Gigantic Starbucks

Today I found the biggest Starbucks cup ever:
WAHOO!!
It's as big as my head!
(It's actually a canister. Although I'm not sure what I'll use it for, I just had to have it.)

Chosen

Katie and Patrick got engaged a few months ago. Then the day before yesterday, they stopped by work and Katie asked me if I would be her bridesmaid! (She had hinted at this possibility beore, so I wasn't completely shocked.) First I think I said "Okay!" in an excited voice, then I asked her what I'd have to do and warned her I'm bad at planning parties. She said all I have to do is wear a dress and shoes, come to the parties, and help her write thank you cards. I can totally do all those things!

Although I wasn't shocked to be chosen as one of Katie's bridesmaids, I am surprised. Am I really that important of a friend in her life - one of the top few? I remember all of the times I haven't really appreciated her and feel ashamed. I want to feel like I am a good friend to her, someone worthy of being her bridesmaid.

I guess Katie and I have known each other for six years now and have been good friends for about four. We trained at work together, we've gone shopping together, we go out for coffee and lunch and dinner together. When she moved away to go to school, I went to visit her. We've baked cookies together and had crocheting parties together. And her family likes me (and I guess they thought I'd be a more deserving bridesmaid than another friend of hers). I've also been a good friend of Patrick's, and I've seen their relationship develop. The three of us hung out together before they started dating, and I was the one she talked to when things started developing between them.

Choosing a wedding party really makes a person rate their friendships. And I feel like it's also a vote of confidence for the future: I will be in their wedding pictures, and their kids will either say, "Who's that?" or "That's Michelle!" If I'm going to be given an honored role as they get married, I ought to remain around for everything else too.

Motto

So, I have discovered that my motto these days is, "I'm so not impressed." I've found this to be my exclamation in situations like "You didn't tell me he wasn't transferring? I'm so not impressed," and, "They reloaded this Starbucks card, when I very clearly told them I wanted the other one? I'm so not impressed."
It's a pretty crappy motto, isn't it. Pretty negative, at least - it doesn't really inspire appreciation for life. But I do like having an expression of displeasure, and being able to admit that things aren't ideal and that that is okay. There's something nice about acknowledging dissatisfaction.

Books Read - Summer 2010

1. Cheats, Charlatans, and Chicanery by Andreas Schroeder
2. Star Wars: Children of the Jedi by Barbara Hambly
3. Status Anxiety by Alain de Botton
4. Speaking Truth to Power by M.A. Apostol
5. The Reader by Bernhard Schlink
6. Boundaries in Marriage by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend
7. Rainbow Valley by L.M. Montgomery (#7)*
8. Moby Dick by Herman Melville

Work News

I work alone now.

There have been a lot of changes at work lately; two new stores are opening in the area (and a new competition has taken some of our people as well), so as a result of transfers we've got a whole different array of staff. All the managers I report to are different, including my direct manager and our store manager. And Geoff, my Payroll coworker, got a promotion at the new store, so he is leaving too.

Today was Geoff's last day. And I've gotten used to the idea of not having him around - months and months ago he anticipated quitting to pursue other ventures, then I knew about his application to transfer, then I knew when he got the new position, and now he is gone. I'm not as afraid of my new role (as the most knowledgeable Payroll person) as I was at first - I've had time to grow into it. And it'll be okay. Of course, it will suck for a while too because there is no one to replace Geoff (or perhaps to replace me, as I move into Geoff's role). We've known that Geoff was leaving for quite a while, but they haven't given us anyone new. Boo. Whenever I do get a helper, I hope they're competent. I can't handle another training episode like the last one.

