Filed under whining

not my problem. at all.

I’ve been out of my old condo for a month and a half and resigned from the condo corporation a month and it’s been great. Then tonight after I fell asleep watching hockey my phone rang.

“Wha? Za! Ba!” I answer it. It’s the property manager from the condo. Apparently no one told him I’d resigned. “Are you home?” he asks, and because I’m fuzzy from the nap I say yes. Someone’s locked out of the building and he wants me to go let the person in. Oh. Well. I think, sure, I can do that. I’m only a block away and I’m sure they haven’t changed the keyless code. I’m putting on my shoes.

“I mean, you got home. I don’t know what his problem is.” And the fuzziness catches up with me. I don’t have to do this. I shouldn’t have even said I could. What the fuck am I doing? I momentarily feel for people who go back to bad relationships.

“Oh,” the manager says, “So how’s your selling going?” And I have to explain that I’m not there, it’s sold and I don’t know why no one told him. It also means they probably haven’t paid their bills. He apologizes but I still say I can go over to the building and check the front door. I don’t know why I say this. I hate telephones so much.

I get there and it is the very front door that’s locked. The one before the keyless entry. I don’t have a key for that and there’s no one outside. I immediately turn around and come home. I think the person who’d called the property manager might have been in a car across the street, because a horn honked as I left.

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inauspicious to say little

Sinatra and Kittenoh’s relationship has begun poorly. Anne and I each held our cats and they got each other’s attention. Then Sinatra started hissing and growling and yowling and Kittenoh eventually hissed back. We deemed it a failure and withdrew. Sinatra is hissing mad at me still, twenty minutes later. It’s been a hard day for her. Maybe this is too much to ask of her. I might have to find her a new home.

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too big to fail

I’m 30 now. Which is fine.

It was a good enough day. Had lunch with my mom, chatted a bit with Holly, worked a short shift, cut my hair and found I hadn’t doomed Reyn’s cat to a life on the streets by accidentally letting her out yesterday. I’ll finish moving into Reyn’s place tomorrow, bringing Sinatra with me. I hope she does okay with the new place and Kittenoh.

The second best part of my day was explaining to an eleven-year-old how pinchies on St. Patrick’s Day isn’t a “real thing” but also how that fact won’t stop you from getting pinched (for not wearing green) if everyone you know is doing it. The tyranny of the mob and their lies, I explained with a shrug. The best part of the day was finishing the last season of The Wire tonight, which explains why big lies were on my mind.

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i will have to buy a bus pass

I’m done with twenty-minute walks daily and can now look forward to 33% less income. But I’m not complaining. I, for one, welcome our new insect overlords. There are worse things that could have happened and I now have an excuse to read piles of manga. Maybe I’ll even grow to like it.

It feels like every manga I’ve read moves glacially. Wait. That’s not true. The only one I read with that problem was Old Boy. Hassie’d recommended the movie and when I saw the manga at the library I took it out and read the first volume. It was so obvious and redundant and dumb. In my memory there were like two sentences per eight pages, and all the images were of people walking down hallways trying to look cool. I’m sorry Old Boy if I have distorted you beyond recognition but I thought you were terrible and was very glad I spent no money on you.

Maybe for the manga club I’ll bring Old Boy in as an example of what I can’t stand. Maybe it’s better than I remember. I wonder if I’ll have to expand beyond manga to the comics I love or if I’ll be able to find enough manga I like for discussion purposes.

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jobbing along despite the demoralization

At the desk yesterday there were two separate interesting questions. One was a woman who corralled Ashleigh into helping her at the computers. Ashleigh’d already helped her find a computer that could do what she wanted, but the woman seemed needy of more help and dragged her away to the far computer bank. I could see them standing and talking and Ashleigh gave the occasional look back at the desk. When a phone call came for her it was perfectly timed so I could go rescue my coworker. I let the woman know I could help her if that wasn’t a problem.

The woman wanted to save a document to her new flash drive. Cool beans. She also wanted to talk about her theories of how the government didn’t like her and was trying to delete her work on applying for EI. I let her talk as she rooted through her belongings. I got scissors to open the flash drive packaging. We navigated to the government of Canada site and found the document she needed to fill out. Then the computer popped up a screen saying you couldn’t fill in the form and save it. You could fill it in and print it though. And thus began the explanation of how she’d filled the form out once and then it had all been wiped out so she came to the library. She was concerned that would happen again, peppering her speaking with “Woe is me” and “Isn’t that just the way it always is” kinds of statements.

So I explained how it would work on the computer she was at. She printed off a blank version of the form. She saved a blank version of the form. Then she started filling it in. I warned her that if she wasn’t done by the time the computer kicked her off to print it, otherwise all her work would disappear again.

I was on break when she came to the desk to get help printing it (which I’d hoped she wouldn’t need, as I’d showed her how to print the document when it was blank and said it would work exactly the same way). But she’d come with only 2 minutes left on her time and by the time they got back to the computer she’d been logged off and lost her data. But she would persevere. She had 30 minutes left of internet use on her card so she’d try again. This time it would be better! It wasn’t. She lost all her data again. But we’d tried our best to help her, and listened to her talk (about how her doctor was trying to kill her), so she thought us library folk were all right.

Later on in the evening a young woman came to the desk looking for videos about WalMart. Robert was helping her find the videos and said “Why are these in such different places? One’s in the 658s and the other in 382 (or whatever the specific numbers were)!” So I piped in, “The one in the 658s is about the business of WalMart, and the one in the 300s is about the social environmental whatever issues created by WalMart.” And the young woman said, “Wow, you are passionate about your job!”

