February 9th -- a good mental health day

It's been all over the airwaves, microwaves, all waves... February 9th was the day to talk openly about mental health. My own mental health has been in question for a while. For those who don't know, I have battled depression for the past 10 years. It comes and goes like those waves. Ebb and flow. In and out. Down but not out. Some days are good, some days not so good, but the fact that I am aware of how easy the downfall comes is a positive. I constantly remind myself that I am good enough, that I am worth the fight, that I deserve happiness.

This year, this February 9th was a mixed blessing. The afternoon of February 9th, when I should have been talking about mental health and perhaps my own depression story, I was called into the office at Cell Block C and told that I would no longer be working there. There was a portion of me that was relieved - my out. The other side was embarrassed. While there was a work shortage, with two salespeople down and sales dismal, the fact is that they did not want me anymore. And I didn't want them. It was a toxic relationship and no matter how hard I tried, it was a relationship that was unsalvagable.

I am not going to point fingers. I think a read through my blog would unearth the reasons for the dysfunction. It was a relationship that was not getting any better. There was no ebb and flow, just the flow of energy from me into an environment in which my efforts were not appreciated. My talents lay elsewhere.

So, I gathered my things and my pride and I bid farewell to the people I met there. I went through my orders with my office manager, cleaning up tasks and leaving as few waves as possible in my wake. And while the environment in the office was often negative, I made sure that my name was not associated with the negativity. The Cell Block C wardens were hospitable in the end. While I was told I was stupid while an employee, now that I "enjoyed" a layoff status I was told that it was not personal and that I should come away from the experience with a positive outlook - a new beginnings outlook.

I agree. It's time for a new beginning. I was trying it the old-fashioned way - to find another position and then give notice. They played their hand before I had a chance to organize my own. The hand was dealt and I'm not sure if there was one true winner. I would like to think we both are - Cell Block C no longer has to deal with me and I no longer have to dread waking up each morning to enter an environment that was no longer mentally or physically healthy.

Many of my friends would say I'm being politically correct here. "They're the assholes," they've already said. "You're better off." Both are true. The wardens are pricks. They're pricks that do not think of themselves as pricks. They think they are justified for their often inappropriate actions and interactions. I just no that job or no job, I'm 10 times happier having the day to myself to look onward and upward, for jobs nay career choices that are more in line with my happiness.

February 9th for mental health. Who would have figured it would be my own that would be saved that day.

The other Linda

I was surprised at my reaction this past week after visiting my alma matter. I'm naturally sappy and cry at commercials and everything from made-for-tv movies to Undercover Boss. If there's a sad story, a happy ending or a message of hope I weep. I'm a weeper. So, it should have been no surprise that I found a few tears after visiting my girl crush, Nancy Burt. In case you didn't know, I heart her.

After getting my bearings about me, having not been inside for oh so many years, I found my feet knew the way to the same hallways that I spent three years of my academic career. I touched the locker where I stored the heavy audio visual equipment I used to do mock interviews. I visited my old newsroom where we laid out the weekly newspaper by hand, only to find that the semester after I left they upgraded to Mac computers. Mac for everyone! I also got caught up with Nancy and picked her brain for what my next step and the step after I should take. So, now with continuing education brochures and a thought to attaining my Masters, I'm hyped. Hepped. Inspired. Giddy really. There is a light and I'm running towards it.

My friend Anasatan reminded me of something today. She reminded me to walk before I run. To realize that Rome wasn't built in a day and I shouldn't expect everything to fall into place at once. She's right. But I'm still giddy. I was even giddier when I got an email today, a response from an email inquiry I sent in hopes of securing employment with the college. It's for freelance right now and I have to offer examples of my photography skills, which have been non-existent lately, but I'm still excited. And nervous. And I have butterflies trapped in my gut that may make me spew.

It reminded me of the time, way back in the day, in my second year when I got trapped in the bathroom with a psychopath. Her name was Linda and she was in my class. She was also drunk, having admitted to being on the bottle for about a day and a half, and she was upset over something. Her temper was known. She was much older and had seen a lot of life, even then. Life had not been good, and although she was trying to turn her life around (she was in college as a mature student, after all) but she had inner demons. I don't know exactly what they were (I couldn't understand her slurring), but I knew she was in the throws of a meltdown and I was in her path.

