Aliens Among Us!

The cat is finally out of the bag! Aliens, all of'em!

Integrity

Food for thoughts:

Integrity: doing the right things for the right reasons


Personal comment: Woah! What a powerful notion.

Laconically

On my way back from work...






And they wonder why I won't live in Montreal...





Regina, SK




Mr and Mrs Smith




Estorbo's Canadian competition.
Which is which? No clue!

Untitled

Photo credits unknown

Day 3

Yesterday was not so good but today I relaxed and had fun. They have this WONDERFUL thing called mandalas: they're abstract designs that you can color in, photocopies left available on each table. That's right, they don't mind if you color while they talk, because it has been proven that while people are coloring they're paying attention.

Let me tell you I'm going to town on that one. I bought myself my own box of crayons, and I'm being VERY productive, handing in several completed mandalas per day. It makes all the difference for me.

Other than that, I have remarkably little to report… class, hotel, class, hotel.

Still, tomorrow is Friday, and Fridays are ALWAYS fun because we know we have two days off looming.
I miss my workouts terribly. I went running for 45 minutes the day before yesterday and I'm all sore today!!! Sore from running? What is this? Am I not in shape? It's disgusting I tell you.

J asked me about curling in SK. Here was my answer:

All right so Curling is the official sport of Saskatchewan.

To celebrate their sport, every hotel has a miniature rink for clients in addition to a gym.
In the big league, the rinks in SK are twice the standard length of other rinks because the country is so flat, the slide just keeps going, and going, and going…

Glad I taught you something today. Even happier that it's perfect nonsense.

Regina I

Marie thinks I feel crappy. Another friend thinks I sound hem...tense.
Just because I curse out loud a few times? You guys are so uptight.

Well, I'm feeling "crappy and tense" in Regina, as we speak.
In truth, all problems take on a certain perspective when considered in the middle of hundreds of miles of nothing. It gives a brand new twist to the saying "middle of nowhere".

Today I will meet all kinds of enormously friendly people. I start with a headache. Lol. I'm gonna go up to my room, take an Advil and practice my smile and my patience. Even with people who have so obviously never travelled in their lives that this Regina entirely organized trip is making them completely flustered, lost and helpless. (A breakfast voucher? when did they give me that? at the airport? what ID? what credit card imprint?)

Remind me to tell you about the hotel's Spa when I get a minute.

So what's the mood so far? how does "corrosif" sound? Swyrd, translation?

In The Corner Losing My Illusions

This original post was two pages long. How's that for editing?

For so long, I believed: "Everything is possible." It's time to face it: THERE ARE THINGS YOU ARE NOT GOING TO GET, NO MATTER HOW DESPERATLY YOU WANT THEM, NO MATTER HOW BASIC YOU THINK THEY ARE, AND NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU THINK YOU DESERVED THEM.

It goes against every popular trend: Everything is possible! Create the life you want! Think positive to bring good things in your life! Believe you can have anything and you will!

To hell with **positive** thinkers. Fuck off, The Secret. Hope is just too damaging in the long run. I’ll still have good moments before I die.

Bora Bora Be Damned

If you're like most people, you've always dreamed of taking a trip to Regina, Saskatchewan.

What do you mean, NO? Ok, then you're just weird.

I, on the other hand, have been offered the chance of a lifetime, not one, but TWO weeks in popular, glamorous, much sought-after Regina, Saskatchewan. I'll admit that it was hard to contain my excitement at first. I couldn't stop bragging about it to anybody and everybody.
"Yes, I'll have a large coffee with two milk. Gee I wonder if they have such good coffee in Regina, Saskatchewan where, incidentally I'm going soon."
"The gas is not too expensive this week. When I'm in Regina Saskatchewan, next week, I'll compare prices with here."
And so on and so forth.

There were four hotels advertised for the trip and when I read that one of them allowed pets, I asked no less than four friends of mine to come along for the trip. I mean the definition of pet is somewhat personal right?

