The Swing of Things

I'm having trouble getting back into the swing of things. For instance, yesterday I actually had to work. My supervisor had sent out an email a while back offering Christmas hours. Part of the email said, "Its quiet, so bring a book." It was not quiet. And even though I brought a book, there was no reading to be done. There was real work to be done, people to help, UTORdial accounts to troubleshoot, and I did not like it one single bit. I had expected a semi-quiet day and I hate not getting what I expect.

I love breaks. I love not knowing what day of the week it is, even if it means that I miss garbage day. I love sleeping in. And reading three books in three days. And big breakfasts with eggs and toast and sausage and coffee because there's time to enjoy it. I love staying up late and watching the James Bond movies that Jarrod downloaded.

There was a time when I would have said that I needed something to keep me busy and productive. And while I know that I would start feeling like that after a month or so of breaking, that I would get a bit antsy, right now, a week into the world of relax, I would say that I could live like this forever and not worry about being productive again.

I'm going to go eat breakfast at one o'clock, read a book, and visit my dog. Maybe work out. Maybe not. Because, hey, I'm on break.

Dear Aunt Lynn and Uncle Doug,

I just thought I'd take a second to thank you for my Christmas present. I know that the tickets weren't given in the best of circumstances, but, we did have a wonderful time.

We got all dressed up, which meant that Jarrod wore his really nice suit. And Jarrod even gave me my Christmas present early so that I could wear it (you can see it when we get to Windsor). Dad gave us a lift down there, so we almost arrived in style. I have a bit (read: a lot) of a cough left over, so I was afraid of being kicked out. But, things all went well, seeing as how I was full of cough medicine and brought a bottle of water.

We loved the show. Okay, there are some things that I would improve. But really, have I ever seen a movie or read a book that there wasn't something I would change? The dynamic between the two women was fantastic, but, if Galinda kicked up her leg one more time...

Thank you thank you thank you for giving us an evening we otherwise would not have had.

Merry Christmas!

xoxo

Alli

Alli's Method of Beating the Hell out of the Common Cold:

1. Mope around for a few days, so that it thinks it is getting the better of you. Extra points if you fake it so well that you start to believe yourself that it is getting the better of you.
2. Make friends with Buckley's. When you start to like the taste, you're know you're getting better.
3. Learn to sleep sitting up. Not only will you cough less, you'll also freak out anyone who walks into the room during the night. Yesterday, Jarrod started a conversation with me because he thought I was awake. In his defense, not only was I sleeping sitting up, I also had my Nalgene bottle on my lap.
4. Water. Lots of water. When you feel that damned cough coming on, drink it.
5. Tylenol with codeine, over the counter from the friendly neighbourhood pharmacist. No, seriously, codeine is a cough suppressant, and when combined with the wonderful DM, it almost makes you feel human again.
6. Rolling up kleenex into a little sausage and sticking it in your nose. Prevents the nasal drip and is uber hot.

Now, I can't guarantee this method, seeing as how, well, I'm still rather coughey. But I will mention that this is the best that I've felt in a week, so, I think I'm on to something.

There are very few things that could make a girl like me (and by that I mean one who is sick even though its been FIVE days) feel better right now: soup or ice cream. I'm working tonight, because I figured the only thing worse than writing a paper while ill is to be writing a paper while ill when you could be getting paid to write it. So, at work, after suffering through a few short but cough filled calls, its finally my break. And I go upstairs to grab, oh, I don't know, maybe some soup? Lo and behold (that's for you!), the whole cafeteria is torn apart. Not only is there no chance of me getting soup, there's no chance of my fracking getting anything.

I realize though, that there are vending machines. And, there's ice cream in them. The thought of smooth cold ice cream on my sore tender throat was enough to get this gal a salivating. But, I only had a new Canadian five, and of course, the machines just kept rejecting it. I am telling you, after a day like this (and the previous five sicky ones), I was about ready to burst into tears. You know that feeling you get when things are just too beyond your control but something really simple would have made it all better? That was how I felt, standing there, looking at the ice cream, with a stupid new fiver in my hand.

You had better believe that if the convenience store by my apartment doesn't have the ice cream that I want, I am going to go absolutely postal.