I have the same feeling in my gut as I had that day. I wanted to help Linda but I didn't know how. I didn't know the right thing to say and no matter what I did - comfort her, offer her water, offer to take her home to sleep it off, nothing worked. Instead, I called in an instructor for help. Just like I called Nancy, and Terri, and Carey and Judy. Just like I sent emails to a college dean and former instructor now editor for any job opportunities. I felt myself sinking further and I reached past my comfort zone for help. And, I'm getting it unlike Linda who ended up dropping out.

I'm not sure where she is right now. I actually hadn't thought of her in years, not since I had heard rumours of her ultimate demise... death. I'm not sure if it's true. I hope not. But, I also realize that I have started to take the steps to shake my own demons without going down the same road - to harness the butterflies in my stomach and quiet my feelings of self-doubt.

I used to look at Linda and see a crazy person. Now as I recall her I see myself, just another person trying to fight off her inner demons. Bless you Linda, wherever you ended up.

The times they are a changin'

(Cue Bob Dylan...)

These past few weeks, Scribe has started to make a lot of decisions. A lot. She's got a lot to change. The mindset is one of them and even though it's been a battle, it's going to continue.

Perhaps one decision would be to stop talking in the third person. I don't know why I do it. Sometimes it's funny. Sometimes it's to deflect some sort of responsibility. It's not like I'm talking about ME... but I am. These changes are not a New Year's Resolution. It just happened to coincide. I had decided in December that I will NOT go through another birthday in tears over my suck-ass job at Cell Block C. I'm working to make that a reality.

More importantly, I'm getting off my ass and realizing that the real work is ahead of me, and honestly, I'm a little frightened. They say a little fear is healthy. I hope I'm on my way to a healthy outlook and a healthy future.

So here it is - the list of what I'm changing:

1. My inability to speak up when I'm upset, hurt or insulted.
2. My career away from Cell Block C and the steps I need to take to get there, which one of them is to go back to school... at 40.
3. My current financial/fiscal situation.
4. My level of honesty with myself.
5. My fitness level and overall health... yes, I've been going to the gym, thanks to inspiration from my gym rat friends.
6. My all or nothing attitude. It's one step at a time, and it's constant. Every day. Every minute.

I find what scares me the most at this moment is the thought of going back to school. It's not that I didn't finish college. I did. With flying colours. But, technology and techniques have changed and I've been out of the media world for a few years, skirting along the edges by writing this blog and taking on freelance positions here and there. Now I need xhtml training, more Photoshop, Illustrator, Dreamweaver... arghh! I'm also no longer offering the skills I do already possess for free - I'm willing to help anyone but if it means missing out on a fee for services rendered and keeping the credit sharks at bay, I'm sorry but it will be a no, thank you. Go find another sucker.

Back in August, I signed up to do the editorial content for a new website portal venture that was supposed to take my city by storm. What I didn't know was that it meant all the responsibility and work would fall on my shoulders and my "partner" would not even live up to his promise of setting up the bank accounts, organizing the literature or business cards and recruiting sales agents. I also offered my editing services for his book. That was in July/August and despite an agreement on a fee and payment schedule, I received payment in full last week. In the middle of January.

I heard all the excuses: my pay cheque didn't clear; I didn't get a chance to go to the bank; I don't have any cheques; I've been up all day/night and need to sleep so I can't meet you for five minutes. I served the ultimatum steaming hot - "I need full payment tomorrow or I can't make my mortgage payment and the bank will foreclose. I'll lose my house." I wouldn't have lost it - I'm too responsible for that. I am just tired of carrying people and their financial woes when they have no concern for mine.

I don't want to forgo on a haircut or hold off on taking that course because someone else couldn't pay up. I'm tired of looking at my bank account every day and accounting for every penny, for wondering if I should buy that Tim Horton's coffee or will it put me into a deficit balance on my bank account. I'm tired of being responsible for everything.

I know responsibility is part of life, my adult one. I get that. What I don't get is why I have to sacrifice so someone else doesn't have to. I'm looking to go back to school and to earn more money, I first have to spend it... on tuition, on books and the like. It's part-time for now, but I've decided that my ultimate goal is to give back to the school that gave me my start, my inspiration, my training, and for that I will need to get my Master's degree. It's three years of courses. It's putting myself out there and learning when I haven't been in some semblance of school for 20 years. Times have changed and I must change with them.