They all turned me down but in the end it's just as well because I learned that I had been assigned to the lowest, cheapest of the four hotels, which doesn't allow pets anyway. I'm not going to let that ruin it for me. I'm bringing a rubber ducky.

I leave next Monday.

Nightbiking Deserves a Quiet Night

Friday night, I couldn't sleep. I got up, got dressed and sneaked out to go for an impromptu bike ride. I enjoyed the speed, the freedom, the freezing wind.
This is the moment The Squirrel chose to try to throw himself in my front wheel.
He's fine. He's under suicide watch at H.M. hospital.
The bike is fine if a little muddy.
I took the brunt of the fall. Nothing bad, but the most extensive scrape I've had for years. Bare arm on pavement and then gravel. Amusing.

I'm in a foul mood. A combination of hurt, frustration and hopelessness. Nothing to do but to wait for it to go away. Perhaps I could punch a customer or two today, I'd feel so much better.

Back From The Limbs

It is time for me to pick the pen back up (that's a figure of speech) and to resume my wanderings on the personal space I call my blog. I've probably lost all my regular readers, and they will be mourned. I'm confident I've also lost the only unwelcome one and I feel very good about that.

Things have changed somewhat during my absence. I am now settled in a comfortable routine at the new office. Not a working day goes by during which I don't savour the proximity to my house.

I bought a bike in the Fall sales, the first one I own in fourteen years!!! Bikes have changed quite a bit in that time, but you still have to push the pedals to go forward. J showed up last week with a brand new bike bottle and lights for the front and back, for night biking. For me. How sweet is that?
So weather permitting, I go to the gym on my bike, following the river. Most extremely enjoyable. On the ride back, at night, I've had some very, very beautiful sights of a glass-like river with the reflection of the mountain. Very peaceful and zen.

Since J and I have an ongoing spook match (score is 2-2), the other night I went and parked on a quiet street by the river. I wrapped myself in a black cloak so as to be invisible in the bushes if I didn't move. Then I waited for J to pass by me on his bike. But while waiting, I sat in the grass, watching the water dance by, caressed by a warm wind, in the shelter of obscurity and I had a moment of pure happiness.

I’ve had some work done on my house. Nothing very exciting except turning a tiny, dark wardrobe of a bathroom (Vince knows it well) into something more decent and practical. It’s coming along very nicely and I’ll post a picture when the transformation is complete.

All else is the same; my son: noisy, Fatso: well, fat; Grumpy: well grumpy, and Loukhi: a smart cookie.

Hey WELCOME BACK Brig, you’ve been missed!

Here's a picture of what bath time should be like, according to cats (no these aren't mine)
A


and not B

In The News

Nouvelle-Ecosse

Victime d'un putsch, la reine s'enfuit avec 40 000 abeilles.

Such was the title of a small article in today's paper. I loved it.
Apparently, bees sometimes have putsches, when worker bees consider they are not getting enough Royal Jelly. They secretely bred another queen and the original one fled with her partisans. Neighbors are asked to look for the fleeing regime, which apparently does not look like a bunch of flying insects but rather like a small brown bear…

Delightful inn'it?
How did Shakespeare put it? "There are more things in heaven and earth…"

Potter Spoilers

First things first. My dear friend Jeno, after a year of intense, dedicated training, finished the Lake Placid Ironman in 10 hours and 42 minutes of grueling effort. To put this in perspective, the winner did it 9 hours and 16 minutes. I am awed, I am proud, I am extatic, I am as happy as if I had done it myself. To me, it’s about pushing your own limits, tolerating your own pain, willing an exhausted body beyond what it can give. I admire physical courage like nothing else and I truly, truly, salute the ones who master it. While I’m in a gushing mode, let me salute Jeno in particular, of whom I’m a real fan, because he’s smart as a whip, funny and self-deprecating, modest and unassuming, loyal and steady, friendly and helpful and trustworthy, a gem of a person. And if he reads this, which I hope he will, he will smile in a way that creaks his eyes and shake his head modestly.

