Sadly, I feel that icky, sticky feeling you get when the dreaded Pink Eye is imminent. The good part is that this afternoon I have my first eye doctor appointment in two years. The best part is that I get to pick out new frames! (Obviously, it doesn't take much to make me happy).

I forgot to mention that last Saturday I went with my Mom, sister and niece to the country fair near my hometown. Kate and I were on the merry-go-round when I saw Mom talking to Karen, a woman I went to public school with. After I got off and shook the spins out of my head, we had a proper natter. Turns out, she works at the college too! She's going off on maternity leave very soon and suggested I take her job for the next 10 months. Brutal serendipity, huh?

(later in the day)
I just found out that her Manager is a kick-ass dude. I've sent my resume off in a proactive way before the job has even been posted. I doubt HR will let this happen in any sort of back-door manner, but I want my name in his mind when it comes time to schedule interviews. My Manager has also said she'd put in a good word for me over the next day or two.

Now, it's off to shop for frames!

OMG. I just took a Giant Step in my life.

I called our infertifility doctor's office and had our file made Active. I'm on hold at this very moment, waiting for an appointment to go in and have an IUI orientation. I'm scared to death, I don't mind telling you.

(15 minutes later)
I just got off the phone with my Mom. She's over the moon. I'm still not sure how I feel about this, which leads me to wonder how on earth I'm going to handle everything that comes after.

Today I feel isolated, even though I've presently got 10 Windows sessions open. No email, no ICQ messages, no hits on the journal or this blog. I don't even have a bunch of Friday Five questions to do, as they're taking a week off.

Lordy, I can't wait to get home, eat sushi and watch more Angel. It would seem I'm being forced to cocoon today, so I'm going to make the most of it.

Did you ever see the old, old commercial where the man is lying, injured, by the side of the road and a couple of people wander by, none of them offering any aid? I think it was a Good Samaritan skit for some church. The one cartoon man actually looks around before driving off muttering, "Better not git involved".

I felt like that last night. And it wasn't a good feeling.

I was on my way to the salon, taking the backstreets to make better time. As I came up upon what felt like my hundredth four-way stop, I spied a young couple walking along the sidewalk. She was walking backward and he was actually pushing her, up around her collarbone and causing her to trip constantly. She was putting up a fight, obviously screaming for some time judging by the redness of her face. She righted herself, turned around and began to head away from her aggressor. I cheered inside the car, just in time to see him whip around in front of her and block her way.

It was at this moment I wanted to park the car, get out with my cell phone and offer that young lady some help. I had a speech all prepared, but just couldn't manage to leap to the rescue. I drove on, looking tentatively in the rear view mirror, feeling like a monstrous loser for not taking some initiative.

There are a few reasons for my reluctance. First, I would have been going into that obviously emotionally heightened circumstance blind. I had been assuming everything. They could have been brother and sister and that could have been their natural dynamic since birth. She could have stolen his wallet and he was only fighting to get it back. Secondly, anyone who knows me is well aware of my non-threatening stature of 5'3". I have an attitude that borders 6', but somehow I didn't think it would fly going in cold to an incident happening by the side of the road.

My adrenaline was pumping so hard I had a wicked headache for about half an hour afterward. It reminded me of the time I was attacked during my college days. That particular time, I fought back. I fought back well enough to cause my attacker to flee, thank heavens. But that was fifteen years ago, and I was one of the two actually involved. This time, I worried I would only wind up on the business end of a shit-kicking.

I've been rationalizing my inaction for almost a day now and although the reasons are valid: my safety, my potential ineffectiveness, I still cannot shake the idea that I could have done something.

Mid-day has passed and I am now officially looking forward to my 5:00 appointment tonight at the salon. I'm getting a pedicure for the first time in months. The state of my feet would scare you, but since I have the love for you all, I won't subject you to a picture. The only nice thing about them at this moment is my toe ring.

I splurged on the 'Spa' pedicure for an extra $5, bringing the total to $39.59. I would totally go elsewhere for a cheaper version of Party Toes, except for the fact that Manuela is the Queen of Feet. Well, the Princess of Feet, since Dale, my friend since Grade Nine, is the Queen. She might be the God of Feet for all I know. Luckily, they both went to school long enough ago that they can wield the razor blade with such accuracy that my feet feel like those of a newborn and don't cause me to hobble about after having half of my heel removed. Apparently, they don't teach that anymore, as too many people were being injured by incompetent boobs with sharp objects.

Dale inches Maueula out only because we spend our time together babbling like we haven't seen each other in years, so the massages and goodies tend to be extended. Score!