It's time for me to think about me and my aspirations. It's time to think about my feelings instead of everyone else. It's time to put me first. And that, my friends, scares the crap out of me.

This little piggy went to market...

Last night, I did a bread and milk run on my way home from Cell Block C. While I ended up getting the provisions for the morning, I did put another item in my cart and it got me oinking, laughing and causing at least one cashier and a patron to blush.

As usual, I was multitasking, talking to Anasatan on the phone, perusing the aisles and calculating my potential bill in my head. That's when I spotted it. It was full and pink with flowers on its belly. It was the perfect replacement for the rubber chicken. 

The Shoppers' Drug Mart by my house put in a new section geared to the new generation of pet owners who treat their canines and felines like their own children. I know I do. I approached with pure giddiness. I wanted to touch it and squeeze it. I was overcome and let out a laugh when Anasatan asked if there were any ducks in the store. There weren't. Only pigs, in particular, one pink rubber pig. I squeezed it over and over again, and I laughed. Anasatan laughed and called me out on my freakishness. I thought it was all sorts of awesome and quickly put the said pig into the basket.

Anasatan, exasperated with all of the oinking (mine and the pigs), had hung up, so I made my way to the checkout reveling in my find. "Isn't this awesome," I asked the cashier, pointing to the pig.

"Oh, it's for a dog..." he answered. Why else would I buy a rubber pig, I thought. And then, before thinking how it might sound to the other patrons, I said something that would be considered a little risque in any other situation... "You can squeeze it if you like..."

The man behind me in the line took a double-take and started to laugh. I started to laugh, making it hard to see the numbers I was attempting to punch into the debit card machine. I laughed louder as the cashier (a male cashier at that) reached over and squeezed. The pig must have liked it too since he didn't oink as loud for me when I squeezed him.

So my house is now a barnyard as Boyo the Boxer goes between the pig and chicken. I just hope the goat is available soon to make our farm complete.

He's lucky he's cute...

Am I talking about the canine or the Man? Or both?

Boyo wearing the Cone of Shame... Feel shame, Kao, feel shame...

If I'm lucky and win a massive lottery (or a massive stroke), I may find myself living in a van down by the river (cue Deliverance music). I was handed an estimate, not even a full bill, for what potentially could be a life-threatening situation for the Boyo. Was it pancreatitis? Poisoning? Consumption? None of the above. Two days and one night of puking (vomit and blood intermixed), two hours of sleep in between cleaning up random spots all over the house, a nervous ride to the vet and an estimate to end all estimates, and I checked Kao into the animal hospital not sure if I would see him again in his alive state.

There were blood tests, IVs, x-rays and an overnight stay. And a $900+ vet bill ('cause they never include the tax) only to discover that Boyo has not yet and probably never will outgrow his fetish... socks. Mine. And this time, it almost cost him his life.

He was so dehydrated from hurling, trying with all his might to get the trouser sock (no, it's not a code name) out of his gut and onto the floor. I was so tired from keeping my one eye open and one hand on the Swiffer Wet Jet to ensure the floors were quickly cleaned and he was out in the backyard to cool off. I was emotionally and fiscally drained. And while my emotions are now bordering on normal (I said bordering, people, I know my limitations!), my wallet is feeling it.

I keep telling the Boyo that while I spent only $300 in his initial purchase, he's now up to full price and he's got to start earning his keep. He's also got to make up for the socks and underwear he's eaten and purged to-date. And I don't care if I get them back.... he ate them, he pays for them 'cause I'm not touching those again without a set of tongs.

I heart Nancy Burt

I have a girl crush. I've had it since I entered my first "The art of newspaper reporting" at the mere age of 19 and it remains to this day, and today even more so.

I've been trying to break out of Cell Block C. A file in a loaf of bread didn't cut it. I managed the first layer of concrete only to be pulled back by my incessant need to eat, breath and live with a roof over my head. A universal call-out to the heavens didn't work either. Perhaps it's because I'm a dyslexic atheist (apologies to dyslexics and atheists alike). I do suffer from dyslexia on occasion and these last few months have left me wondering about god and my connection to him/her.