On the same weekend, another...friend of mine...I’ll call him that whether he agrees or not, was doing the Sylvan Lake 1/2 Ironman. Because it’s a lesser event, I suppose, the results are not yet online as I type this. I don’t know what his goal time was, and I don’t really care. Whatever he did, whether he’s happy with himself or not, he most likely accomplished what Jeno did as well, in terms of mind over matter. I salute you SWYRD, and I hope you are celebrating. You two rock.

So how did I spend that sunny and bright weekend, while others pushed themselves to a puking point?
I read the final Harry Potter, of course. The rest of this post is only for those who have read it as well, or don’t mind complete and absolute spoilers. You’ve been warned.

I must say I am happy. Utterly and decidedly happy. Rowling, may she be blessed to the seventh generation, chose a happy ending. After reading her very dark streak (to me, the Goblet of Fire remains her darkest book) I had NO idea whether Harry would live or die. Her last book gave me a little hope, because, I am proud to say, I guessed with certainty that Snape was no traitor and that Dumbledore had begged him to kill him, not otherwise. It was the one firm bet I made over the last book and I brilliantly won my bet.
Still, all this talk about Harry possibly dying, about main characters like Ron or Hermione possibly dying... I didn’t put it past her, because J.K. has that darkness in her. She knows despair and hopelessness, for only one who has experienced it can write about it so well.
In the end, she chose her little readers, and I can’t thank god –or her- enough for it. She created a character that millions of kids identified with. When that character underwent physical torture, in the Goblet, I was very afraid. I thought a line had been drawn from the hope and innocence of children, to the real, harsh, merciless world of aduts. A line that the father, in “La Vita è Bella”, died to avoid crossing. I feared for all the kids around the world, who had been drawned into Harry’s magical world, I feared they would be confronted to face what war, pain, death and the horror of reality really mean. And don’t get me wrong, children all over the world are faced with it as I type, to the eternal shame or mankind and ourselves.
And Rowling had a right, as the creator of something as formidable as the Lord Of The Rings, to be the absolute master of the ending But in the end, the creator of magic chose magic. In the end, she spared milllions of kids further grief and disillusion. Even though she never spared characters we had come to care for, she chose to end with the Good winning over the Bad, with a happy ending that allows us to close the last of Harry Potter’s books with the happy swelling in our hearts that the first ones had brought on.
For the first time, I, the queen of dramatic, hopeless stories, grasped... realized how important it is that children should be spared. That children should keep on believing. That happy endings, for the joy they create, are truly invaluable.
It was in the vulnerability in my son’s eyes, when he asked me to tell him whether Harry died or not. He’s condamned to wait three months for the French version. I didn’t answer right away and as I looked in his eyes, I saw two people: the child he is, who wants to believe, and the man he will become, bracing himself for the worst news. I swear the two were alternating in his eyes. That’s why I blessed Rowling, to be able to tell him: “Harry doesn’t die”, and for a couple of months or a couple of years longer, to let him keep his faith in Life.

How did I ever lose it? How do I get it back?

Thank You

I have been transferred to an office that is a 17 minutes drive from my home. Straight highway, no traffic. I get in my car around 7 am, totally on cruise control, meaning still sound asleep. I somehow wake up 17 minutes later and stop at the local Tim Horton for coffee, breakfast and newspaper. The air is crisp, the sky endless.
I leave the office at 4h15 pm. I use the 17 minutes drive to leave the clientele behind, unwind and shift my mind gear back into…leisurely summertime.
4h32 pm: I open my front door. The long evening is all mine. I have time to see my son, to eat supper before working out, to dip in the pool and pet the cats. I feel like a millionaire.
Hats off to the few members of management who finally heeded my plea and chose my happiness and quality of life over sacred operational needs. That's smart management because as a happy and grateful employee, I'll probably be a hell of a lot more productive.
What a beautiful gift for the summer.

