Success, or an approximation

So I’m off to get a CT scan of my unstable pelvis, and the tooth Dr. Katz fixed is now completely perfect in all respects, plus he ground just a smidge off a cuspid and now my mouth feels normal again.  The scan will be booked and they’ll call me, and then I back to see the bone doc about ten days after the scan to give them a chance to read it.

3.0 hours on the CPAP.  I feel very refreshed and not particularly in pain, which is pleasant.  No words yesterday.

I am ashamed to say I bailed on Paul last night, he wanted to go swimming, but I biked to and from the dentist and had a rather trying day in other respects, sitting in cold rooms waiting for doctors not being one of my oh doodie moments. Went to bed early, went to sleep early. For some reason the mask felt very comfortable last night, although I still took it off.  I think I was contemplating getting up and yelling at Buster since he was making so much frikkin’ noise.

Jeff is home, and Buster is much, much happier.  (With Margot, you can’t tell; her baseline temperament is so incredibly calm.) He is a daddy’s boy.

I did the math; if all the people who live in Vancouver, Victoria, Nanaimo, Kamloops, Kelowna, Abbotsford, White Rock and Chilliwack were homeless, that would still only be half as many as have been rendered homeless by the earthquake in Nepal.

Sometime in the next two hundred years Vancouver will get its own rumble. If it’s a megaquake it’ll be felt across Cascadia.  I’m starting to keep extra water on hand.

This sweet little piece of satire is from a filking buddy.

The worst slave trader.

Continued drug gang related violence (or so one supposes) in  Metro Vancouver.

Chipper sends me this hand flute playing virtuosity.

She also sends me this cute panoply of chordate behaviours.

I will endeavour mightily to get back on track today.  Except I have to do something for church.

The day of the specialists

I have survived one specialist appointment – I now have to get a pelvic CT scan – and I have been given a range of exercises after I burst into tears and said, “Hey I’m unwaged and I can’t just cough up 75 bucks twice a week for physio!”

The exercises are not hard. They are stretches and “Kegels in interesting positions”.

This afternoon I get my incisor fixed. Oh doodie.

217 words and 3.1 hours (my back feels very good today!). Sadface about the low productivity but I’m feeling kinda blerggy and with all the goldinged scotch broom blooming it’s like my eyeballs are scraping themselves against a concrete wall.

Other projects are calling me away.  The biggest one is for church, but I shouldn’t put it off any longer and it’s only about 2 hours of work anyway, plus the fidgetty bits once it’s actually updated.

Anyway, much love to those who deserve it and the rest of you can quit thieving my spoons.

Victims of Violence Symposium, notes and comments

I took extensive notes.

Christine Lowe opened things up by saying that in healthy communities we acknowledge the harm that comes to victims of violence, and that victimes need to be helped with their physical, spiritual and emotional well being. Strong relationships make social justice possible.

She made a joke about the podium.  When they were finalizing planning they realized they had no podium, and they had no money to buy or rent one.  So they called the police.  The Victoria PD supplied the podium.

This donation by the police meant that we were looking at their logo the entire time, but it also meant that it was a place where cops and SJWs could work together, and that made me happy.

There was a territorial acknowledgement, and Elder May made a blessing that set the tone for the day.  A little rambling, heart-piercingly beautiful, compassionate.  When she sang I started weeping.  The contrast of her speaking voice and her singing voice was so acute it made me sit up. Her song was wordless and filled with yearning for justice and peace.

Then the Deputy Minister for Justiceland Wanamaker got up and gave a canned f*cking empty speech with about as much inflection and heart as one gets from a Grade 7 kid giving her first address.  As a libertarian-inflected feminist, I was enraged to the point I nearly booed when she tried to make political hay out of taking 5 million dollars from civil forfeiture – forgot we had that in Canada, right? right? and earmarking it for prevention of violence against women.  Really don’t like that.  I could go on at great length about why I was pissed, but instead I stink eyed her until she left.  She may be a king hell accomplished career bureaucrat, and we should be thankful that somebody of her dignity spoke to us, but I came away wanting to coach her on public speaking and liberty both.  Please don’t think that the 8 Domestic Violence Units which have been set up across BC with the money are bad things. I don’t.  One thing I will credit her with is saying ‘all genders’; this is phrasing I wish more politicians would adopt, since it doesn’t other trans* and intersex people, or people who are distinctly possessing identifiable bits but are not gender normative, and it includes two-spirited.