So last week, I called out to my mentor, my girl crush: Nancy Burt. And, she answered. If my arms could reach through the cell phone I would have given her the biggest squeeze and a "Squeee," as she took the time, not only to call me back after a long-winded, unabashed devoted message, but because she remembered me and the last meeting we had outside of the subway on Bloor Street West. She remembered I had married my college classmate. She remembered where I used to work. She remembered my enthusiasm. She also remembered the article I submitted to the school's magazine. She remembered to call me.

Nancy also suggested potential steps for me to take to speed up my escape from Cell Block C. She offered a hammer in the form of a contact at the only profitable newspaper in Canada. She offered me a shovel by offering to act as a reference. She loaned me a set of clothes for the outside world in the mention of a potential writing opportunity at my alma matter. Nancy offered me hope.

I still heart Nancy Burt and now the girl crush is ten-fold. We're supposed to be meeting up for coffee at some point to catch up. I can't wait. I just hope she doesn't mind too much when I start humping her leg.

December who?

Do you remember when things took so long to happen? When school vacations were eons away but in reality the three months until "no more pencils, no more books" could be shouted at the top of our young lungs? It's no longer the case.

Maybe it's because I turned a milestone birthday this past week. Yes, Scribe can no longer claim to be in her 30s. It's a new decade baby, and with it comes an acceleration in time. One month seems like yesterday. So imagine my dismay when I realized I had neglected you again. For a whole month. To make up for it, I will do a synopsis of the last month and everything that has gone into it.

Balloons for the Gusafus
There are a surprising number of birthdays to be had this past month (mine included). We know what certain parents were doing nine months before... and yes, that includes mine but they did it only twice. Once with my brother and once with me. Tell me any different and I will stick my fingers in my ears and start singing at the top of my lungs.

You may have noticed an influx of green balloons on December 7th. Hulk Green to be exact, to recognize a certain young man's birthday. He may have passed, but I sure hope the balloons reached my buddy Christopher and reminded him that he still has big fans in all of us. Friends, family, teachers... we were all there in the cold to send our message across Ontario and hopefully beyond. Boyo the Boxer, however, was happy they were out of his house and not taunting him any longer.

'Tis the season, mothafuckas
I hate malls, the crowds, the recycled air, the attempt to spend less and appreciate more, so Christmas is a hard time for me and I try to spend as little time as possible in the mall. This year, I managed to never set foot in the mall, opting for online purchases of hockey tickets to the local OHA team, books and spa gift certificates. The Man and I have opted out of gifts this year, instead putting our money away to collect dust and hopefully interest as we save for our first vacation together. I did put a stocking together for him and I'm hoping he took the hint when my stocking continues to lay empty (I sure do hope he's reading this. HINT.)

I even purchased my Christmas cards online and I will send them out IF the kind people at Zazzle get them to me soon. I'm quite excited about these cards, you see, because it features one James Garfield courtesy of the Bloggess, who, I learned, will be donating the funds generated from the Xmas cards to presents for those in need. So even though I may receive the cards in February it's okay since it's going to such a good cause. Besides James Garfield would have wanted it that way.

The greatest moment in history
Mark this on your calendars people! December 17th. It may not be the epiphany but it should have been. Scribe was born, and this year, she turned 40. Why is she talking in third person all of a sudden? Damned if know. It's annoying so I'm compelling her to stop.

I think it was the vat of wine I consumed on Saturday, the day after the big day when the world could start turning again. In all, the day was good, owing to the fact that I had the day away from Cell Block C (and I needed it). I was also saying goodbye to our house guest: one slightly untrained, definitely sweet 10-month-old boxer pup who, in three days managed to eat a pair of my pants and mascara, rearrange all of my shoes from my shoe cupboard to various locations throughout the house (I'm still searching for a flip-flop) and give Kao a taste of his own medicine by constantly following, jumping on and kissing him every minute of the time he was in our care. A jaunt to the fave sushi restaurant and Yuk Yuk's followed, where I laughed until I almost wet my pants with the deadpan delivery. A wedding and a day of recovery followed by finishing up Christmas shopping and that is my weekend and month to-date.

I wish everyone a happy holiday season. May the malls be open, may your pocketbooks be limitless and may you spend as much time with your family and friends.