In My Head

I don't know what thought process led me to that path, but there it was: I realized recently that I was clinging to things. I was cultivating attachment, in the Buddhist sense of the term, with a vague notion that if I hung on hard enough, I'd have some sort of control over loss, or any other outcome.

I realized my hands were clenched so hard around certain things that it would take a pair of pliers to pry my fingers open. And that, my friends, is not good. That is not the way.

So I've started a mental exercise of letting go. I visualize my hands held in front of me, palms up, fingers wide open, and I visualize whatever I'm clinging to in the middle of my palms, free to trickle through my fingers or be swept away by a gust of wind. And it's not easy not to clench my fists.
I want to learn and practice to let go of the outcome. Do my best according to my aspirations then let go of things I cannot control.
TLM: let him go (that's the hardest)
Where I work: let it go
Will my cats get sick and die? Let go.
My house: Let go.

Every thing, every thought, and every person that creates fear or longing in me I want to let go of. Not to reject, but just to give up clinging.

Is that going to turn me into a mere spectator of my own life? If I'm detached from everything, do I stop living in action?

Don't know.

Public Announcement

This blog is currently on strike…or perhaps on vacation... In any case, it's not happening. Nobody home.

This blog was brought to you courtesy of Black Cats Look Better in the Shades, maker of stylish sunglasses for cats of all races and colors.

If and when the writer can be located again, succinct news shall be posted.

Are your cat's pupils down to tiny dots in the sunshine? Black Cats Look Better in the Shades has the solution! Write or call for free information.

Daily Colors

The people sitting across from me come from all over the world: the Philippines, Morocco, France, Ukraine, Bulgaria, Mali, the Ivory Coast, Mexico, Argentina, Syria, Lebanon, Israel, Romania, Rwanda…
Some are shy and reserved some friendly and at ease. Their skin comes in every possible shade. The children stare at me unblinkingly, and then whisper mysteriously in the parents' ears, in a language that means nothing to me.
I glance discreetly at the book that this young, unshaven man with the stern glasses is reading: Umberto Ecco.
Once in a while, I get a rosy-cheeked, blond hair, blue-eyed baby blowing happy bubbles, that bears a familiar French-Canadian name. She's the exception; most names are exotic and unfamiliar.

Boys will be boys, and the guys have a code to signal the presence of a "chick". A "chick" is young or not so young and has that immaterial je-ne-sais-quoi that is instantly recognizable to the male sex. (The immaterial je-ne-sais-quoi quite often being a very generous and very real frontal endowment, of course.) If I get the "chick", I'm suddenly surrounded by widely grinning colleagues who "just happen" to have something to do at my desk. The chicks are no fools and usually enjoy the attention.
Strictly in the name of fairness and equality, I demanded a code that will signal when a "good-looking guy" comes in. But in truth, it won't happen often. The guys that come in may be interesting, intelligent or have fascinating life stories…or not. But one thing they ain't is good looking.

There is not much outlet for my sense of humor. Circumstances are just not favorable, so I'm uncharacteristically serious. I miss the laughter and irreverence that usually punctuate my life.

A Hateful of Hollow

I must write a public apology to family and friends. I'm not always good at keeping in touch, and the blog was one way I was making up for it. But recently, I've been lousy both at keeping in touch AND at writing the blog. If you're among my friends and wonder why I'm so silent, take comfort in knowing that it's not just with you. I don't write, I don't call, I don't email. I hardly keep up the reading with my favorite blogs. I'm pretty much as disconnected as can be.

I know by experience that that's not the healthiest way to be. No man is an island. I need fulfilling interaction with fellow human beings to be happy and balanced. That's the theory. In practice, I feel too empty to interact much. I feel I have nothing to say these days. Just nothing. So I don't say anything. I shut up and stick to myself. I'm all right y'all, I'm just…empty.

