shiz.ca

I'm LEA-ving, ON a JET PLANE, don't know WHEN I'll be back a-GAIN. Except I do know: it'll be Monday the 5th.

Well cats, I'm off to Kansas City tomorrow for FUN, FUN, FUN, and if you think I won't have fun in KC then you don't know me AT ALL. I probably won't be blogging much, if at all, but I'll be thinking all about my peeps in blogland. Keep the peace while I'm gone. Be good. And have fun.

Something Pretty

I'm listening to one of my most favourite songs in the Whole Wide World. And I love it. And here it is:

Poughkeepsie
Over the Rhine

I thought I'd go up Poughkeepsie,
look out o'er the Hudson,
and I'd throw my body down on the river.
And I'd know no more sorrow,
I'd fly like the sparrow
and I'd ride on the backs of the angels tonight.

I'd ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
I'd take to the sky with all my might.
No more drowning in my sorrow,
no more drowning in my fright,
I'd just ride on the backs of the angels tonight.

There are those who know sorrow
and those who must borrow
and those whose lot in life is sweet.
Well I'm drunk on self-pity,
scorned all that's been given me,
I would drink from a bottle labeled Sure Defeat.

Then the skies, they fell open
and my eyes were opened
to a world of hope falling at my feet.
Now I've no more or less
than anyone else has,
what I have is a gift of life I can't repeat.

So I go up Poughkeepsie,
look out o'er the Hudson
and I cast my worries to the sky.
Now I still know sorrow,
but I can fly like the sparrow
'cause I ride on the backs of the angels tonight.

I ride on the backs of the angels tonight.
I take to the sky with all their might.
No more drowning in my sorrow,
no more drowning in my fright,
I'll just ride on the backs of the angels each night.

The kitty-cats, they are in sync.

You know what I get? I get a lot of hits from google searches for "honey sneezes" and "sneezes and smell (like honey)" all because of THIS post over a year ago. And because I don't have spam comment problems yet, the comments are open and people are still finding this year old post and saying "YES! MY SNEEZES SMELL TOO!" I find it all a bit bizzare. But yes, I notice a fragrance often just after I sneeze, and to me that fragrance is like honey. And apparently, there are more of you out there. And your thrill upon finding each other is at once heartwarming and disturbing.

So, the kitties have decided to be adorable and slightly sick and destructive this past bit. Yesterday, while Willow was up to her ears in a glass of water, drinking, her new favourite thing, I quietly cleared my throat, which starled her so much that she knocked the glass of water onto the living room rug. Yay, for you kitty. No, I'm not mad at you, but, jeepers, you sure are skittish.

And overnight, both kitties decided to vomit hairballs, but Brie definately won the my-hairball-is-bigger-than-your-hairball competition, which is not surprising, considering how MUCH HAIR that kitty has. But what Brie had in mass, Willow made up for in creativity by adding half-chewed red cellophane wrapping paper to the mix, which, at six am, I certainly did not want to know what red chunks my kitty was throwing up. Anyhow, no more paper or plastic or tissue for you. As if we could keep it away.

Don't you LOVE hearing about kitty puke? You DO?

You must really love this blog to still be reading right now.

David and I came home Sunday from our trip to gorgeous Nanaimo, the Harbour City or something like that. It is lovely. To get there we boarded a ferry for a 1.5 hour ride through one of the prettiest parts of the world you could ever see, though admittedly, both times we found the ferry seats uncomfortable and the chatter of other passengers too much (and the whiiiining of children who WANT. ICE. CREAM.) that we returned to the car to sleep, try to sleep, and/or read. David read You Shall Know Our velocity by Dave Eggers, one of my personal recommendations, which is great for me because our taste in stories only partly overlaps, and I always feel good when he enjoys a book that I do, too, especially when I was able to suggest it. I read There Are No Children Here by Alex Kotlowitz, my 2nd reading since picking the book up in 2001, also a great read.

I came back sunburned, which is rare for me. The sun was brighter than I anticipated and hadn't even thought to bring sunscreen because, hey, hasn't it been YEARS since my last burn? The glory of living on the mild west coast.

So, now I have rambled and not said much that was important. But you don't come here to hear about important things, do you? Of course not.

