Okay, enough with the not working.

I NEED TO WORK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Is what I’m saying.

Enough of the not working.

I finished the office admin. job on March 15th.  I’ve subbed a bit, but not much in the last month.  I am teaching one evening a week for the next eight weeks or so.  I start teaching Explore at UBC (http://explore2014.frenchcentre.ubc.ca/?page_id=2#english) on Tuesday for five weeks.  On May 31st, I will start teaching three hours on Saturday mornings 14 Chinese Buddhist meditation volunteers, four of whom I’m meeting with late this afternoon right before I teach the other class.  Finding out what they want and so on. 

So yeah, that will be a busy several weeks over the summer. (If you want to feel old and irrelevant have lunch with 10 other Explore instructors who are about 30 years old and have a Masters and have taught in Italy and etc.)  It’s great that I will be busy.  It’s awesome.

And then I won’t be busy again.

It’s crazy this all or nothing.

I know, I know, I am thankful for sure. 

I am just so done with myself and waiting for work to start.

Antsy tis true.

Stressful wondering what the heck I will do next.  Always wondering what I will do next.

Other people just get to go to work and be at work and work and come home and have their home lives and etc.

In other news, summer is really starting to hit in Vancouver.  Gorgeous days and Kits. pool opens this weekend.

In Winnipeg, it is snow-raining.

Uh huh.

I need to work.

Of course, catch me in this space in two weeks and I’ll be saying, I need a break.  Ha.



Surrey is far

Well, yeah, Surrey, England is really far from here.

Almost equally far is Surrey, BC.

I had an interview today at blahblahBC for an instructional writer position.  I translinked the experience and it would have been a 20 minute bus ride, a 45 minute skytrain ride and then a 20 minute bus ride.

J. from my writing group offered to drive me!  She drove from across the town to my neck of the woods.  We left two hours before the interview and it took an hour and a half.  90 minutes, people.  In non-rush hour traffic.  She was amazing about it.

“You should wear more skirts like that,” she said, “And your hair is beautiful.”  Thank you, J. these are things that you can always say to me.    We chit and chat all the way and get to know each other better.  NINETY MINUTES.

That is not an easy commute, people.

I have the interview – so-so I’d say.  They didn’t seem in love with me.

“Is telecommuting an option?”

“Nope, we are a union shop.  That wouldn’t be fair.”

“Oh,” I say.

I wanted to spend time discussing the amazing carbon monoxide lesson plan I had prepared (PowerPoint!  Great learning objectives!).

“Are there any blah blah potato chips?” I asked.

“Huh?” asked talent source person (a three person panel interview it was.  Lots of “Can you tell me a time . . .”)

“BlahblahBC produces these chips.”

“Oh, really?”  Talent source person looked surprised.

“I read up on blahblahBC,” I said.


I will find out in two weeks if I made it to the short list.  I won’t be crushed if I don’t – the commute, people.  Move to Surrey! You say.  No, I say.  We shall see.

J. was waiting in the parking lot reading a book when I returned.

“How was it,” she asked.

“They didn’t know about the chips,” I said.

“The nerve.”

She drove mega out of her way to get to my abode.  I was getting quite sleepy.  We talked some more. Very enjoyable.  Thank you, J.

On Mother’s Day, J. sometimes has brunch with friends of hers.  What they all have in common is that they have lost their mothers.  If that happens on Sunday, I am invited so that is nice.  And they are all psychiatric nurses (most of them are gay men) so all the better I say.  Bring on the psych. ward talk.

I e-mailed hospice counsellor N.

“Okay, this Mothers’ Day thing is harder than I thought.”

“Light a candle for her or go to the casino for her (as I had written to her).  And then do something life affirming like swimming.  (I had told her that I’d gone swimming the day my mother died.).”

“Okay,” I wrote back, “I can see now why people like dedicate park benches to their loved ones.  I seem to be all about making sure people remember her.”

“Take care of yourself.  Honour your feelings,”  wrote N.

“And your article has helped many people.”

I’m feeling melancholy, tis true.

In other news, teaching Explore starts up in a bit over a week.  And I’m teaching one evening a week Business English to a lovely group of students.  And at the end of the month on a Saturday morning, there is to be a pronunciation/speaking class for 14 Chinese Buddhist meditation volunteers.  All or nothing this life.  Well, oh well.

Even though I will be exhausted during these five weeks (and invigorated one hopes) I still plan on a bi of art therapy with art therapist G.  She is moving me beyond crayons.  She showed me everything I could be working with yesterday. This seems to be her gentle way of introducing me to things other than crayons.  Gack.  I’ve got pretty non-existent fine motor skills and shaky hands so I’m like, gack.  Okay, said I, I shall work with paint.  This seemed to make G. kinda happy.  The paints were interesting – they were squeezed out of bottles like ketchup and mustard.  The colours were very, well, colourful.  I dug that (one reverts to sixties slang when one is discussing art therapy).  So many colours.  At another point I was throwing clay against the wall.  I LOVED that.

“We’re not trying to exacerbate your anger by doing this,” G. said, ducking out of the way.

“Oh, well,” I said.

“Okay, just one more throw.”

That was satisfying as hell.

I know I know it all sounds kinda like woo woo and such like that there.

“This is all so woo woo,” I said.

“Hang in there,” said G.

So once I’m teaching Explore it will be back to the real world that consists of getting up early and going to a workplace.  Imagine that.  Will be nice as I haven’t had a paycheque in more than two months.  My savings will be appreciative;  they keep telling me to leave them alone or add to them.  Indeed.

Due to a thing and a mixed up thing and a thing, there will be a repeat of the Explore meeting next week and a repeat of the lunch at the Sage Bistro!  I don’t have to go but I will, nothing beats a free and good lunch, even if it is preceded by a repeat meeting.

I shall carry on with my melancholy.


bored and such and bored

Yeah, bored.  So bored I have schlepped across town on the bus in the rain to go to the wee United Church I rarely go to anymore.  I am early but of course so thus and therefore, blogging at the library.

It is hard to blog in a bored coma.

The other day at art therapy,  I said to G., the art therapist, ‘your art is better than mine.’

She said something to the effect of:  “for the zillionth time Karen, art therapy is not about how well  you do art.”  Well, she said it more nicely than that.

Then she said she is an artist, does art every day, so alas, and therefore and thus, she may be vaguely more skilled than I am.

This got me thinking and remembering that perhaps if I write everyday and etc.  Uh huh!  Good point, art therapist G.

The hospice counselor, N., was vaguely confused on Friday.  She said a version of this:

“You came to see me, a hospice counselor, for grief counseling, but you don’t want to talk about grief.”

“La, la,” I said.

No, N, I just want your compassion to like ooze out of  your pores whilst I sit here and absorb it. 

Instead, we listened to Mozart.

Crikey, bored coma.

So I read Robe Lowe’s latest ‘memoir’ because I dig me some Hollywood gossip.  I think Rob Lowe should stop writing and go back to looking pretty.

Hey, that is not nice.

Well, I just think he is running out of things to say.  But he knows a good way to make money when he sees one.  Fair enough.

I am craving tacos, tis true.

Okay, just a short blog entry, gotta go to the little church in the café which will hopefully pull me from the bored coma.  What I need is a roommate and a new place.

Carry on.