Namaste

Need New Challenge, Will Babysit

So Jeno is a training machine. That's fine. He's also certifiable (he brags about it... but then he's such a show-off).
I really don't feel the need or the urge to compete with him, either in training or in insanity. There are, after all, limits to my potential, limits which I humbly acknowledge.
However, I do thrive on challenges. And even though things like marathons or, god forbids, triathlons are not the type of challenges that stimulate me, I do need to find some new challenge, some measurable goal to add to my training. It needs to be meaningful, challenging and verifiable. I'm just not sure what it could be…

- complete split on both sides?
- 25 full push-ups?
- run up the Pain de Sucre non-stop?
- lift and hold Fatso for more than 18 seconds?
- 1 length of my 10m pool underwater?

I don't know…I'm undecided. I'm perplexed. I'm hesitant. I'm unsure. I'm pondering. I'm looking for inspiration.

Talking about inspiration, at work, mothers come in with wayyyyyy too many babies. I become quite useless, totally enthralled in the little ones, ignoring their boring parents, literally dying to kidnap and run away with each little bundle. I. LOVE. BABIES. I'm sure my co-workers will adapt.

Un Dimanche à la Campagne

A beautiful Mother's Day. The sun was shining but the wind cool, perfect temperature. My mother, my son and I had lunch in the garden. Green salad, a French cheese called Bourseault, fresh bread, red Cabernet Sauvignon and a few presents in flowery wrapping. The three cats laid out in the sun around us, Loukhi in her harness...
My mother and I reconnecting, re-establishing once again the bond that will never be severed. My brother present through book and cards... My son, loud, excited, affectionate, doing his own things... My son and I, doing the dishes together...
A beautiful Sunday.
Happy Mother's Day to my friends, Sophie and your gang, Michèle and your brand new wonder, Connie dearest, all of you who have once held your baby in your arms and found out your life would never be the same...

Et... vraiment... .....Voilà.

After a week of training, I passed my exam with 95%. At least; because the one question I had "wrong" has to be verified by the instructors and might turn out to be good after all. Am I bragging? Not really. I'm saying at least I didn't waste my time this week. I worked hard and I justified the trust my supervisors put in me when they sent me for training. God, that's beautiful. Could I borrow a kleenex?

I found out a snake. And what a snake! It's good. It's always best to know which are the harmless grass snakes and which are the dangerous vipers. You can then protect yourself. I've given that person the benefit of the doubt long enough. Now I know.

I had laughter and teasing and fun with TLM yesterday. Now is the weekend. A whole evening of leisure stretches before me. The weather is warm and all the windows are open, billowing the curtains. The cats, stunned by the sudden heat, are laying stretched out all over the place, preferably underfoot. Three cats: every time you turn around, you're stepping on one.

The garden is in full bloom. The Loud One is playing on the other computer..oups did I say Loud One? I meant Loved One of course.

Serenity is such that I am ashamed at being SO UNFAIRLY, UNJUSTLY, UNDERSERVEDLY lucky. No, my life is not always easy, by any means. But I am so safe, so well-fed, so secure, so loved, so darned privileged.

Tomorrow, I'll change my mind and have a breakdown :)

Yes, I DO speak Chinese

A hardly knows me.
B knows me and doesn't like me. B may or may not have been privy to some information about me, information that should not have been given without a context, and B might or might not have passed it on to A, and might or might not have put a negative twist to it.
I don't know how much B's been told. I don't know what, if anything B told A about me. I don't even know whether they ever discussed me.
But I know this:
I don't trust B. And there are not a lot of people about whom I will say this.

How do you like the plot so far? lol

God knows I'm no angel. God knows I am so flawed I could be a poster child for imperfection. But I'll tell the brilliant people out there (and the brilliant people know who they are, they can't help it):
Don't you believe anything said about me, good or bad, unless you can double check it for yourself. There's plenty of material for rumors about me. I know some of them, I can guess some others. All I ask is: form your own opinion from your own findings. Make up your own mind. Keep your own counsel.