Geoff wrote me a goodbye card, in which he said: "I'm very thankful to have gotten to know you over the past year and a half. You're a very kind and intelligent woman, and have improved both the company and me as a person. Thank you for everything!" I was really touched by this. I know I've frustrated him at times (and vice versa), and I'm glad to know that in spite of that we part on very good terms. He appreciated me too. He complimented me on kindness, which is something I don't really expect these days, and he complimented me on intelligence, which is nice because he also gets to see pretty un-intelligent sides of me. (I make dumb mistakes and then we laugh at them. Today I kept writing "gong" and "gene" while trying to write "gone" over and over.) I feel like these compliments are sincere - something I can believe and not just brush off as flattery. And he accompanied his kind words with a Starbucks card, which I'm super excited about.

I'm going to miss laughing with Geoff. We are really funny. We laugh at my dumb mistakes and irrational dislikes, I mock him for his slip-ups, we enjoy spelling and grammar disasters and have numerous crazy inside jokes. ("Have you seen Deb?" Frankie Smitherson!!! Chinbone! Chore!)

We can still keep in touch. There's the company mail bag, and email. I told him I'd continue to email him hilarity (which probably won't be all that funny at all if you're not there for it, but he said he'll laugh anyway).

And I've gotten better at losing people. Change doesn't seem so threatening; I find myself appreciating what I've had but believing that what's coming could be good too.

Labelled

As an alumni, I continue to be invited to potluck dinners with my major from school. I value remaining welcome and connected to them. It's neat to see the group evolve, although it feels a little awkward to be on the outside of it. Sometimes it also feels awkward to re-enter aspects of that phase of my life.

One of these gatherings occurred last night. It was a lovely time of reconnecting, and as hoped, I found a welcoming outlet for the books I've recently purged from my shelves!

At one point in the evening, our professor was telling us about how much she loves seeing her students grow and change throughout the years of her tutelage. As alumni, of course, we were the examples. "I was really, really quiet," Amanda volunteered. I didn't say anything, so our professor said of me, "Michelle was sceptical, but God is working on that in her." I continued my halfhearted smile.

Sceptical, huh. One word that begs so much explanation. What on earth is she referring to?

Is she saying I was sceptical about God? Although I am no longer a person of faith, I do not believe that this falling away was evident in me back then. If anything, I feel like I am an example against the idea that those who fall away were never really Christians to begin with (the perseverance of the saints). I was genuine. (Unless this is a matter of election... I was sincere but not chosen, and somehow she recognized that, although she would never put it that way?) And the events that led to my giving up were not so much a matter of scepticism as of pain and darkness. Even in those steps I was living genuinely out of my circumstances.

Is she instead saying that she found me sceptical towards our topic of study? I don't see that either. I came back to school because I was so excited about the mystics after reading John of the Cross. When I try to picture "sceptical," I come across synonyms like dour and uninvolved, but in my early memories of school I was anything but that. I remember how excited and involved I was in starting our community, and how I invited everyone out for coffee after class. I didn't start out sceptical. But eventually I started to feel angst in her classes. In addition, I was in a dry and dark place and "spirituality" wasn't very fruitful for me. But this is the field that recognizes and understands such arid times!

Maybe... maybe she feels like I was sceptical of her view of spiritual theology. Maybe it all boils down to her. We did stand on the opposite sides of some issues and we weren't always comfortable with each other. She prides herself on her intuition, but I have found it to be faulty when applied to me (like when she asked if my expression of painc was an attempt to control something). Maybe her statement reveals little more than her current feelings about me, and that some bitterness remains between us.

Based on the context of her speech, it seems that she should be identifying a characteristic that she saw in me early on and an area that changed significantly by the time I finished my college education. Her phrasing, however, suggests a current observation ("God is working on that"). I didn't start out sceptical, and if anything, I became more sceptical as my time at school went on. Another friend of mine from that time does not remember scepticism as a primary characteristic of mine at all when he first met me (and I didn't bother asking about now).

To be honest, I felt a little slandered by her description of me. There were new people in this group whom I hadn't met before, and who were forming their opinion of me based on the fact that I gave them books, and then the fact that she called me sceptical. It was as if this was how she was introducing me to them. They don't know what contributed to this statement; they are left to imagine. I guess it's a good thing I won't see them much in the future... or maybe that just makes it all immaterial.

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)