Moving Concluding

Goal: to blog about moving in 20 minutes.
Setting: Personal Project Night at Danaya's, where we get together and get stuff done. I've spend the first hour and a bit addressing moving announcements. I should go soon, but if I don't do this here, I'm not sure when I'll get to it. (Oh no, two minutes gone already?!)

So, moving. I'm moved in. It's nice. I'm not unpacked and there's a bunch of work left to do at my old place, but I'm getting settled and I'm enjoying it. I'm just tired, and not so motivated to do more work. Sigh.

I had a couple of pre-moving parties before my actual moving party on Saturday. These were really lovely. They consisted in inviting a friend or two at a time to meet at my old place, loading up each of our cars with boxes, going over to my new place, unloading and having a tour, and then going out for coffee or something together. I felt like I wasn't asking all that much of them (it's possible they'll disagree though...) - it wasn't an endless moving party that couldn't end until all the work was done, and it gave them a chance to be involved in this important time of my life in a setting where we could spend some one-on-one time together and they were needed - no getting lost in the shuffle and not knowing what to do. I feel like the people who are important in my life should be involved in the moments that are important in my life, and I valued these mini-moving parties.

My major moving party was on the weekend and was pretty successful. My Mom came up for it, and it was really nice to have her. There was unfortunately still a bunch of moving left to be done (I hoped falsely that most of it would be completed by then), and I unfortunately wasn't feeling well (I almost always face the bane of women's existence during moving parties, and this was no exception). My friends worked tirelessly to haul stuff outside and arrange stuff in cars and the truck while I tried to pack up the loose ends inside. I felt like I wasn't pulling my weight, but I don't think I could have managed all those stairs and I was so grateful for their help.

Stairs. That's been the worst thing about this moving experience: stairs. 29 stairs to get things out of my old apartment, 35 stairs from top to bottom at the new place. I'm tired of stairs.

Ding! Time's up! And I'm out of things to say, so that worked out nicely. =)

Reasons for not blogging

inspiration
lack thereof
busy
sleepy

things fill my mind that aren't worth writing about
packing boxes, loading cars, climbing stairs
actively doing instead of sitting and thinking
buzz buzz buzz
and then laying down for a nap

carving out time for writing
doesn't guarantee the words will meet me there
but I'll try anyways
because I think doing something
is better than doing nothing
even if the finished product isn't that great

success!

Picture

I just thought this picture looked really cool:

(It's a shadow of strands of my hair on the shower wall.)

Update

Dear Friends,
You have all been out of town. I hope you've had lovely times away.
Thanks for your condolences upon your return!

(Come on, Michelle, just write something! This blog post should be more than three lines long, and you just took a three hour nap so you don't need to go to bed yet.)

So, I don't really feel well. I think that's because I got hit by a car. My bruises turned kinda green and are fading already, and thanks to Polysporin fresh pink skin has taken the place of scabs on my scraped leg. So I'm getting better. The other day I walked to Starbucks without getting hit by a car, and today I wore pants again for the first time (I've been sticking with skirts that are nice to my bruised hip and scraped shin). Maybe most of my residual problems are emotional? I feel nauseous a lot of the time. I'm not handling stress well - and this has been a high-stress time at work because Geoff is on two weeks of vacation and I am doing it all myself (or at least I need to be... the list of things I haven't gotten to yet is fantastically long). I am not prioritizing well and I don't feel able to make good decisions. I get overwhelmed by interruptions and the pile of tasks facing me, and then I get upset at things. I've been bringing roll-on anti-stress aromatherapy to work and drinking anti-stress juice (which they tell me looks like whiskey... but is really just some herbal Arizona iced tea I found in the States). Anxiety was getting me even on my day off though (yeah, singular, I had to work the other day I was supposed to be off because of all busyness at work; if I didn't it would have just made more work for me in the long run). I'm exhausted and sleep is my favorite (even more than usual). Even a week and a half later, telling the story of what happened makes me pretty shaky.

