe she would, can you?"

The seats on the ferries are either in long lines, or in little groups of two-facing-two, like on a train, and I prefer the groups of four because they're next to the windows. So, since foot passengers get on first, I usually manage to snag a window seat. Invariably, a group of four other passengers will arrive up from the car deck and attempt to dislodge me. They do this by sitting in all the other three seats and talking loudly about how sad it is that Norma or Marvin can't sit with them. Norma or Marvin will sit in the seat directly behind me, with some other poor solo, and they will all talk over my head. The first time this happened, I got up and left, but then I ended up sitting right next to the women's washroom, and getting my feet stepped on by all and sundry.

But the price of staying put is that I am forced to either try to read over their chatter, or stare pointedly out the window for the whole trip. Many of these little groups have seemed to want to impress me, for some reason, and I can feel them glancing at me while they talk of their recent purchases and the fact that they know the owner of the Canucks. (oh boy, oh boy) On Friday, on the way back, I had a group of four do this to me, three women and a man, and the one who sat next to me seemed fascinated by the fact that I was reading the Criminal Code, and I could tell she wanted to ask me why. Every now and then they will give in to their curiosity and say "Are you in school or something?" And I'll say, yes, and go back to trying to read.

They always seem genuinely bemused that I am willing to just sit there, and not either join in on their conversation or move. I wish, in a way, that I had kept a better record, because I'm sure there's some sort of psychological principle at work here. And I think it has something to do with why I don't have any friends......

I want too many things I can't have. I am referring to nothing material, I'm bad at material, I never shop except for food and twice yearly at a thrift store for clothes (if they don't fit, too bad. One of these days those folks who've started that wardrobe makeover thing Kirsten watches will show up at the door, and I'll feed them to the dogs).

What I want is more nebulous. Unfortunately, some of the things I want are more along the lines of wanting to want them. I'd like to have friends, for example, but although I have masses of acquaintances (retail does that) I am very bad at actual friends. I forget to call them, ever; I promise to write and then don't, or just write apologizing for not having written. I never go to people's houses. I guess the wanting is more the wanting to be the kind of person who would cherish friendships, nurture them and so on. People expect things, from friendships, they expect time and energy, and they are disappointed when I don't deliver. Strangely, sometimes I will want to be friends with someone and they will show me, in different little ways, that I'm not ever destined to be their friend. Someone whose name I won't mention told me a few years ago that I was her friend, for a few weeks, and I believed her. Then it came around to her birthday, and she said, "You have to come out with us, we're going dancing." I love dancing. The plan was that she was going to call me that evening and tell me where everyone was going. I washed my hair, and went through my wardrobe looking for something that didn't look as thrift-shoppy as most of my clothing. She, naturally, didn't call.

On Monday, she said to me, in the course of casual conversation, that she and her Friends had had a wonderful time on her birthday, they went out to dinner and then they went dancing. Just her and Her Girlfriends. Ok. point taken. She never called me a friend again, or suggested we go anywhere.

oh, tests are such fun. one final down, one to go.

Today was the Canadian Criminal Justice System. I swear, they did not discuss Jury Nullification in class. And, dammit, I guessed wrong. I said it was when someone got sick. Multiple choice sucks sometimes. There were, and I wasn't the only one to think so, too many "all of the above" answers. I know I got six questions wrong, and a few of them were because I started to feel that NO-ONE would make a multiple choice test with that many "all of the above"s because it'd be too easy, so I started second-guessing my answers. I thought I had five wrong on the midterm, and I turned out to have six wrong. So in this case, I should have seven wrong. Yup, I still obsess about my marks. You think I'd be old enough to know that nobody cares, but it doesn't seem to matter. Give me a subject to learn, and I'll be right there looking for the way to get the A's. Who am I trying to impress??? It's not like anyone but me has ever even looked at my university grades from last time around.

studying. ask me a question at the moment and you're more likely to hear the risk assessment factors considered at a parole hearing than the answer you were looking for... what do you want for dinner, again? adding to my confusion is my right arm, which is acting strangely again. The stupid superseven is up to 25 million dollars and a corresponding number of people want to buy it, making my work days an endless round of "I don't know how to play the superseven, can you explain?" and then when I do, their eyes glaze over and they say, "just give me five dollars worth". and, the support staff at SFU are on strike. nothing's ever as simple as it looks on the boxtop.

Kirsten's birthday is coming up. She took me on one side yesterday and requested that my mother not be allowed to come to her birthday party and get drunk. She's going to be twelve. I explained to her, because she was helping me study for my criminal justice system final exam (she likes the latin terms) that she'd be, at twelve, legally responsible for her actions.