Frank Elsner. Chief of Police in Victoria since January 2014.  Man, I wish, you have NO IDEA HOW I WISH, that brO could have been in the auditorium when he spoke.  He worked the room, greeting and speaking with many, many people. Fine, a cop can have good social skills, in fact let’s hope she does. As he was introduced, it was obvious that he is highly intelligent and has multiple degrees from real universities.  He’s been chair of the International Association of Chiefs of Police, which means he’s been exposed to best (and worst) practices across the planet, and let’s face it the last decade has seen some impressive advances in community policing.

He said, “Why talk about community health in terms of policing?” Essentially good policing is part of what makes a healthy community.  As a cop he was appalled to arrest three generations of criminals.  The boys weren’t born bad; intervention and options are required to turn lives around.

He mandated a different approach to street prostitution.  Instead of throwing them in the jug, a group of women were streamed toward social workers.  Picture their astonishment when the first problem most of them had was that they had no picture ID. Childcare, job training and housing were also issues.  Address them, and women can get off the street.  He made it sound simple, but the key is collaboration among a large group of people across half a dozen Ministries and social agencies.  When you get seven women out of the life, you are reducing human suffering in them, their children and their grandchildren, is the point.

Then he said the thing that would have made brO happiest.  He said the police must be accountable to the people they serve for everything they do, even when it hurts the police institutionally and personally.  The reactive model of policing is no longer tenable; police have to earn and show respect in the community they serve.

He also mentioned that cops need to be better educated and trained (yay, maybe that one dingus will finally learn how to give evidence in traffic court) and that their own mental health MUST be factored into the equation; police need like all people to be treated with respect for the sad duties they take on, on behalf of all of us, and that if we just keep expecting cops to suck it up they will snap.  So he wants to look after the well being of the people in his department and not just expect them to stand tall and be stoic.

My applause at the end of his talk was very genuinely enthusiastic, as was Paul’s.

Then Dr. Martin Broken Leg got up.

1. Dude’s funny.

2. Dude’s a survivor.

3. Dude’s hella smart.

With effortless humour, fluency, clarity and logic, he walked us through what it’s like to live in Aboriginal culture, both sides of the border (he is Lakota, adopted into the Raven clan on Haida Gwaii and man you shoulda seen his button decorated black vest with the most beeeyootiful appliquéd silver raven on the back, I admired it in person.)

One Hundred and Fifty Thousand Indian kids went to residential schools until 94 when the last one closed.  Four Hundred and Fifty Thousand Indian kids have gone into care since the mid fifties.

Christ wept.

The ACE studies (Adverse Childhood Experiences) can provide some light.

If a child is exposed to addictions, abuse, domestic violence, incarceration and neglect, you will get social impairment, health risks, disease, disability and early death.

There are other sources of trauma to FN kids. Federal laws, provincial policies, residential schools, the institutions of the churches, poverty, sub standard housing, poor nutrition and lack of healthy practices, lower opportunities for education and employment.

Oppression comes in many forms.  Social microaggressions, the way people look at you and talk to you and make assumptions about you. Systems don’t make place for you and your cultural folkways. The professional people who are supposed to help you don’t necessarily respect you and don’t expect you to improve; and then of course there’s internalized racism and the numbness that comes when you realize that you’re worthless; you don’t need to see 1200 missing women on tv to realize that there’s not a lot of respect for FN women, let alone men.

He recommended Rupert Ross’s Criminal Conduct and Colonialization and Dr. Paulette Regan’s Unsettling the Settler Within.

Traumatized people show it.  They show it by abusing their children, committing suicide, legal trouble and incarceration, early death, violence and addictions.