My friend Mary just ran the Pike's Peak Marathon for the THIRD year in a row and completed it even though there was SLEET at the peak. SLEET. She did a great job and feels good about her run. She came in SEVENTH in her age group. Congratulations, Mary!

Ok, peeps, off to have a fine day. It is sunny here and for once I feel I can enjoy it.

Can't. Breathe. Must. Get. Oxygen. And not. The Oprah. Network.

Remember the not breathing? It's happening again. I've been waking up mid-nights with a dry throat stuck together. And I'm wondering something.

Extra skin in the soft pallate produces: breathing difficulty

Breathing difficulty produces: insomnia

Insomnia aggravates: depression

Am I suffering so much depression BECAUSE MY THROAT HAS EXTRA SKIN IN IT?

My doctor prescribed me some LOVELY sleeping pills which I LOVE and also make me feel a bit tipsy before bed, which WOOO when you're not drinking alcohol or caffeine. And I actually sleep. And when I sleep, I actually BEGIN to FEEL BETTER.

But I'm not supposed to take them every night. I took them the 1st three nights, as directed, to catch up on my sleep, and then only as needed. So no pill last night and awake at 1:20, 2:10, 3:30, 4:15 and 6:30, with stress-dreams and breathing problems and sweats and much rolling over, and, and, and,

And I was hungry at 4:30 and ate some yogurt.

So, crazy. I also had to pee practically every hour. So, thrilling. But next week I can talk to my doctor about it and maybe we're THIS much closer to figuring out how to treat me, because if this is all aggravated by a skin/throat thing it's pretty useless to throw antidepressants at it, though I love them for now because, for now they work. As long as I sleep, too.

So yada. I'm not in danger of any thing that could be caused by bad breathing, like, um, bad breathing disease or anything. It's irritating but I know what it is and we are going to look into it.

I'm now off to Nanaimo/Parksville with David for the weekend, the namesake of the sinful Nanaimo (nah-NYE-mo) bars. Do yourself a favour and make some today. Yuuum.

Anyhow, he's performing tomorrow afternoon at a festival and we're staing tonight at a B&B in the area for some good, old-fashioned relaxation.

Wait, what is old-fashioned relaxation? Taffy twisting? I think we'll nap instead. And I'll try to breathe.

And then David took a photograph of the Brie-Cat.

Saucy!

A little bit of Willow-Cat

Ok, it's Friday, and I've gone nuts-o with a backlog of cute cat photos. They are only photos of Willow, because taking pictures of Brie, the black kitty-cat, is hard.

The Statue

So, the statue?

Here it is:

Well, okay. And also, um.

They gave the job to someone else. It sounds like I was a close second and they were impressed with me, and would consider me for future openings. (I called them, by the way; she said she was going to call me later today.)

So ....

I'm going back to my current job in September, after my vacation to Kansas City. The sick pay, though not 100%, has come in really handy this summer in terms of my recovery. The only thing is, my job is a part of the problem.

So here's the trick, to go back and learn how to not live and die at the turn of each beeotches word. I don't know what to do as far as job searching goes, in truth I'm exhausted from looking, so for now I'll forage onward where I'm at and Bloom where I'm planted as that old cheesy adage says. I'll have to schedule and force myself to take breaks outside of the office three times a day, to come at 8:30 and leave at 4:30, and to be cheerful and to enjoy the things there that I can enjoy. Like chocolate-dipped rice krispie squares from the cafeteria. And Dr. N, who teases me about my cat and always meows at me. And who wears green shower shoes at work. And the free alcohol they give out at parties, along with every possible fried item you could want (deep fried cauliflower, anyone?).

It'll be ok. I wanted so much to tell them to shove it, but I'm very glad I need not worry about poor performance at a new one. So it's ok. It'll be ok. And in the meantime, it's a pretty mindless job that I get paid quite well for. So, all right then.

This is my new motto, by the way.

So. Okay.

Another week, another Thursday.

I was going to head out for a smashing walk this morning when the airline called to say that they would deliver David's bag, and would someone be here to sign for it?

Siiiigh.

House-locked, I wondered what to do. This is when the phone rang again. Thank God for caller ID.