So, I'm just counting everything as a success right now. I got to work? Success! I got to work half an hour late? Success! Granted, not quite as much success as if I had gotten there on time, but success nonetheless. I keyed the sick log? Success! I answered someone's question? Success! I bought paper towel and laundry money? Success! I went to the bottle depot? Success! I wrote on my blog? Success!

On one hand, it's nice to have an excuse. "I got hit by a car! No wonder I don't feel well!" That's way better than feeling awful with no reason to show for it - which then compounds itself with the guilt and mystery. On the other hand, though, functioning is important, and at some point excuses wear out.

Ka-Pow!!

So, I got hit by a car today.

Here's the conversation that happened shortly afterwards between me and Justin:

m: guess who has 2 thumbs and got hit by a car... (don't worry, i'm mostly okay)
j: Boo! What happened? (Mazda should stop getting hit)
m: no actually this was just me
j: Oh... um well you shouldn't get hit either, how did it happen were they having a nap
m: crossing the street from starbucks... someone turned left and didn't see me
j: Boo are you sure your OK though?
m: half scraped up... i've already been to the doctor and now i'm on my way to the police
j: wow your not mostly ok.. boo!!!

So, as the text record explains, I was on my lunch break, walking back to work from Starbucks, when BAM!! And despite what Justin says, I'm mostly okay, so you don't have to worry.

I was crossing on a crosswalk at a four way stop in the commercial area where I work. This particular intersection is usually pretty quiet, but today was an exception. I'm usually not too timid about crossing at four-ways - I figure that not only do pedestrians have the right-away, but the car needs to stop for the stop sign anyways. In this instance, there was a really big truck stopped beside the stop sign - he was covering my entire crosswalk! I figured that he would be gone by the time I got over to that side of the road - but I didn't count on the car turning left in front of him. They couldn't see me since he was so big and pulled out so far, and I didn't seem them until the last moment.
One second I'm trying to get out of the way, the next I'm on my butt with my feet up on the curb. My shoes flew off and a little ways down the road. Weird. I remember thinking "I need to open my eyes." I might have thought "I need to try not to hit my head." I have no idea exactly what happened - where I hit the car or what positions I went through between standing and sitting.

I was coming back from Starbucks with two full drinks - a pick-me-up for me (the day was miserable even without this incident) and a surprise for my manager. And then there was coffee everywhere - all over the road, the car, my sweater, my hair, my arm. I think I just found some dried coffee on the back of my shoulder.

The girl that hit me, Janna, was really nice. She was one of those very capable people who doesn't run from stressful situations, and I admire and appreciated that. She immediately got out of her car and ran over to me. She asked those "Do you know where/who you are" questions to make sure my head was okay. I decided we didn't need to call 911 (which I found out later you're kind of always supposed to do... but oh well), and instead she took me over to the doctor's office in the area. She waited while I saw the doctor, took me to Starbucks and replaced my coffees, came with me to work to explain things to my manager ("Hi Omara, sorry I'm an hour late from lunch, but I got hit by a car and I need to go home." They thought it was a joke.), and then joined me at the police station. She felt guilty and said she was sorry a hundred times. I responded in a variety of ways: "It's okay," then "I've heard you and you don't have to keep saying it... unless you need to get it out," and then "I know." She was very supportive through the whole process. I'm aware of what a stressful situation it was for her, and I appreciated her. (If it was me, I don't think I would have reacted so well, as awful as that sounds.)

The doctor was pretty nice too. Conveniently, this is the doctor that I've seen a couple of times for other things. The office was technically closed, but they let me sneak in anyways. I didn't have to tell them my name - they knew who I was! That really impressed me. She checked me out and cleaned my up, and gave me gauze, and then as we left the doctor told Janna that I'm one of her favorite patients. I don't know if I really believe that - I'm just a walk-in! - but it was nice to hear.