If you’re working with traumatized people the question to ask is not What’s Wrong with You!? it’s What Happened to You?

In 2012 the Gladue decision brought into sentencing the ability of the judge to inquire as to childhood trauma before jail time.

Subsequently a 19 year old aboriginal man was arrested for assaulting (I remember this story) a Coast Mountain bus driver. At sentencing it was learned that he had been in 28 foster homes between 4 and 18. He didn’t get jail time, he got counselling, and the howls from white people who said BUT HE ISN’T BEING PUNISHED were very loud. And pointless.  Jail wouldn’t help.

 

FN people need to:

See your own and your inherited pain (he called it the dark shadow that lies across every aspect of aboriginal life.)

Know and express your own suffering.

Self-critique and move toward self-improvement (away from victimhood toward self-actualization)

Reclaim aboriginal spirtuality, community and culture ESPECIALLY LANGUAGE (my comment because it is a road map back to the way the land spoke to your ancestors.)

Non-aboriginal people need to work on:

Self-reflection, to lose their white innocence (I had no idea FN children were experimented on, I had no idea that three percent of the residential school kids never came home, I had no idea that the Indian Act didn’t let FN women vote until the 1960s.)

Accept the historical violence, from the Beothuk to Akwesasne.

Admit the full equality of Aboriginal people and ways.  That’s the tough one.  We’ve been acculturated to believe that European ways are superior, and it ain’t necessarily so.

Remember that the 1948 UN definition of genocide COVERS THE SITUATION OF THE RESIDENTIAL SCHOOLS.

Broken Leg then talked about the four stages of forgiveness, as outlined in Tutu’s The Book of Forgiving, which he wrote with his daughter Mpho.

  1. Let us tell the truth. Speak the truth, unvarnished, the facts.  Tell trusted people, accepting that the past will not be changed.
  2. Name the hurt.  Accept all feelings as valid and connect those feelings to the facts.  Use Kubler-Ross’s grief work. Be vulnerable and be willing to be hurt, because you will be.
  3. Grant forgiveness by choosing to forgive.  Grow by forgiveness.  Move to the place of being a survivor hero, not a victim.
  4. Change your story.  Tell a new story to heal.  Renew or release the relationship that has marked you. Ask for what you need.  Look at your role, not to blame yourself, but with calmness.

Reconciliation continues.

 

Young people, to be resilient, must be valued enough by their culture to be taught 

Belonging

Mastery

Independence

Generosity

See also.

______

Then I went to a breakout session on suicide prevention in young people “This do in memory of me” for Kaitlin Schmidt, whose plaque we put up in the Gazebo of Remembrance on Thursday night.

Almost 4000 people kill themselves in Canada every year. A lot of them are young people. Accidents involving brain injury, suicide and cancer are one two three for cause of death in folks under 25.

It’s okay to ask somebody if they are thinking of harming themselves or killing themselves, but there is a big but.

You have to say that you have seen a change in behaviour first.  This marks you as somebody observant and caring.  If they are suicidal but deny it you have marked yourself as a safe person to talk to later. (I find it unlikely that I will ever be that blue again but I know EXACTLY who among my friends I can go to, and that in itself is wonderful.) If they aren’t suicidal they can explain why they’ve been wearing nothing but sweat pants for two weeks and are giving away all their stuff.

Since kids have smart phones, there’s been a lot of work on apps that help kids manage their moods.  Links below.

I found it very interesting that the presenter, Renata Hindle, said that in two hundred 80 minute presentations in BC to Grade 8 and Grade 10 kids, precisely one class wouldn’t go with the guided meditation, and that dozens of kids have told her they wished they knew about it earlier.  Funnily enough, we teach meditation at a number of points in the UU religious education curriculum.  Cause we be all about raising resilient kids yo.

Booster Buddy

Kelty

____________

Then there was a very challenging talk on male survivors of childhood sexual abuse.

Men process sexual trauma differently than women.

Gender role conditioning to not seek help, to suck it up, to be tough and stoic, mean that help is not sought and the trauma plays out in all aspects of the survivor’s life.