It was the woman who'd said the thing about my being healthy enough to work. She left a message that sounded pretty benign if you have't dealt with her for three years, and in particular this past few months of being sick. She upset me but I managed to make my way to Starbucks before the Waiting On the Bag 2005.

Now Haiti is all monsoony right now, and I knew from David that everything in his bag, a bag he packed almost a week ago, is wet, including a pair of hiking boots. So yay when the bag came! Stinky. It's all in the wash now. Where it'll all probably come out stinky. But because he booked his flights on his CIBC Visa Aerogold card, when his bag was 6 hours late he could spend $500 on clothes and toiletries! So he went shopping yesterday and is very pleased for travel insurance.

It's been 11 days since my second interview and I haven't heard anything about the job. Some people think I sould call them to ask where they're at. Discuss.

I had energy this morning. Now I don't. Discuss.

Oh, and I'd also like to say for te record that my husband bought a penis statue in Haiti. It's a "fertility" statue, and "looks" like a "woman" "kneeling" with her baby, but bacisally? A penis.

David SAYS he wanted to help out the guy selling the statues, so he picked one and paid him extra for it, because everyone in Haiti is hungry and poor. And he says that AFTER he bought it, he realized it was just one big penis.

Question: should we believe him? Discuss.

It came home, broken into 3 pieces.

But still it is very penisy.

Miss Sensitivity

Sent my way today:

"If you're well enough to go on vacation, you're well enough to work. You can't have it both ways."

I guess because vacation is just so darn stressful. So horrible. So bad. So much like work. It's really a chore to go on vacation, to remember to have to do all of those difficult things like eating out and visiting friends. Because laughing and sightseeing and eating ice cream is so very tough. Because not having responsibilities is a back-breaking BURDEN.

Or maybe because work is like a taking a trip to a tropical paradise. A visit to Fairytown Lane via the CandyLand Express, through the gumdrop forest, where Tinkerbell sprinkles fairy dust on every woodland creature! Because being at the beckon call of numerous self-serving bastards is like taking a bath in sweet candy corn! Mmmmm-mmm! Love that candy corn.

Not so secret

I'm scared that the wonderful job will be offered to me, and I'll accept it, giddy and hopeful that I'd be well enough to do it by my start date, but that my relapse would continue to be bad and that things would go very wrong.

Ultimately, that is unlikely. My icky job is part of this relapse, and landing the new one would be such a boost to my self esteem. But that is my current fear. No news yet, people. But I hope. I still hope, and I still plan to accept, because this is a no-brainer. Good job over bad job? Yes and yes. I am improving, slowly, and seeking even more help, and I have a vacation coming up to see all of the wonderful friends I have in Kansas City and introduce my husband to the city and to my loved ones there. I can't wait.

Grey skies ARE going to clear up, so yes, I will put on a happy face.

I did wake up screaming last night, though. I can't remember what my dream was about or who I was yelling at, but I'm pretty sure I was calling someone an asshole or bastard or something, or perhaps running for my life. David can't remember, either. But yeah, last night's sleep was not pretty.

Also? It's been a week since my last shower. I thought you should know that. I rinse my hair every day and do a pit-check for stinkiness, and it's a holy miracle that I'm not stinky, but yes, I have to feel very well to take showers in the first place, and now I have every reason to put it off because I feel like cAAArp and the mere thought of showering and going to all that WORK to get clean makes me need to lie down.

Speaking of, I need to lie down.

Sick leave

I never thought I'd use the fancy-schmancy sick benefits that places like my current employer offer, but I was thinking about it today, and sure, if I didn't have sick pay, I'd be working. I'd have to. But it would take me much longer, even with medical help, to improve, I'd be a real PEACH to work with and run the risk of acting out of frustration or illness or both, jeopardizing my job. I'd also probably be getting sicker instead of improving, sicker and sicker until I lost it and ended up in a hospital.

You don't think you'd use things like this, or disability, or life insurance I guess. But when we need them and they are there, we are glad.

I was sick once before with this employer. My 6-month probation wasn't over yet, and I was arriving to work late, crying on the job and took around 3 sick days - two full days and 3 or 4 partial days, I think. And suddenly I was called into my boss' office and told that they didn't know what to do with me, that they'd extended my probation by a month and that I had to be dependable.

