this is so old…….

this morning I forgot my phone and feeling naked, and, after a bit of staring out the window, i turned to the book i had on hand. up until today it was Mordechai Richler’s swan song, “Barney’s Version”, but it reminds me of the last book of his i tried to slog through. “St. Urbain’s Horseman”. it was my introduction to Montreal before I ever went there. And, though i can well appreciate the Canadiana references, in the back of my head i hear his swaggering, gravelly baritone droning this stream of consciousness. (not that i should be critical because this is precisely the writing style i have adopted. ) this book is replete with footnotes, correcting factual dalliances here and there. i made it to page 55 and i felt like i’ve run a marathon, and i think i’d rather just run a marathon and hit the wall and be done with it.

the biggest problem for me is it doesn’t have that lovely escape hatch feel to it.  even the grittiest of crime novels allows me to fit in between the skin of the book and the character until the crime(s) is solved. this it isn’t taking me anywhere away from here. if anything it is having the opposite effect, causing my mind to wander into dangerous territory, making me linger in the hurting place, which is precisely where i don’t want to be.

so in the spirit of making a good use of time, i opt instead for a few page snatch of this social networking book i picked up. a conversation a friend has me exploring a whole new way of networking with a mind to making it pay off in the long run. i’m not sure i’ll be able to exploit this to the best of my advantage, but it doesn’t hurt to explore.

i though i might simply collapse at work yesterday, the workload was something fierce, but that’s always the way give or take. today i walk with heavy feet dragging reluctantly back to the same place that causes me so much stress. my inability to cope has me strung out almost as much as the work i am meant to accomplish.  i’m no type a, but i am a driven perfectionist and i can never live up to the high expectations of my ability.

so i chuck some optimism at it and hope it passes. if not that, then what?

 

 

Day in the life of a (p/t) working girl

Dinner is going to cook while we are at work. I did the prep the evening before, but the last stages of prep; browning the chicken and assembling it in the cooker, still chew up too much valuable morning time.

 
What to wear? I washed my preferred trousers and neglected to iron them and now it is not an option. I could wear the pants that are too long, listen to them drag as I walk or the pants that are a titch too short, a pet peeve of mine. I loathe the whole "business casual" office repertoire. Mostly because I can never find anything that fits or flatters. I pause and imagine what sort of
office I’d rather work in; contemplate yet again the sort of work I want
to do, not in an office or someone else's office. Or one with a dress code.

I tussle with my contact lenses to get them in. Why today? I'm already running behind. I'm wearing them out of vanity (not entirely) but of convenience. It's a hassle pushing my glasses up my nose over and over again as I squint over papers.

Breakfast is a hastily prepared smoothie, gulped quickly in the few minutes I have before I need to get out of the house. Lunch will be a similar affair; I'd meant to prepare something the night before and came up with
nothing. I end up grabbing a packet of
carnation instant breakfast and tossing it into my bag on my way out the door.

I sprint out of the house into the crisp morning air. My eyes are assaulted by a blinding sun slung low on the horizon. The morning air bites hungrily at my fingers. It's a rude awakening. Even though most mornings I am out of bed at this hour (my new habit so as to discourage sloth), I am rarely outside. There was a time when I went for life affirming brisk walks first thing. Not anymore. Why the glow went off it so quickly, I don't know. Maybe because even though I strode with purpose it was like I had none.

The train seems full, but I find a seat shrouded by the figure of someone standing in front of it. Why the kind stranger couldn't indicate this fact rankles me a bit, but that's just the way it goes so.I manoeuvre around him, settle in and throw open my book, eager to jump back in where I left off. I don't normally read in the mornings; merely plug in and tune out, but I've only got this book for 14 days and I am captivated by the story.

It’s one of those magic mornings where you might imagine what you would do next if you were on holiday. I am striding down the hill from the
skytrain to my workplace, pulling in deep inhales of the cool and fresh air; blowing out plumes of steamy warm air. I am working out the math of the trip length in my
head. And I marvel, how can it be that I left the apartment at 8 and waited almost 10 minutes for the
bus at the end of the block to take me to braid station and still arrive only 10 minutes later
than if I had left at 10 to eight and walked the 8 minute walk to
sapperton and took the train directly from there? I’m baffled. But first things first. I skip across busy Grandview and retrieve a Tim horton’s Coffee (my second coffee of the day) and a banana from the gas station. This will be the highlight of my day and will sustain me until I take my customary later lunch.

On the return trip, I notice the cost of gasoline and marvel at the cost of gasoline. 112.9 …That’s what? $4.50 a gallon. How does anyone afford the cost of driving? I remember when we heard that gasoline in Europe was less and everyone thought that it was scandalous.
 
I knock on the side door of the building until someone hears me. The woman who generally answers sits closest to the door and is always chirpy and friendly. I hang up my jacket and notice it smells of fried something. I can't stand that; another of my pet peeves.

I turn on the computer and go off to fill up my water bottle while it lumbers to life. I settle in, take a few sips while I check my email. None of it pertains to me. I get up go right to work and my back protests with pain after just a few minutes of bending and stooping. Again comes a moment of decisiveness that I have GOT to get a glimmer, a clue and some motivation to get onto a more desireable career path. A little more stunning clarity wouldn't hurt.

Later in the day I have a bit of a training session; for specific tasks beyond what I've learned already. I thought I had it nailed, now I feel myself begin to shut down; suffering a bit of information overload. I take copious notes but I can't read them within a few minutes of scribbling them down.

I leave the building, immediately feeling buoyant and relaxed. My evening is now my own. I see a train pull into the station, and know that if I keep walking this pace, I will only have to wait a few minutes for the next and there's no need to hurry. I decide I will take the train all the way to my stop and take the short hilly route home, instead of transferring to one of the buses that will drop me at the end of my block. 

I think to myself as I walk the short incline home, that it would be lovely if a person could sustain themselves on such a mere amount of toiling. I sigh and give my head a shake. My day isn't entirely over, there's dinner to prepare.