They don’t have the social permission of women to ask for help, to admit to needing it.

When they do seek help, there is a deluge of stuffed-down emotions which occurs at the commencement of the counselling.

Societal and internalized homophobia (offenders normally being men) can cloud the survivor’s ability to see their own victimization.  Womanizing is often a consequence of childhood sexual abuse.

Often, they can fear that they will prey on children (this was brilliantly depicted, as an aside, as part of Bunchy’s story in Showtime’s Ray Donovan.)

Something that never occurred to me was that as boys arrive at puberty, they have the ability to be physically aroused by damned near anything.  This is used by perps to show to the boy that he ‘must have enjoyed it.’ ew ew ew.

5 – 6% of boys who’ve been molested go on to offend.

BUT 95% of offenders were abused.

Those are horrible statistics. And we’re doing a shitty job as a culture of helping men who’ve been sexually abused as children. I am going to investigate the group helping men here in town.

As an aside, she said that male survivors are very likely to espouse conspiracy theories, because their essential feeling of safety has been destroyed.  They have seen the shadowy forces of evil and want everybody to be as frightened as they once were.

This made me realize that someone close to me is probably a survivor.  I have had to come to a personal adjustment of my thinking patterns.

Sobriety is virtually impossible for survivors who haven’t had counselling for the trauma.

Survivors get in fights, they are medicated heavily, many have difficulty keeping sober and binge or drink steadily, they dress in a fashion that tells people ‘KEEP THE **** AWAY FROM ME”, they don’t come to family events and cause scenes or sit in the corner and drink, and they are job avoidant or can’t keep a job due to ongoing issues with disrespect and authority.

THEN.

I didn’t take notes.

Reena Virk’s parents made a presentation about what it was like, and how the reconciliation with one of their daughter’s killers went.

I cried a lot.

Then they started talking about the Bible, which was less moving, and Paul and I anthem sprinted to the ferry, where we made the 5 o’clock.  There was a circular rainbow in Active Pass, and I saw a fur seal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brief mentions

I’m in cleaning mode, so I’m skipping church (hey, it’s a miracle I feel like cleaning, church would only interrup’ things.)

.5 hours last night, 1.2 the night before.  No writing.  Day cards are the Devil and the ten of Pentacles.

HTW dowsing…. Found out about a woman named Hannah Adams who wrote a book of comparative religion in 1817 in which she deliberately avoided pejorative terms in describing heathens (haw haw), Muslims etc.  No surprise that a man who would find such a book interesting would have Quakers, Baha’is, atheists, agnostics and Unitarians among his descendents.

 

Sunday

I wasn’t feeling the sermon, but the meeting afterwards (soup lunch, AGM) was worth it.  Two of the elder church ladies gave me a moment (one administering side eye to the other) that will have me giggling at all hours for the next couple of days.  I wish I could explain it.  But dadgad it would be hard hard hard to explain without many derailments, so no. The meeting itself proceeded with few snags. Yay!

2.4 hours.

Something statistically improbable happened yesterday.  I was flossing and chunks came off the most recent crown and my top left incisor, which completely sucks. I have a call in to the dentist for an appointment as soon as one may be.

Sue took me to and from church and I thank her.

I forgot to record word count for yesterday before it reset, but it was less than 200.

In a continuation of boring career moves, Will Smith is staying out of Independence Day II.  Everybody else is going back, which you have to admit means that he’ll be finding new ways to be conspicuous by his absence.

We are rewatching PoI and I am loving it.  That show sticks the landing for how to grow an origin story for a team in the first half dozen shows.

We are watching Daredevil.  I really like it and any show with Deborah Ann Woll and Rosario Dawson in it can’t be all bad merely from a consideration of contemporary aesthetics and ability to do a lot with wacky material.

 

Toothy grin

The fake tooth is now a real fake tooth.  It was a horrible experience.