“Nah, I just know a couple of things about WalMart. It comes from spending my opinion-formative years reading Adbusters.”

And it was really nice, while Bruce went off to find the actual videos this woman and I chatted about WalMart and how this business prof she has talks about the badness, and she’d never heard any of that before and was now up to researching it. Very pleasant interaction and it made me glad I work in a library, not a cheese factory.

It makes me sad how the administration’s bullshit (about what I can and can’t write on my blog on my own time, and whether I’m actually cut out to be a librarian) affects me. It shouldn’t. They’re just suits who want everyone to behave like them. But it gets to me. I hate thinking about them but I do. It saps my writing and my life in general. I wish I didn’t have to feel like shit all the time. I like being passionate about my job. I want to be, but assholes who’ve never worked with me think I’m a liar who shouldn’t continue in the job I’m pretty fucking good at. It sucks.

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fuck you 2009, i piss on your rotting corpse

The past few months have had really long days because of my frequent talking to people in places where it’s already tomorrow. I wake up and talk to Holly where she’s already had the day I just woke up to, then if we talk when I get home she’s home for lunch the next day. Keeps me falling forward in time. It’s 2010 in China.

I fucking hated the fuck out of 2009. This was the year my condo ate my life. The decision to buy was in 2008, but the badness was all this year. All the arguments and irresponsibility and hassle. The lack of sleep because of worry. The resignation to the fact that I made a really bad decision and have basically wiped out all the money left to me by all my dead relatives. Awesome. If you want to buy it, I’ll take offers way below the current asking price. Please. Let me out of here.

The best parts of 2009 predictably happened when I was far from the condo. I visited Caroline & Co (even though it was too early for Paisley to actually remember), went to Los Angeles, and of course enjoyed the hell out of my time in China (which it seems I never did write about extensively here).

I didn’t work anywhere and nothing of any interest happened at the places I didn’t work (oh right, I work in a cheese factory – forgot there for a minute) so “work life” falls neither in the good nor heart-shittingly bad parts of the year. The cheese factory did fund my escapes from the (utterly privileged) hell of thinking about the condo though.

My plans for 2010 are to feel way less responsible for this fucking condo bullshit. Also: Write something. Go to school. Watch some baseball. See friends get married.

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dasher and prancer and stitches and trauma

I never did ask about the quantity of cheese our factory produces. Someone was in Richard’s nook before me and accidentally called him Richard Marzipan. Bad scene. You would think the number of sharp implements in a cheese factory would be limited, but Marzipan is the guy who pulls foreign objects out of the vats, so yeah, he had a collection of pointy bits. Mispronouncing guy had to get a bunch of stitches and was sent home early. I just went back to work.

It’s not really very jolly around there. People don’t care about Mild Cheddar in the holiday season so our work goes on rather pointlessly. There’s one person wearing the mandatory elf hat (with bells), but I think it was more a punishment than an eruption of festive spirit. I haven’t asked. Le sigh.

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sixty-nine days past the arabian nights

The alarm woke me from dreams of cheese. Anthropomorphic cheese frolicking and licking my belly. It wasn’t the worst dream I could have, and it’s not unexpected as I reek of cheese all the time. I remember a time when cheese was a luxury, but today’s my 1070th day at the cheese factory and I’d really just rather never see anything fermented ever again. Not even if it frolicked and licked.

But my alarm got me up and I’m dragging myself around the apartment before my day begins in earnest. Today, as I’ve done for the last almost three years, I’ll be going to work at the unnamed cheese factory that employs me. My job hasn’t changed in 1069 days. There a technicians who run machines and scientists who devise formulae, but my job is very simple, re-affix the labels to the sealed and wrapped blocks of mild rubbery cheddar.

I have to re-affix the labels because the machine that is supposed to put them on cannot align them properly. One corner hangs off the edge or, well, that’s usually the problem. So I peel it off and put it on straight. One would think those technicians could fix the machine, but that’s not how our cheese factory is run. It’s my job to make up for the label-affixer’s malfunction and my job it will remain. And the machine will continue its jiddery shuddering work while we all wait for it to fall apart.

Viva life.

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the first rule of library club is shh

If you’re looking for tales of the library you’re in completely the wrong place. You see, for the past three years I’ve been making up the entire thing. I never worked at any library. I was just trying to hide the boringness of my real job at the cheese factory. Though we make delicious cheese, my job is not very much to write home about. I have seen the light however, and will commence to tell the truth about my real life at the cheese factory from now onward.

So as not to confuse I got rid of all those fanciful tales of libraries and the interesting funny things that happen at them. (Or could possibly happen in them if I’d ever been behind the scenes of one. Which I haven’t. Ever. Nope. Not even that time you saw me with your own eyes. If those are your real eyes. The ones you use for lying.)

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no presents please and thank you

I’ve been trying to tell people more individually but you do not need to buy me Xmas presents this year. I’m not buying anything for anyone. It’s not a poverty thing or a political thing, I just don’t want any reason to deal with stores and commercialized stuff this year. And if I can shorten anyone else’s time in the mall, that’s a pretty good deal too.

A couple of weeks ago I was wandering through St. Vital Centre and passed a cell phone crap kiosk. You know, the kind of place that just sells bits of plastic to encase your phone or attach it to dashboards or whatever? I’d already decided to do this no-gifts Xmas thing, but there were a few wafflings in my head sort of like “Well, maybe I should just get this person this one thing…” And then there was this kiosk. And it had a poster with a bunch of smartphones on it and the text, “You know you love her. Now prove it.” I just hated the fact that message existed and wanted to cry and puke all at once. I took it as confirmation in this year’s buy-nothing ways.

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