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.