1.  The new tooth was bulbous.  I cried when he tapped it in for fit, it felt so ghastly.

2. It took about an hour to take the piece of junk that came back from the lab ground down so it  would actually let me close my jaw.  It was into and out of my mouth sixteen times before he glued it.

3. Everything is settling down now but my bite is different and so many teeth in my mouth will be crabby until it’s over.  The root itself is calm on that tooth. The tooth immediately below is making little Shakespearean threatening speeches.

4. Walked to and from.  Pelvic bones feel like a GoT character has been drinking out of them before and dicing with them after.  I am ****ing sore today.  I did everything to try to alleviate overnight, but I can’t deal.  My month long experiment with no pain killers is over, I suspect.  Walking around Costco yesterday really didn’t help.

Ayesha cat care coverage is done.

This morning before I leaned over to find out how many hours I thought, “2.1, I feel like I had the mask on for 2.1 hours!” and it was so.

No words yesterday.  My day card is the Empress, the guardian of fecundity and increase, so I think I will work some more on Kima’s pregnancy today.

 

 

 

Half an hour and 114 words

Yeah, seems like I hit the brakes. Fortunately I have all of the chapters blocked out and I know what I want to say.  The characters sometimes step in front of me and take me places I did not intend to go, but I like that part. The livelier the story is the better.

I suspect if I get my poop in a group and clean my Cpap I’ll sleep better tonight.

Today a Costco run (mmmm SOURDOUGH) and FINALLY get my crown this afternoon.  The tooth has settled down nicely after disassembling itself during that last massively uncomfortable appointment, so I’m not anticipating any troubles this time.  Although of course we shall see.  This is the first time I’ve had a temporary crown that I didn’t break before the appointment.

Tonight, the last episode of Justified (I thought it was last week, but no).  The Game of Thrones season opener was quite good – Varys and Tyrion I particularly enjoyed; when Varys chides Tyrion about his drinking, with “There are faster ways to kill yourself”, Tyrion’s blunt response, “Not for a coward” was wonderfully played.

Ciaran Hinds as Mance saying, “The freedom to make my own mistakes was all I ever wanted,” on the way to his burning was pretty good too.

 

 

Good bad ugly

brO and I are waiting for MR2 to come back from the krankenhaus so we can do a proper shop.  We went for a walk this morning and I picked up some milk and cream so that if the car doesn’t come back today I don’t have to leave the house again,

which is fine,

cause I’ve already written 500 words today and I think today will be furtherly productive.  Kima’s first pregnancy chapter “Someday it’ll keep you” is maybe a couple of pages from done, and I’ve got a good start on Brendan’s first chapter “Check unheard messages” which is all about what happens when you let the Sixer version of nepotism determine who your collaborators are.

And the great thing about writing English goodest is bragging rights.

Ayuh.  All I know is that when I think of the ideas I want to introduce and the hearts I want to break  MUAH HAH HAHHHH! choke gargle.

Fuel oil spill at English Bay.  I’m sickened by it.  The province says “It’s a federal matter” and the feds have killed all the funds for boats for oil spills.  Harper won’t be visiting I’m sure and the boat responsible can’t even be pinned down and fined f’chrissakes.

The grown child of a friend of mine (and a facebook friend) was metres away (indoors thanks be) from the police incident at 5 last afternoon.  Perp got all stabby with two dudes rendered more topologically complex and one woman clinging to life as of this morning; and when bean bag shot didn’t slow him down they gave him summary justice, lead punctuation edition. Vancouver seems to be abloom with police shootings. IA is all over it.

1.3 hours.

ALRIGHTY THEN BREAK TIME IS OVER.

 

Progress

515 words on Sweep Off Those Waves and 1.7 hours cpap yesterday and last night.  I love how my alien female is turning into A FEMINIST NIGHTMARE.  Cause she’s experimenting on her own children in utero.  This should end well.  I think I’ll celebrate with cinnamon buns.

It was a really great service; I love the flower communion and took rhododendron and azalea blooms. Thank you Sue for conducting me there and back.

I’m going to a circle dinner on April 18 – it’s a way of getting to know people from the church that you don’t normally talk to.