Now does that sound like a paranoïed post OR WHAT? I seldom seek to justify myself. But this has been on my mind for a long time. I have a blog: today is the day I voice it.

Then I'll go back to the voice of reason, which somehow always sounds like Sam:
"If they hear something bad about you and believe it without bothering to double check... F*** them. They're not worth you worrying over them."

Dear Sam, happy birthday, you're wonderful.

What's up

Long time no write. I'm in a pretty demanding work training all week, demanding in concentration and by being shut up in a room with no air circulation.

I thought Jeno would blog more than ever but I see he's also slowing down quite a bit. I therefore deduce that prolific blogging is directly proportional to the time spent in front of a computer.

I am not driven to write much these days. Partly because I spend less time in front of a screen. Partly because ..."censored"....can't write that.

I foresee the TLM business possibly coming to a drastic turn or dead-end in the event circumstances go from my seeing him four times a week to not ever. The possibility struck me yesterday, is out of my control, and sent me reeling. I'm now aware it could come to pass. If and when it does, the blow will be incredibly hard. I will either survive or go to pieces. Wish me to survive.

My pool will get a new lining with exotic fish, and therefore become operational, on June fourth. Considering it's already sweltering, I have a feeling we're going to long for it before that!

The strange winter killed two of my rosebushes and a number of other bushes. But all my little bitty growing trees made it and are covered in tender green leaves. What a lovely time of year.

Talk to you soon.

In The City

As someone pointed out to me before, pedestrians in Montreal are extremely rude. They don't know the crowded city pedestrian trick of yielding a shoulder when passing by someone. They walk on, at their own pace and in their own path, oblivious to the world around them. Being the very polite person that I am, I am normally the one yielding constantly. Not anymore. With the new job, I have a total of three minutes to spare to catch my train, a buffer zone I'm very uncomfortable with. So on my way back, during the rush hour in the endless corridors of the subway and the train station, I walk fast and with a purpose. For once, it is useful to be 5'10" and built like a wardrobe. My body language says, in no uncertain terms: "Get out of my way or we will collide!" and amazingly, male and female suddenly yield before me. It's still not out of civility, it's out of fear of impact. I don't care. I've been the lone civil one long enough. Get out of my f*** way.

I've heard some of my superiors are "looking into" finding a place closer to home for me to work. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, gnashing my teeth and binding my time. I won't get into the details but you wouldn't believe the impact of the new job on my daily schedule. Bad call on my part, even though the job itself is far from unpleasant.

I haven't found any kindred souls yet in the new office, although everybody is extremely friendly. We're too busy to socialize much anyway.

Not much else to report on.

Start Making Sense

I wondered what impact my new job would have on my blog. So far, it's pretty drastic. It basically shut me up! Perhaps this signals a slowing down of my blog for a while. One thing I will not let it become is an obligation, a "have-to-do". I blog for my own personal enjoyment, because I always loved writing. But the minute it no longer fulfills something in me, it will be out the Windows (get it?).

I've been stressed, I've been busy, I've been sick. Let's hope and pretend I'm better now.

Some emails I've sent have remained unanswered. It's interesting to see how angry that makes me. What a waste of energy, the anger I mean. Shrug it off, Bridge, shrug it off.

Mr H stopped by to check out the renovations needed in my house. Mr H is a seventy year-old sweetheart, father of a friend, handyman extraordinaire. I don't think there's anything he couldn't tackle in a house. In spite of his age, he's sharp and very energetic, with a full head of hair, twinkling blue eyes behind his glasses, and an infectious grin. To my delight, he quickly abandoned the French formal "vous", to address me with the friendly "tu". I could see that some of the work simply didn't interest him at all while other projects got his creative juices flowing. He's at a time of life when you do things you enjoy and no longer bother with things you don't. I strongly approve. So he had a good look, and told me he'd be in touch and all of a sudden, I feel like I now have an ally to face my renovations. Then again, I've always had a weakness for fatherly fathers.