On the upside, my paper is officially seventeen pages. That is so much closer to eighteen than I ever expected to get. And my foot notes are done. I'm not sure its English, but, hey, they can't fail me. Knock on wood.

Things that make me

Things that make me miserable:

1. A sore throat that I thought was getting better but was really only going into hiding to execute a sneak attack at four am this morning, wherein I was awake and trying not to swallow for over an hour.
2. Not knowing where my Knowledge Ontario book/pamphlet is, which is terribly important to reducing the number of hours that I have to spend on my stupid advocacy paper.
3. The thought of cleaning my room. No, seriously, its really really bad right now.

Things that make me Not miserable:

1. Having friends come into town, who I don't have to entertain and don't seem to think it is anything out of the ordinary for me to be writing a paper two days before its due.
2. Jeff flying in from Halifax, and remarking, within ten minutes, that he thinks he might be stupid.** Which leads me onto the running joke, entitled: "Proving to my guidance counselor that I should recieve special compensation in academic matters because I was born stupid."
3. The opening scene of Troy where Brad Pitt kills the shit out of that big guy.

** I do not mean to insinuate in any way that I actually do think Jeff is stupid. We all know that I make the jokes about the hockey, but, really, he's a very smart kid.

I went to an SLA (Special Libraries Association) Christmas Party munchies thing last night. I won my ticket by correctly answering who was going to be the president-elect in the upcoming year...you know, because I can google with the best of them. I won this weeks ago, long before I knew just exactly how busy these middle days of December were going to be. But, after the auction, Mike Mac was going, and that terrible sense of responsibility (I mean, someone else who wanted to could have gone, right, if I didn't?) would not just let me go home to watch the second part of The Lost Room. Actually, I'm really glad I went. My practicum supervisor, Frank, was there, and it was really nice to see him in a social situation. Also, he turns out to have a wicked wit. I spent my time observing the general meeting, barely retraining myself from laughing. See, this very large, very brightly dressed woman, started the meeting standing up against the wall. Everyone was sorta leaning up against a wall, or sitting in one of the few chairs, because, for some reason, the middle of the room was empty. Just carpet, no chairs. (Yes, I just sat down at the back. Being young and all.) But this one woman, who was already blocking the view of the people behind her, kept, I don't know...spreading out as the meeting went on. First, I could see three quarters of the front. Then, half, and then...yeah, I just nursed my water. But after, Frank just said, "would it have been rude to offer her my seat?" Sometimes you never know what you're going to get when you see your supervisors outside of work...I wish I had known earlier!

The auction went surprisingly well. Although the turn out was probably not what they were hoping for, we did manage to raise over $500. Which is nice for the kids and all, but really, I was fine with it after my book sold for $15.00. Mom had to go and rain on my parade and mention that really, it took longer than 3/4 of an hour to make, and considering my wage at my real job...all in all, it means I won't be quitting the commons any time soon.

Also, I'm sick. So if you see me today and happen to notice that I clearly slept on this ponytail and am talking like a deaf person, please blame it on the sore throat.

Whenever I post something and then have second thoughts about it, I add another post really quickly. See, about the below, I like the stocking idea (because unlike some people I don't hate joy and love and Christmas and snow and hot chocolate...I'm talking to you Tasha), because its cute. And there seems to be something about the holidays that make me feel like, for a week or two, maybe its okay to be a little sentimental and maybe a little more friendly than normal. A lot of the time I just feel like, well, I'm mean to people. Or judgmental. Or, at least, not the way that I wish I could be. Not that, say Jesus or Santa Claus are particularly my behavioural icons, but maybe we can still take a few things nice from it all.

Are we surprised at the fact that I can be so ridiculously sappy? I am a girl, you know.

By the way, I did watch some kind of crap holiday special for 7Th Heaven. Holy mother of God. That was probably supposed to inspire some kind of nice feelings, but really, it just makes me want to kill people.

Also, I am donating a hand made book for the auction tomorrow and I'm a little nervous that no one is going to want to buy it. Or that it will go for, thirty cents. In which case I am bidding thirty five and taking it home with me. However, the thought of not donating something for want of my stupid fears, seemed entirely at odds with the Christmas spirit I am clearly trying so hard to embrace.

Besides, embarrassment only makes us stronger, right?