SO MANY KIDS.  We had hardly any children at church for a while, and now there are lots.  It takes some getting used to.

 

Justice for Cindy Gladue

I am very sore today because merely standing triggers my pelvis pain to the point where I drag both my feet.  Also, Paul very efficiently tricked me into mowing the back lawn, so I was really, really sore by the time I was done. 2.0 hours on the cpap – keep forgetting to put the mask back on.

I wrote this in my notebook over a rather lavishly irrigated lunch yesterday.  I went to the rally, which was triggered by this.  As is my custom, I did a square search count of the crowd. It was never fewer than a hundred people and swelled to 150 around 11 am.  Knowing that we were gathered in 20 cities across Canada (including Saint John’s NFLD, where it was ass freezing cold and blowing snow) made me very proud.  And sore, as I mentioned.  I am going to pick up another one of those mini-chairs from Lee Valley, I simply cannot stand for an hour and a half without problems.

So I was angry when I wrote this.  I am still angry, but it’s the quiet, smoldering kind.

Edited for errors in usage and kindness Feb. 20 2021, the day I learned Bradley Barton is going to jail.

April 2, 2015 unceded Coastal Salish land. MST LAND

Canada is the kind of country where a sex trade worker deserves to die for being a sex trade worker.  If she’s Indigenous, and ‘somehow’ ends up with an 11 inch stab wound which is paraded through the courtroom in a specimen jar in a grotesque parody of a ceremonial object, she had it coming.  Somehow the fact that a misogynistic piece of sh*t named Bradley Barton murdered her in a drunken stupor gets dropped from the equation, and he left the trial a free man.

I’ve been angry at the Canada ‘justice’ system before. Lots.  But I don’t normally get off my ass to protest.

Cindy Gladue did not deserve to die.

She didn’t get justice.

Her children and her family and loved ones did not get justice.

I am enraged that Cindy Gladue and her 1200 and counting indigenous sisters are being treated by the justice ‘shitstem’ as entirely disposable human refuse.  The UN has asked Canada to investigate.  Harper says it isn’t even on his radar.

F*CK THIS RACIST SEXIST ENTIRELY HORSESH*T SYSTEM.

It’s gotta come down.

Let it come down.

With unity of purpose and steel in our veins, let us BRING IT DOWN.

There were 150 of us in front of the Courthouse yesterday. Indigenous and white and mixed and ‘other’.  We were men and women and non-binary and children. We wept and drummed and sang and screamed our disappointment and anger that Indigenous lives are forced to be so far from justice, or even its prospect or possibility.

Justice for Cindy Gladue.

No mask for me

The mask pushed into my gums where the dentist assaulted me yesterday, but I should be okay for tonight, and I did get a lovely sleep with all that acetominophen chasing through my sensorium.

Agents of Shield is so boring, confusing, and emotionally trying that I just don’t want to watch it any more.  I keep hoping that there will be cool CGI but no dice.  Comic book plotting is hard on the nerves.

Justified, on the other hand, serves up plot twists and turns that you don’t see coming and couldn’t actually foresee and yet feel more true to life and more emotionally accurate than all the bushwah in Agents of Shield put together.

So, not great to watch the two shows back to back.

There’s only one episode of Justified left and if it’s anything like the last one it will be a wringer.

Bills all paid.

Moar beer!

Picked up some Phillips Hop Circle IPA on the way home from our walk yesterday.  I was actually napping when Paul called; we got Phyllis’ letter to the post office, and walked, and I deposited a cheque, and returned home to get some spaghetti into us and watch our Tuesday TV.

And oh, the walk.  I have NEVER seen so many wild seals at once.  At one point, directly in front of the discovery centre, there were five seals, all facing into the stream, and quite close to shore.  We also saw the N American variant of the Common Merganser, a breeding pair of them, and heard their bizarre call at least once (I had to look it up to confirm) and we saw another breeding pair of ducks which were much smaller and which I could not for the life of me identify.

I got some video of them but damn they were far away.