I usually bring my own polish so I can do touch-ups along the way, but today I've decided to live on the edge and choose a bold new colour for fall. Burnt orange maybe? Violent red? And it will most certainly not be anything frosted, as I've gotten my fill of that this summer. I loves me some cremes, yes I do. And it must also be OPI. If there's anything better, it would cost an arm and a leg. Or a toe :)

Colour me excited. And some dark shade, too.

If I ever was considered a cool kid, it's all down the drain as of now. Breaking into tears at my desk is just about the dorkiest thing I've ever done. The fact it occurred around 7:37 a.m. and I was the only one in the office makes it only marginally more okay.

When I was little, I practically had to be bleeding from the eyes to shed a tear. I was once pushed from behind into a puddle of hot tar in our newly-graded subdivision, wound up with two knees full of black gook and pebbles and was more pissed off than anything, since the little prick responsible for the assault also managed to get tar on my new Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. That's the type of kid I was. I'm not saying I was better but come on, really, this 'giving in to your emotions' thing bites. I don't really care what others do, but when I can't stem a wave of salt water, I feel weak and useless and small. Give me anger or righteous indignation any day of the week. At least there's an outside chance it will spur me on to some constructive forward motion. Tears just make me look like shite and give me a headache.

So, to sum up, Men Suck.

New shoes, on sale at the Shoe Company: $19.99
Cute black socks, with embroidered flowers: $2.99
Being permanently scarred with blisters: priceless.

The first day of fall doesn't occur until tomorrow, yet I was forced today to wear shoes with socks, people. Decorating the house for the winter holidays can't be far off.

What a beautiful day. I'm so in love with this time of year, it isn't funny. Fall consists of warm days and cool nights, but you can still feel summer's heat baked into the ground under your feet. I plod around in shorts and a sweatshirt with bare feet. Everything gets back to feeling a little bit more brisk and efficient than the summer months when everyone is caught up in a 'hang ten', vacation, cottage/trailer/beach mode.

I've got 21 days to get the computer room ripped apart, painted and put back together in some sort of organized manner. On the twenty-second day, I host Thanksgiving for a dozen people. I've learned a few things about the way my mind works over the past 36 years, and one of them is I don't work well unless I have a solid deadline in place. By forcing myself to look at the dresser in the tea room and the mattresses leaning against the wall behind the dog's bed in the livingroom, I annoy myself sufficiently to get about the task of ripping out the nasty, 70's paneling and sorting out the myriad papers and receipts and printer driver disks and three year old wedding invitations that have come to rest in this vastly unused room. Annoying me is a good way to get things done. Just don't make a habit of it, okay?

I'm also going to make a short visit to my SIL, Bev. Loaded to the gills with my homemade Zuppa Toscana and still-warm cheddar-chive tea biscuits, I will seek to make her and her strep throat feel a wee bit better. My trip will also provide the added bonus of allowing her to rest this afternoon and not worry about making dinner. Yay me.

So, lots to do today. Maybe I'll reward myself and pop into Mal*Wart for the new John Mayer cd. Maybe the fourth season of Friends, too. Yeeshk, I'm outta control!

I just woke up from a lie-in that would have been described as delicious, had it not been for the disturbing dream I had. You know the one; you wake up with this uncomfortable feeling already lodged between two ribs. The feeling that takes a lovely greasy breakfast to shake. Or an early-morning drive to Sbux. Or if you're Canadian, Tim Hortons. So off I drove in my jammies, with only my tarragon green hoodie valiantly working to cover up the fact that I had rolled out of bed and into the Jeep.