I was humiliated. These people were insinuating that I was irresponsible and I was actually painfully ill. It was such a huge pill to swallow, followed by a double-portion of humble pie. But not really the kind of humble pie people talk about eating when they deserve it, when they realize they have done wrong, but the kind you eat bitterly and unfairly, knowing a secret that no one else knows. And I made myself, no matter how sick, arrive for work on time and never take a sick day. I would have worked throwing up. I would only have gone home if they'd told me too. They scared me that much.

Because that relape was predicated by an emotional incident, I didn't really call it a relapse. I called it heartbreak, and I was waaay to embarrassed to tell my boss I was late for work so much because I was heartbroken. But I was heartbroken AND sick, which I didn't fully realize at the time. I explained it only as a personal incident akin to the death of a family member. That's all I could say. Then they suggested I take advantage of their counselling/employee assistance program, which I WAS, and I had to say that I was already doing that (which, so much for confidentiality). And I just felt the wheels turning and them thinking, "What? You're this way AFTER counselling? What is the MATTER with you?"

I've been late a few times during my latest relapse, but as the one before I've always made up the time. And this time, my boss finally knows about the depression, but I'm not so sure it's a good thing. She seems to be getting frustrated.

That's a thing with depression. It's not like the flu, which puts you out for 1-3 weeks. You can be out much longer, and there's an awkward silence with some people who ask you a month later how you're doing and if you're still not doing well, they just don't know what to say. So they leave. They probably don't see it as leaving you, but when the support shrivels up, when people stop asking how you are, when people avoid you after a while, or when someone seems frustrated that you're still sick ... well, it stinks.

I have a co-worker with cancer. Nobody is upset with her for not coming back to work yet. True, I have a much better prognosis, but that's only with treatment. Sickies cannot workie.

Ok, I think I've taken enough frustration out on the internet.

You all, on the other hand, have been GREAT. Week after week and month after month you're here, reading, emailing, commenting, calling. None of you have ever said, "Oh GROW UP," and I hope I never do get that, because OUCH, but whatever. Like Amalah says, you delete the comment and/or email and say "Less Asshole, More Bandwidth."

So thank you, everyone. Even all you lurkophiles. You wouldn't read unless you wanted to. I feel the love.

Home again, naturally.

I finally saw my tired angel this morning at 11:40. He's sleeping. I'm tired enough to sleep, but my brain is whirring. So awake I be.

I talked to a pharmacist this week about my meds and my situation. She had some great things to say, mostly that she felt my doctor was acting appropriately but that it sounds like it's time for me to see a specialist. A psychiatrist.

So I'm going to, to see my regular doctor and a psychiatrist both, also going back to my pharmacist if I have more brain/drug questions. I'm going to can my doctor's idea of giving my new psychologist a third try and go for someone else for therapy, because, while wonderfully assuring, he's only telling me things I already know and not dealing with any of the emotional goings-on with me. And the help-factor with the things-I-already-know assurance has stopped being effective.

My moods are ok, but there's still a feeling that anything could unsettle the delicate balance. On the thought of cooking my thawed chicken for dinner, I responded just now by saying, "Too hard, too hard." I'm officially the depression version of Rain Man.

So I know I can't work, can't handle multiple tasks or stress, which is a slight downturn from Thursday and Friday, but I'm slightly improved so we'll see what happens next. I must admit I felt relieved when the pharmacist told me it was time to see a specialist. And after I heard that, I agreed. It's like I didn't even know what my opinion would be until she gave me her level-headed one. Suddenly it struck me, "Of course!" Of course I should see a specialist. I've taken five weeks and two days off work in the past two months. And I've been dealing with this relapse since DECEMBER. Of course it's time! Hel-LO.

David's stories of Haiti made me sad. I want to go there and pour out all of my energy, not proselytizing, but loving, and loving by way of open hands, open heart, open eyes and open ears. Giving food. Giving health care. Giving school supplies. Teaching. Washing clothes. And listening.