We also saw a real range of dogs including the world’s oldest and mellowest pit bull, who sweetly accepted a pat.  Paul insisted on buying me gelato, so I insisted that he buy the lime mojito (So Tart, and the mint flavour at the finish, So Divine) and I got Pannacotta, which is wimpy of me I know.

2.9 hours!

Sundry and various

Got a package ready for ex MIL Phyllis so she’ll finally have pictures of her new great grandbaby.  Didn’t manage to get it into the mail, that’s for today.

3.9 hours on the cpap, in two stretches.

Jeff texted me to remind me about the garbage and if you can believe it I was already done!  I have brushed up my toes.

Went to see the gals who gave us Autumn, who transmoggified into Buster, and gave them all the contact deets so they can come and see him anytime. Rode over there on my bike to feed Ayesha and on the way back and JUST MISSED the vet’s office so I couldn’t pick up kitty malt for Margot, who seems to have quite a hairball to deal with.  She’s quite clingy and for the first time in about four years spent the night with me on my bed. Buster tried to scare her off but she wasn’t having any.  While I was riding (in the pouring rain, meh) a four year girl chided me for not wearing a helmet.  Everyone’s a critic.

Paul seems to be in the best mood you can imagine possible, which probably has something to do with retiring.  Yup, he put in his paperwork and joy was exceeding unrefined-like. They gave him money to buy his own goodbye eats with and he said POSITIVELY NO DONUTS and fed everybody about $150 of healthy food, which he says his soon to be former coworkers fell on like piranhas.  Nope, not even a deli tray – all healthy stuff.

He is currently in Seattle and he’s promised to bring me home some craft beer.

Watched one of the Bourne movies last night and noodled along to the music trying to deconstruct how you make a tense soundtrack.  I don’t normally write in modulations but soundtracks are full of them.  I will have to think on this thing.  It’s definitely a skill.

Did not go to church.  Sue was rehearsing in north Van and I just could not get my ass out the door.  But I did go cycling later, so I’ve got that going for me.

I practiced mandolin quite a bit yesterday. I did not do any writing or editing.

Bean paste

Among other things, that’s what Katie fed me for lunch yesterday.  Alex dumped a coke all over our booth, the little bugger.  Argh.

I got a call back from the company I most recently interviewed for.  I will be gang interviewed by 4 lots of people over two hours.  Once again, I’m prepping in all seriousness, but I’m not going to be downcast if I don’t get it; I’m qualified for the job and I need to remember that, looking for other work.  Look for how it went next Friday morning, unless I post Thursday afternoon late.

0 hours on cpap, I actually forgot to put it on last night.  Tonight I shall try again.

Walked 4 k yesterday; I was about crippled when I got home, but hey, 270 calories were burned.  It was raining, and Alex slept through the whole thing.

Walkies

Paul and I had a simply lovely walk down at the Quay and then he treated me to sopa de tortilla and hot chocolate, both of which were simply scrumptious (Paul owned to being impressed at how fast I demolished the soup).  We didn’t give blood, thanks to things&stuff because reasons, but there’s an appointment later this week.

I broke down and made an appointment to get a crown, having previously thought that handing over a month’s income was a bit much and then I realized I was being a moron.  I can borrow the money, I can sell stuff to cover it, I can put it on my credit card.  It really hurts – I’m in constant tooth pain – and we KNOW how this story goes.  Until the tooth comes out, it’s all downhill from here.  And it’s all because there was a piece of metal in a pancake at IHOP two years ago.  Shit.

Doxie sent me another scanning unit, which took a charge promptly and which I am about to test.  DOXIE HAS AWESOME CUSTOMER SUPPORT Y’ALL and considering what a tempestuous clown I was asking for support it goes double.

Keith and Paul and Jeff and I hung out after the walk.

Tarot reading yesterday with a friend.  It was essentially the same as the last one, in that it said “Shit’s gonna fly, everything will be okay at the end.”  More specifics don’t seem to be coming.  The future’s uncertain and the end is always near.

Katie is hopefully coming Friday, with Alex, to cut my hair.