She said, "So if I wanted to rob a bank, I've got three weeks to do it." She also told me that she'd found out that she can volunteer at the SPCA when she turns twelve, and she's looking forward to that. It's just across the road, so she'd be able to go whenever she wanted to. They let the kids walk the dogs so they aren't cooped up all the time. (dogs cooped up, not kids, but I'm sure it's good for both groups)

little old man today said to me, "I'm 91, and I don't know where the time went..."

David, who stops by to talk to me in the mornings, told me that his mother died last week. He's pretty philosophical about her, we've swapped mother stories before and I know that our moms have things in common. We compared Christmas tales, my mother passed out from the effects of overindulgence in brandy this year before his did. One of the things about having a love/hate relationship with your mother is that if you just hated, it'd be fine. So at this point David's not sure what to do about the fact that he both misses her and is heartily glad she's gone...

On another front, my dad called and said he'd sold his house, and will be moving into his new house at the end of the month. At which time, he's giving me his old fridge and stove, which although used are considerably newer than the ones currently masquerading as appliances in my own kitchen. My fridge leaks and my freezer only freezes things in the direct center of the freezer, and the oven door falls off if you don't keep it in check with a hip.

M says there seems to be some doubt(ok, there's always that, but more than usual) at his place of employment whether he will be continuing to have a job.

I know it's not funny if you like cats, but maybe...

you don't necessarily have to read the article the title's enough

Took the kids swimming today. There were a whole fleet of happy middle-aged women jumping up and down to trance music in the name of aquacizes. Ack. Go have a nice quiet swim, can't you? Tomorrow, to round out their week, I'm taking the kids to the dentist. Some excitement with my employees, seems one of them's run off to New York to be with her internet boyfriend, and her mother's gone to fetch her back. Her brother's been working with me in her absence, and he's quite the gossip...

My mother's currently in England, so my dad's been buzzing about in his new house, putting up cabinets. He's been by for coffee twice this week, which has been really nice. He was impressed with the basement room, but in true dad style asked me when I'm planning to do something about the upstairs.

Still, the house looks really nice. And the kids are happy to have had me home for the week. And I've gotten a ton of school work done. I'm almost finished all the coursework for both courses, and all that's left is to study for the finals which aren't until the week of the 7th of April.

it's organ Thursday, and I'm enjoying my holiday.

A Rachel joke:

What happens when there's a pancake in the doghouse and your mother's a dishwasher and your father's a dryer? Answer -- nothing, doghouses can't fly.

I've lived in this house for almost five years, and yesterday I finally got around to doing something about the room in the basement where the tv lives. It was done in fake half-timber, stucco and dark brown panelling, and also, for some reason, plaid wallpaper. Peeling off the plaid wallpaper revealed incredible paisley pattern underneath, stuck to the unpainted, unplastered drywall. Bitch. So the kids and I peeled bits of wallpaper off the walls for most of the afternoon, and then we put up some nice green striped paper. The lady at the paint store matched me a can of paint to the darker green, sort of sage, and we painted all the panelling and timbers. Now I just have to touch up and replace all the furniture. And vacuum. Wallpaper stripping is a messy job. Kirsten helped with the primer, and wrote her name and lots of hearts all over the wall like they always do on Trading Spaces (her favorite show). Now the room no longer looks like it should be filled with men drinking Guinness and trying to pinch the barmaid...

Stupid cold is dragging on. One of my customers gave me a handful of fisherman's friends, which helped with the fact I was losing my voice. Hard to serve people when they can't hear what you're saying very well in the first place on account of they're all over 75 and have a huge hearing aid in each ear. If I lose my voice we're doubly screwed... Lots of "WHAT?" today.

I'm having next week off work. Kids are home for spring break, and we're going to hang out. It's really too early to study for my finals and I'm almost finished all the assignments for both my courses, so we should have time to do some things. I'm hoping it doesn't continue to rain with the torrential fervour of the last few days. At least it melted all the snow.

I'm supposed to be writing about drug policy. So I'm going to watch Survivor.

I want to remove one of my toes. It itches constantly and keeps me awake. Perhaps it's my conscience.

Lots of stories, today. The little old people come and tell me about their friends' operations (a tumour that was Just About to pierce through his kidney, just terrible) How their mother sent fruitcakes to the boys at the front during world war two (possible use as alternate weapon? Incoming dried-fruit baked goods) How the government is trying to get everyone to register their guns so that they can later come by and collect them all when they declare martial law. Come on, this is Canada. We don't have a big enough army to declare martial law. We had to come back from the Gulf this time because our one helicopter fell in the sea. Another one I enjoyed was the little man who told me that the lottery is controlled by invisible beings, and that they talk to him while he's in line to buy his tickets.