We all know I cannot resist pyscho-analysis. I am wonderfully self-absorbed, so, of course, I love seeing how much tests "get me." However, after taking Alex's The Colour Quiz, I refuse to post my results.

This is because, well, I'm a baby and its my blog. But dude, this test is harsh. I mean, basically, it said...wait, should I quote from it? That would make my case more substantial, right? Let me grab something.

First result: Sensitive; needs esthetic surroundings, or an equally sensitive and understanding partner with whom to share a warm intimacy. Well, that sounds fine enough. I mean, sure, I'm a crier, and yeah, I'd like a partner who does make fun of me when I'm being touchy.

Second result: The existing situation is disagreeable. Feels lonely and uncertain as she has an unsatisfied need to ally herself with others whose standards are as high as her own, and wants to stand out from the rank and file. This sense of isolation magnifies the need into a compelling urge, all the more upsetting to her self-sufficiency because of the restraint she normally imposes on herself. Since she wants to demonstrate the unique quality of her own character, she tries to suppress this need for others and affects an attitude of unconcerned self-reliance to conceal her fear of inadequacy, treating those who criticize her behavior with contempt. However, beneath this assumption of indifference she really longs for the approval and esteem of others. Okay, Okay, I'll admit it. This strikes close to home. Fine, I make fun of people to make myself feel better. I'm a big bully. Happy? But really, come on, for the most part, I think I'm a pretty understanding and non-judgemental person. I mean, sure, I bitch, but my bark is much louder than my bite. And really? I admit my faults. Some of them are: I whine a lot, I'm bitchy when I don't get my way, and I expect people to know what I am thinking without me having to tell them. I think this makes me...human. And what existing situation? My life? In general? We were talking about relationships previously, is that what they mean? Can I get some clarity here?

Third Result: Disappointment and the fear that there is no point in formulating fresh goals have led to anxiety. Desires recognition and position, but is worried about her prospects. Reacts to this by protecting at any criticism and resisting any attempt to influence her. Tries to assert herself by meticulous control of detail in an effort to strengthen her position. Oh, frack off. Seriously? Do people buy this crap? Its not even English. "reacts to this by protecting at any criticism" Huh? What? I mean, I think I can take the spirit behind the words, but you lose all credibility with me when you publish something with grammatical errors. (Blogs, excluded of course) And I'm easily influenced. I offer these examples: I wanted a Mac and was talked out of it in one conversation. I never gave money to the homeless, but then was told that these are often the people that have been mistreated at homeless shelters, so now I've been known to. I never played poker till I dated a guy who did. I also never ate big breakfasts, till my current boyfriend got me onto it. I can't make a single decision on my own! Or apparently, I just do what my boyfriend's do. Which, I hope, if you know me, will realize is absolute bunk and I'm just being overdramatic.

Lame. I much prefer the IQ tests that tell me I'm a genius. So what if I've memorized the answers. That just means I'm smart and savvy. And have a great memory.

For the record, if you want the test, its at The Colour Quiz. Let me know if it ruins your day too.

so, seeing as how my new hobby is book binding, I though I had better start attending the shows. Absolutely I spent part of my Sunday wandering around OCAD, looking at various books as art. Now, see, the thing is, I like books first and art second. What this means is that the book needs to be first an excellent example of technical skills (ex. excellent sewing, symmetry, solid construction) and less about, oh, odd materials and bizarre lay outs. For example, I love Robert Wu's work. The man says that it takes him about three months to make a single volume. Now, that is skill and dedication and it shows in the incredible works that he creates. And I would still consider his works works of art, despite not being made of plastic, or having weird cut outs, or oddly stitched spines. I did however come across several neat ideas, which I hope to put to use ASAP.

Actually, this weekend was great. Mike and Ciara are home for the holidays, and, after not seeing them for over a year, well, it felt really great to wander around Toronto with them. There is nothing like having good friends see where you exist to a) make it seem like no time has passed at all and b) excite you about your own life again. Several things that I have begun to take for granted were all made new with their enthusiasm. Plus, after a good afternoon chat, we headed down to Queen St. for some shopping, and, of course, ran into another good friend from undergrad. What are the chances? So, Becky, if you're reading this, send me a fricking email, cause you sure didn't call like you said you would. Besides, you can't show up with a handsome man and expect me not to ask questions and want answers, two years having passed or not.