A few westerners staying in the same area as David brought unknown shame on themselves by their unabashed ignorance and constant complaining. To me that was one of the saddest things to hear - not that they were giving themselves a bad name, but that an extremely rich and proud nation produced such a crop of inconsiderate adult idiots. They were nice people, as far as nice goes, but completely out of touch culturally and they made my poor husband sick with their whining and idiotic questions. We all know people like that, but seeing them in that situation, in the poorest country in the western hemisphere, they showed their true colours in a uniquely striking way. It makes me sick thinking of the world's wasted resources. Wasted education dollars, for one. And wasted people, both the poor, beautiful and hungry Haitians and the rich Americans, for what can a jaded westerner do besides hand out tracts and put on puppet shows, then go back to their own kind at night, who they obviously prefer, complaining about the smell and the heat and the sun? And all of it probably because they do not know any better.

You're in Haiti, sir and madam. It is not the Ritz. Who told you that poverty was pretty?

Ground control to Major Tom

Well kids, my husband is not home yet. He began his flights today at 11 am eastern, but was up waaay before then doing all the packing and leaving and driving to the airport stuff. It's almost 11 pm on the west coast and he hasn't even made it to San Francisco yet.

We got him a hotel room and a flight in the morning. He arrives in Vancouver at 9:30, having been on the road for a day and a half by then. The culprit was weather, so we needed to pay for his accomodations ourselves, but I'm willing to do what it takes to bring David home.

I'm tired. I can't imagine how lovely his day has been.

Many thanks to Orlando of American Airlines and the Bronx who was a helpful and hilarious guide on getting a new flight for my husband. Let's hope this one departs and arrives on time and without incident.

Day Two

It's day two of my slightly higher dose. I feel an improvement, not as much as I'd like to feel eventually, but for now it's a relief. I was able to be productive yesterday for the first time since last Thursday, and I actually made a meal for myself that did not consist entierly nor include any combination of the following: chips, cheezies, salsa, popcorn, chocolate bars, ice cream, marshmallows or Runts. I had salmon and a salad with steamed zucchini. And I've been eating yogurt and fruit and bran cereal and not more Runts and marshmallows and Crunchie bars. I did five loads of laundry, including sheets, and made the bed with the new! clean! linens! I bought groceries! I picked up my coffee shop cheque! I went to the bank!

Seriously, these are all things that would have been too much for me last week. So, it's an improvement. I'm beginning to function. My mood is even, not fantastic I think, but even. And even is good for now and I see my doc next week and tell him where I'm at.

I took both of the cats outside just now, one at a time, on their harness. Brie hates it, and always goes for the door immediately, wanting back in (although at our last place, which had a door leading directly outside, she couldn't wait to go out on her own, but still eschewed the harness and went running back inside if I tried her on it; she's harness-averse, not outdoors-averse), so I let her in again. Willow got to meet a sweet little girl puppy named Ella, some kind of cute little baby hound doggie, and while a wee bit scared acted very well. Then she checked out the garden in front of our place. She was wide-eyed and a bit scared, but also curious about the smells and sights and sounds outside. I was sure to bring her inside after a few minutes, so as not to freak her out too much. Both of my kitties are cuties.

Off to buy beer now; a cold one is one of the few things David wants when he comes home. So why not? I'll get the beer and the drycleaning like a good little functional person.

Grey skies are gonna clear up, put on a happy face.

Hi, everyone. Welcome to Thursday. Yaaay.

Actually, I'm doing quite well. Quite well today, indeed.

3 AM

The great thing about being awake STILL at 3 AM is that when your cat vomits it's entire stomach contents on your nice IKEA chair you're right there to clean it up pronto.

So, you know what else?

I was late for my doctor's appointment, but no biggie, they make me wait lots. I arrived just before 2:30 for my 2:15 appointment and left at 3:15. Yes, an hour after I was supposed to have my appointment.

My doctor took a ten minute phone call with a specialist about his daughter's ankle while I sat in the exam room with him, and then he went out to talk to a drug company rep and a patient - because the drug company rep had been knocking on the exam room door - for another 10 minutes while I was waiting and trying to hold back tears.

He's normally not like that, but another big downer to add to the day.

Oh and later? I awoke to sex noises again from the people upstairs. Or maybe it was a party of one, I only heard her moans and ... ugh. And waaay too much to hear at 5:00 pm.