So I'm all scraped and bruised up, especially on the right hand side. I scraped my shin and elbow, and bruised my hip. I scraped my foot through my socks, and my knee through my tights. I scraped my ribs through my dress. And I keep finding more bruises. There's a whopper on my left knee that I didn't discover until a few hours later, and something's coming on my left thigh- I can't see it yet, but I can feel it there. My head's starting to hurt too - just a vague ache - but the doctor said that would happen. I guess I'm supposed to feel way worse tomorrow. But really, considering what it could have been, it wasn't that bad.

Happy Canada Day

A house on the street where my Mom lives is very festive. They decorate for every season they possibly can. (Hallowe'en and Christmas are outstanding.) They even decorate for holidays that don't typically inspire decorations, like Canada Day.

That or they just really like Canada - this was already up at the beginning of May.

ᴒᴒᴒᴒᴒᴒᴒᴒᴒᴒᴒ

Justin and I spent Canada Day leaving the country. "Nuts to you, Canada, we're going down to the States!" But then we'll say the same thing to Montana on Independance Day. That means that we'll miss all the fireworks - but we caught some at a special Fireworks Baseball Game on Wed night, and we're seeing stands selling fireworks all over Montana.

Fad

So remember when I wrote about listing all the different Starbuckses I've been to? I questioned whether this was actually something I wanted to do, and figured I'd go for it. My decision was influence by this passage I remembered from The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon:

"Mrs. Forbes said that hating yellow and brown is just being silly. And Siobhan said that she shouldn't say things like that and everyone has favorite colours. And Siobhan was right. But Mrs. Forbes was a bit right, too. Because it is sort of being silly. But in life you have to take lots of decisions and if you don't take decisions you would never do anything because you would spend all your time choosing between things you could do. So it is good to have a reason why you hate some things and you like others. It is like being in a restaurant... and you look at the menu and you have to choose what you are going to have. But you don't know if you are going to like something because you haven't tasted it yet, so you have favorite foods and you choose these, and you have foods that you don't like and you don't choose these, and then it is simple." (108)

Of course, this is articulated by an autistic character that perhaps I ought not emulate... but it makes sense that the little preferences you develop can reduce the decisions you need to make and add joy to your life. Going to new Starbuckses has given me something fun to do, and provided me with a sense of purpose (particularly on vacations). It's nice to do things towards a goal. And I enjoy adding new Starbuckses and stories to the map I've made to keep track this project (let me know if you're interested in seeing it!). Seeing the sunshines add up makes me happy!

I'm pretty excited about this, and since being introduced to the idea in April I've gone to twenty-seven new Starbuckses to bring my total up to fifty! I consider this all a bit of a fad, though. Soon I will run out of nearby Starbuckses to visit, and then the project will slow down significantly. Also, as I write little vignettes about each location, I find that the memories from before I began the project are more precious than the stories that basically go "I came here because I had to add another one to my list!" Doing things like going for coffee are more beautiful when there's no overarching purpose behind them. Knowing this is just a fad for me makes me more okay with my current infatuation, though. I can enjoy it while it lasts, without being crazy about this forever.

A funny story on the topic: several weeks ago, my Mom was visiting me and was on the phone with a friend of hers here in town. We were going to go out for coffee with her, and I had expressed a desire to go to a Starbucks that I hadn't been to yet since we were likely to be in a different area of town. My Mom passed this on to her friend: "Michelle is addicted to Starbucks." And I corrected her: "Not addicted, just obsessed!" Then we laughed. And since, she has accompanied me to several other new-to-me locations.

Driving

Alberta has beautiful clouds. I notice them most when I'm driving on the highway. And cameras don't catch it at all.

Psychology of Numbers

Have you ever heard of the psychology of colours? The idea is that different colours affect us unconsciously in different ways. Red implies urgency and makes us rush. Blue might create peace and calmness (I'm trying to remember), and blue or green rooms definitely make us feel colder. (My Mom, who is a nurse, has seen this firsthand: patients in hospital rooms with blue or green walls ask for more blankets than those in red or orange rooms.)