I'm getting quotes for changing the windows and once I have an idea of the complete, petrifying total, I'll tackle the Bank. I'm practicing in the garden with my reluctant son. I stand him in front of me, than I scream HOHAAH and rush towards him at full speed. He lets out terrified giggles and crumbles to the ground, in total anticipation, before I even lay one finger on him. I'm hoping it will work on my bank manager as well.

I've been eating horribly and I intend to start paying attention again this week. Training has been sporadic, impaired by sickness. Now that I'm feeling better, back to a healthy way of living: healthy food, grinding training and unlimited sex. Oops!

Sunny Cloudless Sky

The gorgeous weekend was a godsend. My pressure and stress went way down, I did zero exercise, I got some vitamin D, and I slept.

We fitted Loukhi with a small harness and tied her to a long leash so she can come out in the garden with us. Without the harness, she'd be over the fence at the first sighting of a squirrel. Grumpy doesn't have claws so she can't climb, and Fatso is too fat and knows it, so they're free to roam within the fence. Loukhi seems to think that with the harness, the only acceptable way to move is belly-to-the-ground, which is a very funny way to walk. That's fine; let her think she's handicapped, it will help keep her within our limits. Once in a while, a squirrel just laughs at her and she forgets everything and springs after it at full speed. You can picture what happens at the end of the leash. Poor thing!

I looked around my house and realized it is becoming desperately in need of maintenance, renovation, and tender loving care. I need to change all the windows, to do some work on the kitchen and the bathrooms. This means money. Lots of it. Well, it just happens that I have an extra 63.50$ sitting in my bank account that I didn't know what to do with. I wonder if it will be enough. Sigh.

Work was 100% improvement over last week. I might get used to it after all. Isn't that wonderful news? I wore SANDALS today. Man oh man, nice weather incoming. It does wonders for the spirit.

I took a five days hiatus from training, to shock my system out of its complacent mode. We'll see if it works.

So Far

It's been a hectic week, a week of having my mind crammed with info, of figuring out a longer commute, of trying to adapt to different offices, coworkers, tasks… I've been panicked, I've been discouraged, I've been exhausted and I've been optimistic, in potpourri fashion.
I've been parachuted in someone else's office, in her personal belongings and files, so I can't really settle down. I feel like a squatter.
I don't speak about the nature of my job on this blog, so to give me a little latitude as far as stories to tell, I'll just say this: in my new job, my clientele is the general public. Our office is in a very multi-ethnic part of Montreal which couldn't be farther from where I live, an all white well-to-do families and retirees’ community.

I am literally fascinated by the people I come in contact with. They're all colors of the rainbow, they have panoply of accents, they come from so many countries and so many cultures… I have this longing to find out about each one's history: where were they born, how did they end up here, what is their way of life? Needless to say, I'll never know. I see bearded old men who barely speak English and try to imagine their lives, sixty years ago. Who knows what their childhood looked like? Who knows where it took place? I see shabbily dressed black women, with little expression on their faces, which mistakenly lead us to think they're not sharp. Then you discover, through the hesitant language, a mind just as quick as your own.

So I foresee endless material for observing a class of population I have otherwise very little contact with, and I expect it to be very enlightening.

Otherwise, however, my quality of life has taken a drop. In a day where I have to put in full work hours, eating, training, seeing my son, showering and such, my commuting schedule has increased by one hour per day, which is enormous. It brings my commute to a total of three hours per day, ridiculous. I'll do it, until I find a way out, but it will be in my priorities to somehow decrease that. I am no longer autonomous in my work, I have a shorter lunch period, I am not allowed to have a cup of tea or coffee by my side, I have less time to see my son before I go back out to the gym, I can no longer work longer hours to take a Friday off once in a while. All this, to me, is clearly a drop in my quality of life. Now if I implement a change, it's with the ultimate goal of improving my quality of life, not making it worse! So I will give myself a couple of months, to settle down into my new routine, then I'll reassess.