Also? It's 10 pm and I reaaaally want a hamburger.

Frustration

My doctor has some very good reasons for wanting to take things slowly with my meds, but I feel like the change we're making now will be too small. He thinks I will see a difference. I'm doubtful. I try his suggestion and see him next week.

I tell you, I cried. It was hard to hold it together in his office. I really want to get well. I'm so tired of this.

This is hard.

Layers

You people are great. You write me messages, leave me comments, and call me on the telephone. You send condolonces and ask how I am and you send along hopes of wellness and tell me that you're praying for me, rooting for me. I think I love you.

Many people have been asking how I am, and I guess it's not an easy answer, for my wellness seems to have layers, like a decadent desert. On the top layer, something like whipped cream, I imagine, I feel good right now. I present this layer to the world when I go out to Starbucks and when I talk to strangers. because I do feel good, and isn't that nice?

Underneath that layer is another one. It's one I can feel, taste, see, hear and smell. It's not as well right now. It's like the decadent chocolate cake part, gooey and dense and rich, and a little too much on it's own.

And I feel like the slightest bump could upset the balance, bring to the surface all that's underneath. I feel that sadness is less than a stone's throw away. That another tearful outbreak and feeling desperate may turn on the slightest trigger. It could be something like getting honked at unfairly, seeing something sad, or having a thought come up that disturbs me. It doesn't have to be a big thing. And that's part of what makes it so unpredictable.

I'm like the classic oil & vinegar salad dressing. Clear separation between the layers, the oil definitely on the top. But shake it up, and you have the two intermixed for a long time.

Last night I had a wonderful evening walking along Robson, window shopping, and ended up at our Chapters, the Canadian equivalent of a Barnes & Noble Bookseller. And I was still great, until about 20 minutes later. I wondered what the trigger had been, and if there had been one. But I do think there was one. I had perused a section of books in the religion section, and even though the thoughts were not foremost in my mind, I think the why-God-why thoughts were disturbed beneath the surface a bit.

I came home and had an ok night, but I was trying to not slip lower, so I took the mindless route and threw in Sex & the City and ate junk food. Tomorrow afternoon I finally see my doctor, and we get right to the task of giving me different meds. Because that is what I need right now.

The prognosis for depression is excellent; very few of us are difficult to treat. I keep thinking that, and of how well I responded to meds the first time. Here's hoping the new cocktail is right on in every possible way.

David

Isn't he DREAMY???

David has some internet access! This is what he says from Haiti:

Turns out there is a connection here – satellite. All is well. I am so deliriously happy to be here, though it’s as tragic as it comes. I am sunburned and tired but totally happy. Loving this. I am well, and have no health issues at all.

Words can’t describe this place but I feel safe and the folks here are wonderful. I am heading back into Port Au Prince tommorrow to take the other speakers to the airport to go home – want to see the city again. It takes your breath away – a city that is an unending garbage pit and open sewer, the smell always of dust and diesel and burning trash. Pigs, chickens, goats, humans, all living in such unimaginable squalor. There are no “rich people”, and Haiti is more than a country with a lot of poor people, it is a country of poor people.

Also, I had a great interview today. I imagine I'll hear soonish.

You don't have to read this, ok?

Ok, dudes, I know some of you don't like reading about and hearing about depression, because, well, for one reason, it can be depressing. It's hard to be around someone who is sick or depressed or downer all the time. So this is another depression post, and you really, really do not have to read it.

Timely gift

From Mary. She's my twin.

Just trying to help make me feel better!

So someone wrote me and said: "We do need someone in your position that we can rely on to be healthy at present."

Thank you. Because being sick is such a big, fork-hugging THRILL.

Coping, an essay in pictures

In the midst of the uncertainty

So yesterday, I got a call about a 2nd interview for the great job I want. I have it on Monday.

David left today for Haiti, even though the Canadian and US governments advised him not to. He'll be back in a week, and we've agreed that he'll be ok if I am ok, and I'll be ok if he is ok. See? It works.

I'm watching The Family Guy on DVD and eating B&J Fossil Fuel ice cream. And waiting for a delivery of flowers. Are they from work, or from my husband? Work has sent them before from the same shop, but this time they had my cell number, and I don't think they have that at work.