I wonder if there is also a psychology of numbers. Do we inherently react differently to different types of numbers? For instance, think about 195, and then about 153. Do they feel any differently to you?

I find numbers that end in a 5 or 10 carry a feeling of completeness. Those ending in 2 are comfortingly even. Numbers that have repeating digits, digits that are multiples of others, or digits that add up in certain ways (like 363) interest me.

Is this just me? As I was thinking about this I began to wonder how much junior high math has haunted me, and whether I approach any number wondering if I'll be required to factor it...

195 = 5 x 3 x 13

363 = 3 x 11 x 11

153 = eh? (3 x 3 x 17)

Books Read - Spring 2010

1. The Piano Man's Daughter by Timothy Findley
2. Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert
3. Anne of Windy Poplars by L.M. Montgomery (#4)*
4. Anne's House of Dreams by L.M. Montgomery (#5)*
5. Three Cups of Tea by Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin
6. The Birth House by Ami McKay
7. Every Woman's Battle by Shannon Ethridge
8. Dune by Frank Herbert
9. Dune Messiah by Frank Herbert
10. Pooh and the Philosophers by John Tyerman Williams
11. How to be a Canadian by Will Ferguson and Ian Ferguson
12. The First Time by Joy Fielding
13. Slumdog Millionaire by Vikas Swarup
14. Sunshine Sketches of a Little Town by Stephen Leacock
15. Anthem by Ayn Rand
16. Becoming Human by Jean Vanier
17. Anne of Ingleside by L.M. Montgomery (#6)*
18. Marcia Schuyler by Grace Livingston Hill
19. Phoebe Deane by G.L. Hill
20. Miranda by G.L. Hill

Golden Rule

Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Is it fair to say that the Golden Rule is the basic summation of decent conduct? I have several concerns with it, though:

1) As someone else has previously articulated, it doesn't work if you're a masochist. Even if you enjoy causing yourself pain, it is not apropriate to treat other people the same way.

2) It is difficult to know how you would like to be treated in a certain situation if you have not experienced it before. For instance, I don't know how I'd want people to act if a close family member died, because I've never lost a member of my immediate family. It's hard to imagine.

3) People are different. My tastes, preferences, and faux pas are different than those of other people; therefore the things that please me will not necessarily please other people. (George Bernard Shaw said, "Do not do unto others as you would that they should do unto you. Their tastes may not be the same.") I would love to receive Junior Mints or a Big Turk bar from Justin, but he would hate to receive these same things from me. This realization necessitates a deeper interpretation of the Golden Rule: instead of simply giving someone what I would like to receive, I need to consider their preferences the way I would want mine to be considered. But... it is difficult to anticipate another person's preferences (especially if I do not know them very well).
Lately I've found myself in several situations where I want to treat my hosts and their posessions with courtesy, but I don't know what courtesy means to them. If I rinse my dishes and put them on the counter, am I exceeding expectations (by rinsing them well), or falling short (but not putting them straight into the dishwasher)? Do they have any rules about walking on the grass that mean I should keep off of it? (I do, just in case.) Should I make a strong effort to keep the conversation going, or would they prefer to sit in peaceful silence? I hate the misunderstandings that arise when someone reads my goodwill as an insult.

4) Sometimes there's only so much attention and kindness to go around, and treating one person as you'd like to be treated means that you are not able to treat another person that way. Perhaps saying a proper goodbye to someone means you'll be late for meeting someone else, but neglecting one is just as bad as the other. It's impossible to apply the Golden Rule fairly to everyone.

It's hard to navigate life when I can't even aspire to following the Golden Rule...