So, I figure, either all this will rub off on me and I'll start sending fruitcakes overseas and wanting to talk about operations, or I'll have to use my unregistered firearms and talk some sense into these people. That's the problem with retail, on the whole, you have to just nod and smile and agree with them. I wonder if the customer can still be said to be "right" when he is talking to someone who obviously isn't there?

today I canvassed for the Kidney people (hello, we're looking for donations for the Kidney foundation. do you have a spare kidney or two?)

So, here we are in March, and naturally today it snowed. I don't know what it is about this place, we have rain for the entire winter until you think everything you own is going to be so moldy that you'll never be able to dry it out and use it again. Except maybe for penicillin experiments. Whatever. Then, when it should really be spring, it snows. To go with the snow, I have a pretty matching head cold.

I may have to spend the whole weekend in the bath. Only time will tell.

cool things that happened today:

I get to go to three days in May of crime prevention unit training, in Vernon, and it's all-expenses-paid. Now I'm sorry (almost) that I said nasty things about them... And I got a ride home and didn't have to wait for the bus. And I did my sales projections for next month and they look awesome. I'm doing what I said I would do with this booth: making it make money. Somebody told me today that I have a lovely smile and that's why they buy their tickets from me. Sometimes a sweet customer can make all the idiots recede for a little while.

my right hand has left me again. spent the day throwing money at people. typing's a bit slow. made the mistake of calling my mother and telling her about it. she wants me to go to the doctor again. oh, yea, they were so helpful last time. my right foot's been asleep for about a month. I'm ignoring it.

on the bright side, I didn't fail my midterm, despite all my predictions to the contrary. and I also found out that all the stuff I studied isn't going to be on the final, either, so I can concentrate on the new material. the difference between summary conviction and indictable offences. You're all thrilled, I can tell.

And, on the ominous but not unexpected side of things, M's paycheque bounced this week.

Well, here I am, Saturday afternoon once again writing, this time a presentation on street kids. Which, happily, does not have to be formally written out, only performed in class. Ack. Eek. I have lots of material but not all of it is relevant. Some is heartbreaking but doesn't fit into the "Canadian Justice System" angle that this course requires. I have a lot of statistics. A few books full of stories, all of them frightening. I have to put this together into 7 minutes and time-for-questions. I could probably read them bits out of the books for hours, and talk for a very long time. At this point I'm thinking I should have picked another topic, one I could speak dispassionately about....

My brother Roy was here, briefly, and he says he and his girlfriend are thinking of moving out this way. Which would be cool. Another relative with a car :)

My books and notes and printed out sheets are all over the floor, I spread them all out because I like to be able to see everything at once. But then someone comes to deliver a newspaper or something and the dog stampede comes through and everything gets creased. I vacuumed this morning, and cleaned the bathroom and kitchen, and dealt with the recycling, and took Rachel out for lunch because the others were doing a karate fundraising thing (a bottle drive/garage sale/car wash) and although this may stop the complaining about my lack of housework I don't feel as if I've accomplished enough schoolwork. I think I'm probably insane, to be trying to take these courses and work full time and then the kids and the dogs and the house...

Kirsten showed me the insanity test and it turns out that, yes, I am insane. I apologize, for having wasted all your time. Please disregard anything else I might have to say.

The other difficult thing I did today was to pick out a birthday card for my pen-pal on death row. All the little messages (all your wishes come true, etc) seemed cruel, somehow. I settled for a card with a picture of a pastoral field with stuffed-animal cows 'grazing' in it, and a disclaimer inside that I thought it was kind of funny.

Maclean's magazine says:

Canadian cricket team snags first ever win in cricket World Cup, over Bangladesh. Joyous Canadians rise as one to shout: we have a cricket team?

Yesterday's midterm went well, I think, although I gave the wrong year for the implementation of the Criminal Code and one other wrong answer that I know of. Guess we'll see. I'm in trouble at home because I haven't been doing my share of the housework, apparently. sue me....

I'm at the point where I think the essay is shit, that I've written myself into a hole and I'm going to fail all my courses. time to stop and go watch The World's Scariest Places.... g'night.