My guess is husband.

See ya round.

Hey! Update! A friend of mine just gave a glowing reference for me! Woo-Hoo!

Dear Internet,

I wish I could tell you that I feel good. I wish I could tell you that I'm getting better. But I don't feel good and I am not getting better, only worse. I had two fairly happy weeks in the middle, but am back on the unhappiness trail. I am very, very sick.

I saw a doctor today. She told me I should not be working. I see another doctor tonight and another one on Wednesday and I'm not working for two more weeks. I have strategies for when things are terrible, and other than that all I can do is wait this out and pray a lot.

Green Bean

Now that I've left my employment with the coffee shop, I feel the freedom to discuss it. I still won't say exactly which shop it is, but it should be pretty obvious by now. It's a very large company, based in Seattle, and the staff wear green-coloured aprons as they serve coffee.

I love love love love love that company. No, it is not perfect, but there are some things about the company that I think everyone should know. So I'm going to tell you. For the sake of the rest of the post, I'll call the shop The Green Bean.

Green Bean treats its employees very well. If I knew how well, I would have worked for them long ago. The pay isn't much more than Canadian minimum wage, but our minimum wage is high ($8 or $8.50 right now). In addition to regular paycheques, staff get a weekly "markout"; a free pound of coffee (or half pound of very expensive/rare coffees), a box of soy milk, a bottle of flavoured syrup, a box of chai, or a box of tea EVERY WEEK. Green Bean staff get a 30% discount on all purchases, and free beverages just before & after their shifts and during breaks. Also, Green Bean staff need only work an average of TWENTY hours a week to get a FANTASTIC medical plan that includes vision and dental, and $3 prescriptions, even in the USA, where getting medical is like striking it rich. Staff are also entitled to an adoption allowance, basically a cash gift if a staff person adopts a child, an employee assistance plan, life insurance, a fantastic stock option plan and a retirement savings plan.

But the best thing about the way Green Bean treats it's staff happens during daily shifts. I've worked for places that assume it's staff are incapable of making decisions, which is ridiculous, because at 25 and in college, as many of its staff are, a lot of staff have great common sense and are able to make sound judgments. So Green Bean never asks its staff to "check with a manager" before providing a customer with a free drink, an apology, up to a quarter of a pound of free coffee beans, or a free pastry - basically whatever it takes in each situation to handle its customers fairly and handle complaints in such a way that the customer leaves having had a positive experience. When I worked for Green Bean I felt trusted, that the company was in full support of me, and was behind the decisions I made during my shifts. I didn't always give out free drink coupons or free goodies, but I did do it whenever I felt it was appropriate, and the company, my manager, my co-workers, no one ever questioned my judgment. I also think that, by and large, the company's customers get excellent customer service most of the time. There are exceptions, but Green Bean, in my opinion, does everything it can to satisfy its customers, and not just by the bare minimum, but tries to do it in a way that will make its customers enthusiastically loyal. And I think that the respect the company gives its staff gives them a pride in their work that shows and trickles down into happy staff and happy customers, everyone enjoying a good cup of joe in a warm and friendly environment. In fact, I've seen more than one letter to the company where a customer said that during a low point in their life, they started to come to their neighborhood Green Bean daily because they felt their spirits lifted, and that after several months the depression or difficulty lifted, and that the customers credit Green Bean with helping them through a difficult time in their life.

I also love that Green Bean has incredibly high quality standards for everything it serves. There are a few staff who don't seem to get this, but they are usually retrained or weeded out fairly soon, and the food and beverages Green Bean serves are superior quality. If a food item looks (or tastes) not good, they will not sell it, nor a drink if it is not made properly or is not up to quality standards. Now, there are probably a billion lurkers who can say, "But Green Bean has made me a crappy drink, and more than once." Each store is different, but I encourage you to have your drink remade how you like it every time. The staff do not think twice about it, and if your "to go" drink is icky, tell them the next time; they should give you a replacement on the house. Take the time to figure out how to order your drink (and remember that WE did not personally come up with the names for the drink sizes, so don't resist it, learn the name for the size you like and WORK WITH US, PEOPLE), and figure out how to ask for what you want. Ninety-nine percent of the time a Green Bean person can accomodate your request. And if a staff person is grumpy with you, don't take it out on the company, speak to someone else until you are satisfied. As long as you are reasonable, most Green Bean staff are, too.