T-Shirt

"Live crowned with glory, or swear to die gloriously."
coronados de gloria vivamos, o juremos con gloria morir.
from the Argentinian national anthem

Ouch

Once upon a time, my ex and I thought we were going to get married. A lady that I looked up to at the time as a mentor had some previous experience as a pre-marital and pre-engagement counsellor, so we spent some time talking with her and her husband, preparing for marriage.

I clearly remember one question she posed. "Fifty percent of all marriages end in divorce. Another forty percent are unhappy. What makes you think that your relationship will be the one in ten that works?" She meant it as a reality check.
What makes you think that you will be the anomaly? What makes you so special?

It's been six years, and neither the relationship with my ex nor the relationship with my mentor have lasted, but that question has remained with me. And it carries the weight of an even larger scope than marriage: what makes you think your life will be happy? What sets you apart from everyone else that will give you success when so many fail? When the odds are not in anyone's favour, what makes you think you'll be lucky?

There is no answer. Trying to point to anything seems naive and boastful. ("Because we're in love? Almost everyone is in love when they marry; that doesn't guarantee a happy marriage.)

So I expect doom, regret the advice I've been given, and try to move forward anyways. It's just hard not to limp sometimes.

Overlooked

So... is this blanket ugly? Or do the things related to me just become invisible?As previously mentioned, I made this aphgan for the silent auction we had at work to benefit the Children's Hospital. I saw it in a pattern book and thought it was beautiful, and then I spent four months making it. Granted, it wasn't my priority-project for those four months, and giving it to the Children's Hospital was a later decision. For a while I didn't like how the colours were coming together, but it turned out nicely.

We got a notice saying that silent auction donations could be given to one of three managers, one of whom was my direct manager. About a week before I expected the silent auction to begin, I brought my aphgan in and gave it to her. She gushed over it a bit, and then stored it in the conference room until other items were gathered... where it sat. And sat. As the silent auction began and the lunch room filled up with donations, my aphgan still sat in the conference room.

After about a week I brought it up with my manager. "If I wanted to donate something for the silent auction," I asked, "who should I give it to?" She looked really confused as she said that I could give it to her. "But what I gave you is still in the conference room. And that tells me that my donation and the work I put into it is not valued." She apologized and felt so embarrassed, and I guess she had an argument with the other manager involved in the silent auction later about it. The other manager had been responsible for putting things out, and she didn't know whether my aphgan was for the silent auction or not. She claims she asked everyone, and no one else knew either... but several significant people knew, so I don't believe she tried all that hard. And anyways, the notice said that donations could be given to my manager, but she did not make sure that they were followed through.

After this conversation, my manager immediately made sure my blanket was put out. But she described it as a "Mini Aphgan" (although it was by no means "mini") and placed the minimum bid at $10.00. This matched the description and donation set for the other two aphgans that a coworker of mine had donated - but those were baby aphgans, and my was two or three times larger. Again, I felt like my work was being devalued.

Two people bid on it. One person started it at $10.00, and then Sue raised the bidding to $15. She got it for that. She would have engaged in a bidding war with anyone else who would play along, but no one else was interested. She has an idea of the work that went into it, and I am glad that it went to a good home, but I am disappointed. It contained about $30 of yarn, as well as the hours and hours I put in. It looks like all my work just took value out of the raw materials. Sad.

On one hand, I donated it freely and perhaps should just let it go, no strings attached. It was no longer mine. On the other hand, it could have done so much better, and I feel like I gave more than the Children's Hospital received. Maybe next year I won't try so hard...

That's Weird

I got up this morning and found my bathroom cupboard open. "That's interesting," I thought, "I don't remember grabbing anything out of there." Then I walked out into the main area of my apartment and found a box that usually sits on top of a basket of junk in the corner but was now in the middle of the floor. Now, I know I didn't leave that there. But it wouldn't have fallen there (it was pretty sturdy), and the door was locked and chained. So, I think I might be sleepwalking.

UUUUUUUU

On another note, my Mom is coming to visit tomorrow. So I need to clean my house!!