Now I sit at my computer when I should be working on my home business. It's taken a shit-kicking since the college intervened, but I really can't turn down a (well) paying gig right now. I have every intention of having the website go live before October 1. I'll just have to come home from work and start another half-day with the other job. Millions of people do it, I don't know why I should have to whine about it. I must build the brand, and that takes time. I'm guessing a good time to do that is the eight-week period leading up to the holidays.

~~~~~

I don't know if this is exactly kosher, but I've been handing out my business card to random students as I've been releasing this past week. I'm sitting at Teresa's desk, where she has a shrine to her Siamese, Gandalf. The kids comment, I say it's not my desk, I have a dog, I am an all-round animal lover, I must be since I started a business for them, etc. Anyone I've taken this conversation path with has fallen into my trap beautifully, and have walked away with a card, promising to visit the site. I realize not every kid will do so, but it's nice to know I'm taking advantage of seeing 50-60 kids per day and turning it around in my favour.

It's Friday and I'm hungover.

The office has to deal with 200+ students today, but that didn't stop right-thinking me from popping out last night for a few. Hell, the new Thursday night lineup on NBC doesn't start until next week, and heaven knows I needed a few pints after the last three weeks with these toddlers.

It was going to be an early night. That was until we ended up on the patio at The Keg, swilling shots and scarfing carb/artichoke dip and brownie sundaes. That was until Jem's boyfriend Trevor grabbed me and began to twirl me across the windy, abandoned patio under the massive heaters. That was until I glanced at my watch while snuggled up in one of the oversized leather chairs in the warm, dry lounge and noticed it was 12:50.

It's not even the hangover so much as the way I tend to get so damn melancholy the day after a boozer. My Irish blood, I suppose. 'Tis a curse. I've spent the better part of the morning listening to my Love, Loss, Peace cd and verbally abusing myself for all manner of recent failures.

I need another coffee.

I think I may talk too fast for the average person. Maybe my mind works two steps ahead of everyone else; maybe I simply have a case of verbal diarrhea?

I'm still at work. (It's 6:23 p.m.). I stayed behind to do some editing, which always goes by the wayside once we begin releasing of student loans in earnest. It just irks me to see the mail piling up, even though the kids know damn well that they're living on the edge by not getting their apps in over the summer.

And the boss just left. She left and didn't even give us pizza. Pfffft!

I don't have a TiVo, but now I want one. All the better to feed the control freak lurking inside.

MUHAHAHAHA

If I have to look at Dr. Phil's shit-eating grin at the top of my Yahell Inbox one more time, I might have to go a little bit postal.

My business ISP just bit the big one. Gone. When I can't get my email, it nags at me the same way as the days I forget to put my watch on. I spend the rest of the day absentmindedly grabbing at my wrist or turning it toward my face, only to be greeted with a stripe of white skin.

Refresh, thou art my best friend today.

Hi Elizabeth! I see your bum!

I must be some sort of seriously flawed chickie when I avoid clicking on the link to the journal of someone who is deleriously happy in her notify. Where oh where is a train wreck journal when you need one? I need to compare and contrast my shitty little life against someone with real problems. Well, real or imagined. I don't even care if they're lying simply for the hits, just so I can walk away feeling like I'm in a better situation than I imagine myself to be.

I suck. World-class suckage, here.

Here's a tip from someone who knows:

Never, ever argue with a financial aid student when she has her nose pierced in two places with bloody great spikes. That is an indication of something folks, when a person wants to put that sort of symbol out there for the world to see.

Just smile and nod, smile and nod.

Damnitall, I'm hooked on some new stuff. I just get back to this job for a limited engagement and I'm reverting back to my shopaholic ways.

It started with a purse, tan boots and a new bottle of Ysatis. It has since skyrocketed to include Angel, Alias and Buffy season dvds and possibly a Playstation 2. Why the sudden need to game? An evil friend introduced me to the crack that is Silent Hill and now I must have it.

Gah. Someone help me

Okay, back at work at someone else's desk in a job I swore I'd never return to. Heh.

I'm such a doofus.

Know what? Other people's perceptions and expectations can bite me.

I mean seriously, how are you supposed to live your life on your terms if you're always stopping to check how it might be affecting everyone else? A life lived in fear is a life unlived. You only miss the moment if you (You!) are too scared to take it.

You make your own timing.

I'm exhausted. I'm so tired, the roots of each hair follicle keep drooping forward, then jerking back in a sort of 'I'm dreaming I'm falling' scenario.

Yes, I went to the fair last night and yes, I stayed awake once I was home to watch yummy Jon Stewart on The Daily Show before I hit the sheets and yes I woke up at 5:45 this morning to go out and water the hostas and watch another ep of Angel on dvd.

What's yer point?

Coming back to this office (student loans, for those not in the know) is turning out to be way harder than I had originally imagined. I'm fatigued beyond belief. At least the students aren't giving me any unnecessary grief, so that's been a blessing.

The door closes officially in two minutes. Here I sit, staring at the clock on my taskbar, willing the time by.

I also found out today that a good friend's Mom just passed away from lung cancer. Ironically, it makes me want a cigarette.

My best friend's Mom has always said that the two of us cannot tell a story without it being tinged with some sort of food motif. I used to think that was, um, well, 'unique'. Now, I suspect we're just blessed with a highly evolved appreciation for all things culinary. So is Wench.

Voila!

That was painfully easy. So much so that I'm thinkin' I've actually done something terribly wrong. My Mom always said I seem to want to make everything much more difficult than it is.