When the colour of the night
and all the smoke for one life
gives way to shaky movements,
improvisational skills,
a forest of whispering speakers
let's swear that we will
get with the times,
in a current health to stay
let's get friendship right
get life day-to-day
in the forget-yer-skates dream
full of countervailing woes
in diverse-as-ever scenes
proceeding on a need-to-know
in a face so full of meaning
as to almost make it glow

O' for a good life, we might just have to weaken

----the tragically hip, It's a good life if you don't weaken

Back in the late eighties, I worked at a gas station owned by an Irish lady named Sheelagh. What usually happened, when I worked with her, was that I did the work and she talked to a steady stream of men all day long. I was fascinated by this, because although she was friendly and sweet, she wasn't tremendously good-looking, being rather short and brassy.

Yesterday, on my way home from work, I was thinking about my day. In the morning, Charlie and Al who walk the mall and two or three bus drivers and David who plays Keno came and talked to me. There's a boat show happening at the mall, and the guy who's supposed to be selling the boats came by at regular intervals and talked to me. At lunch time, some old guys stopped and talked to me about the boats. In the afternoon, John from the courier company and Tony from the debit machine company both stopped to talk to me. And Chris, who has an hour to kill between buses most afternoons. In between times, all my regular little old men came and I gave them candy because it was Valentine's day. I had a couple of little conversations with women, but mostly, it was men.

So what happens when women get to be 35? None of the men who used to come and talk to Sheelagh were ever interested in talking to me, when I was 20. And, like Sheelagh, I don't have any illusions that I'm good-looking, in fact I'm snaggletoothed and short, and it can't be my boobs cos I hardly have any...

Anyway. Back to crime statistics.

Hostilities aren't stilled
through hostility,
regardless.
Hostilities are stilled
through non-hostility:
this, an unending truth.

Unlike those who don't realize
that we're here on the verge
of perishing,
those who do:
their quarrels are stilled.

- from The Dhammapada, Pairs.

happy tomorrow...

I should be studying. Or editing my term paper on crime statistics... so what am I doing? I'm making turtle cookies for the kids' valentine parties at school tomorrow. 22 for Rachel's class, 24 for Ian's class, Kirsten's class doesn't need any because they're having a Dance instead. With a capital D, trust me. Joeby has been hanging around in the kitchen trying to get his tongue up far enough on the counter to steal cookie dough, when he thinks I'm not looking. Inbetween times, I've been spelling names for the valentines. "How do you spell cock?" "Why do you want to know?" "Because I want to give one to the student teacher and his name's Mr. Hancock." "Oh, right."

why I love the internet. eggs anyone?

spent some time with Rachel this evening. She sometimes feels a bit lonely when I have to work or study a lot. we painted some pictures, with the lovely watercolors the poster child for financial mismanagement sent home with M for her, bright pictures of flowers and mountains. Then we read her new Winnie the Pooh book, 101 uses for a honeypot, which she enjoyed. After some supper, we had a bubble bath, which I think is a bit strange but she really likes, and while we were sitting in the bath she said, "Have you ever noticed something that you've seen before and all of a sudden it's beautiful?" And I said, "Yes." She went on, "Sometimes when I come up here and the incense is burning, the windows in here and the walls are so nice..."

She wants to read me a bedtime story now. Sometimes, yes, things that you've seen before can suddenly be beautiful.

A full day of writing about observational definitions of crime and the resulting statistics. I'm sure it'll be fascinating reading. Kids went swimming and then they and all their friends came back here, at which point I was pacing up and down trying to figure out how to end the paper. I still haven't figured it out, but it's not due for another ten days so I have time to play with it. (read, obsess over it.)

One statistic to think about... in 1994 in British Columbia, 33 pedophiles were known to have abused 2,055 children, between them. That's an average of 62 each, in a year... and they were boy scout leaders and daycare workers, not strangers hiding in the bushes at playgrounds.

Sometimes all the reading I do catches up with me. Last night I woke in a panic from a dream of being trapped in a lighthouse by a madman who was planning to extract my brain through my nose as I watched. I got up and wandered around the house for a while, not wanting to go back to sleep and re-encounter the madman.

One of my little old lady customers came today to play Keno. It's funny, but for the longest time I thought she was a bit senile, because I'd say things to her and she'd just be unresponsive. But if I smiled at her, (which I did a lot, getting no other reactions) she would always give me a big grin in return. So I figured, ok, she just doesn't talk. Today she came and suddenly started talking to me, telling me that she was having a much easier time of it now that she'd had her HEARING AID fixed.... And we had a good long chat, she used to be an income tax auditor, back when she worked, and she was telling me that she never thought of the numbers as being enormous sums of money, they were just numbers she was working with.