New Job

No time to post. Plenty to write. Stay tuned.

In haste
Brig

Friday a Thirteen

Friday the thirteen was my last day in my old office. I packed the last of my personal belongings, removing every touch that made the space mine. My boss very kindly took me out to lunch. I sent a bunch of email goodbyes, apologizing for not going to each cubicule one after the other. I'm not good with goodbyes, as I've mentionned before.
After lunch, my boss presented me with a certificate of recognition for five years spent with the Company. I'm such a babe in the woods. Then, she generously dismissed me, granting me the afternoon off to my surprise and delight.

I went to D's. We chatted in front of a delicious maple whisky he made me discover. We talked of the meaning of life, we talked of the values and beliefs that sustain us, we talked of cheating and forgiveness. My best friends are the ones I have the BEST conversations with. Then we walked over to pick his daughter from school. She's a sweet six years old with a smile to die for. Eventually I had to go, yet I felt we had only begin to tackle the subjects we were on. It was a lovely afternoon.

Monday, I start something new. In fact, I start with training. Not my usual physical stuff...Training as in learning. How much, for how long, I've no idea. I go in open. I can never get enough of learning anyway. What will be will be. A page has been turned.

Now, in spite of the cold, humid, grey and disgusting weather, I really need to kick myself in the butt and go lift some iron.

I don't know what impact my new circumstances will have on my blog. That, like my future schedule, tasks, physical environment, colleagues, remains to be discovered.

Welcome!

I want to welcome a little girl called Tess Gabrielle to the world, daughter of a dear friend.

Child, I have only one pearl of wisdom for you:
DON'T PANIC

Happy life little one!

Feeling Like Garfield On a Monday

Raaaahhhhh…I vaguely remember, in a prior life, words sounding like "training" and "blitz". I achieved a blitz all right. I've eaten enough in four days to sustain me without eating again for about two weeks. I had NO idea I could eat that much. I feel five months pregnant, my head hurts, my throat is dry. I'm hung over in every possible way…clearly, a wonderful Easter weekend.

As for the training part… a puny 2.5 hours over four days. I probably broke my own laziness record. The weather was so miserably cold and humid, running outside was out of the question.
Saturday, my Structor had his Polar on but not the strap, whereas I had both, so he would come and stand beside me to check MY heart rate on HIS watch. Not much cheating possible there! With anybody else, I'd probably actually mind: "Hey, my heartbeat is private!" How to be intimate without even touching.

So, this week I'm going to concentrate on losing the thirty-six pounds I put on this weekend. This reminds me, à propos of nothing, that the exposition «Body Worlds» is coming to Montreal. It is not for the faint hearted. I don't like the ghoulish side of it but I am so interested by physiology that I might go. It must be both truly fascinating yet depressingly macabre.

Draining

I never hesitate to apply on jobs, probably my adventurous side, and afterwards I'm always reminded of how grueling it actually is: the preparation, the cramming of info, the stress, the interview...
I had such an interview yesterday. From the body language of the interviewers, of which I'm an extremely alert observer, I don't think I'll get it. I was probably good but not dazzling. Since there were many applicants for a sole position, I don't think my performance will be the BEST of the bunch.

In spite of yourself, it's always slightly depressing, that process of trying to give your very best...and your very best often being judged "not good enough" or "good but there's better".

I have a competitive nature and it will not stop me from applying again but it IS depressing. Amen.

Nothing an intense hour of spinning couldn't cure. For the first time, I was actually able to wring water out of the front of my shirt at the end... Even though my heart disagrees, I still find the sprints much harder to sustain than hills.

Easter weekend. Temperature sucks but I'd like to get in a little blitz of overtraining.

Below, a picture of the infamous quartet called the Easter Gang. While the little ones created a diversion, the tall one robbed innocent victims. That picture put them behind bars for good. Crime doesn't pay.