Tonight it's the Crimestoppers Mexican night. I was down there at 8:30 this morning to help decorate the auditorium at Beban Park, and I even got to put up crime scene tape... Somebody, and this is something I had actually wondered about, had neglected to see to getting a cash float for the cash bar, so I volunteered to sell them the change out of my safe at work. I love having a safe. Makes me feel like a tycoon.

So anyway, all the tables have been sold, and the thing is tonight, which is good, because there have been too many meetings, and I have to study for my midterms. Tomorrow.

At 3 am the small person climbing into my bed says, "I had nightmares, Mum", and I don't even really wake up, just lift the blankets and let her snuggle up. I wake again an hour later, she is nestled in my arms, like she used to when she was a baby, and it's a bit too hot because she is, after all, seven now, but I stick my feet out of the blankets to cool off rather than wake her up. In the morning, she seems fine, and I know that the nightmares are really about Pop-tart being dead, rather than the tornadoes and earthquakes her mind has conjured up for her

The smallest member of the household, Pop-tart the three year old mouse, died today. He was pretty old, as mice go, and his fur had started to fall out, despite the remedy (for a suspected case of mites) that they gave me at the pet store. I'm thinking that in the wild, when they get old and lazy, they get eaten by something young and quick, and I pointed out to Rachel that if she hadn't bought him he probably would have been fed to someone's snake. You know, when they're selling the mice 3 for $5 that they're not intended to be pets.

my dentist, as perhaps you will remember from my previous visits, is insane. In a nice way, but he's definitely insane. He flits around between patients, and talks non-stop while he's working on me, explaining exactly what he's doing and insisting that I watch in the little mirror. "You see that orange spot there, that's decay. That's what the bacteria do to you... I'm using the white filling material on this one, it's got little bits of silicone in it, but it doesn't last as long as the silver stuff..."

Sometimes I think I'd be better off without knowing.

What I like best about working on essays is the bit where they're mostly written and the rest of the work is just playing about with the words. I notice I use the word "people" a lot. Still, hard to write about the justice system without referring to human beings.

I'm going to the dentist tomorrow, with my broken tooth. I think they should just pull the whole lot out and I'll get a nice set of dentures. Stupid teeth keep exploding.

On Thursday, as if I didn't have enough to do, I have to go work a bingo for the school. It's so smoky, it makes me just want to buy a pack and join in. Then the next day I actually get nic fits, even though I haven't had a cigarette since 5:45 am Dec 7, 1999. 1,145 days, 16 hours, a few minutes... nope, not counting, really, why do you ask?

What Type of Villain are You?

mutedfaith.com /
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Every now and then (ok, too often) I get a day where people feel the need to tell me off.

The first pair were buying scratch and wins and when they were finished they threw them down the semi-circular hole in the counter that enables me to lift up the hinged flap and open the little half door to get out of the booth. One said, after throwing her ticket down, "Is that a garbage?" "No," I replied. "You should really close that up, I bet a lot of people throw garbage down there." (it's about one a day, really.) I was dumb though, and had to say, "I need it to lift the counter, it's too heavy." She has to have the last word (or seven) "You should cover it with plastic, then."

Saran wrap, maybe? I don't know. She was quite annoyed with me, even though I was the one who had to go down on the floor to pick up her ticket.

So anyway. The day goes on. Another happy shopper woman comes, and requests a ticket. I print one out for her. It's apparently not what she wants. She starts pacing up and down, going, "No, no, listen..." and then telling me again. This time I understand, that she doesn't in fact want what she originally asked for. But, this is my fault, you know. So I make her the ticket she did want. But like the last happy shopper, she can't leave it alone. "I WANTED the COMBINATION, UNDERSTAND?" Not only do I understand, but she now has the ticket. She goes away muttering.

One more, just to make my day complete. She comes bouncing up with her friend. They're both a sort of woman I'm scared of, with capes and long greying hair and they're discussing herbal tea. Friend walks off, and scary woman moves over to the side counter with her enormous purse and says, "More room over here." The little old man behind her takes that as his cue to step up and order his tiny ticket, while she's going through her purse. So I quickly make his ticket, take his money, and turn back to her. She finishes going through her purse and says to me, very loudly, "I can't believe that old man pushed in front of me like that. And that you served him." I say, "I'm sorry," but she's not done.

Is it a full moon or something? She gave me, I swear, at least 3 minutes on how rude the old man and I were. How I should think of the customers, and ladies should always come first, and on and on.

Big raspberries all round, I think. Retail sucks.