Now here is another thing I like. All of Green Bean's coffee beans, ALL of them, are fairly traded. Only ONE roast is called Fair Trade, and that is because to be certified as fair trade it is rather expensive. The same thing is true with organic certification. All of the beans are organically grown, but only some of the beans are certified organic, because the certification costs a lot of money. Now you know. And you know what else? Green Bean staff visits all of its coffee farmers (except in dangerous places, ie, places with unrest), maintains a good relationship with the farmers, and makes sure that all of its coffee farmers have health care. Green Bean also provides staff and customers with opportunities to participate in green projects, like reforestation projects in developing nations.

Green Bean owns a lot of stores, and is expanding rapidly. Green Bean also owns some other coffee shops and coffee bean producers, as well as a tea company and a music company. So there is the fear that Green Bean is getting too big. But I'm not worried too much about that for now as long as the company remains responsible. There have also been accusations that Green Bean adds caffeine to it's coffees, making it more addictive. Here is my opinion. Green Bean begins with a very high quality bean, then harvests it and roasts it to a very high quality standard. The high caffeine content in Green Bean coffees, if there, is there because of the coffee's quality. You local doughnut shop may serve coffee with less caffeine in it, maybe half as much, but they are probably beginning with a poorer quality bean and roasting and brewing it in a mediocre fashion. As far as I know, Green Bean is still looking into its coffees' caffeine content in light of these accusations, but has no sinister plans as far as caffeine addiction goes. It doesn't have to; the products they serve are of such a high quality that people keep coming back, even for decaffeinated coffee. And pastries. And sandwiches. And tea. I don't think Green Bean is sinister at all. Maybe big, and maybe a bit intimidating for a newcomer to coffee shop culture, but generally cheerful and willing to work with any newbie to ensure they find a drink they like.

All in all, I love the Green Bean coffee company. I wish they were more aggressive about recycling (they do recycle a lot already, but I always wish it were more), and I wish they were more proactive about serving low calorie, high fibre, vegetarian/vegan, or low fat products (while all are available at Green Bean, some of it's products, while still up to the customer to order, are high in fat or calories or low in fibre, and vegetarians or vegans have a limited selection), but overall, Green Bean is a great place to work, to eat, and to have a fine cup of quality coffee.

That is my opinion on the matter.

PS - The creature in the Green Bean logo is not a mermaid; it is a siren, which I think is very funny, considering what a siren is and the nature of coffee and the lure of Green Bean in general. The original logo, on display at the 1st Green Bean store in Seattle, has full breasts and a navel (an innie I think, because, let's face it, an innie is some sexy). The siren in the logo in the Middle East wears a veil (Green Bean had stores in Kuwait before Paris; check the website; they're everywhere).

PPS - The original Green Bean started in 1971 and only sold beans, believing their roasting process created a superoir flavour (which they still believe and stand by). A friend begged the original owners to open a coffee bar, and they wouldn't (they didn't think it would take off), so he opened some on his own, using Green Bean beans but operating the stores under a different name. After a few successful years they finally decided to mix the two ventures together and make Green Bean a bean roaster/seller as well as a coffee bar.

Confession

I've been checking my voice mail far too often.

Checking In, Again

Hi. Monday night here, on a holiday. Tomorrow I return to work and wonder if I'll get a certain phone call. And then I wonder what I'll say to that phone call. (Duh. But still, I'm tired now and flaking on my answer, but I have a headache and I've been off work for three days and don't quite see things straight.) Part of me hopes I won't get the boob job - or maybe part of me is getting ready for disappointment - because what I have is familiar and stable. It's not good for me in the long run, actually, it may not even be good for me in the short run, but it's stable. And if they do say no, I'm going to enjoy not looking for a while. I could use less stress.

Speaking of less stress, I left the coffee shop this week. Saturday was my last day. It was sad, and hard for me to go, but ultimately the best thing for me. I had a dream the following morning that I went in to work the next day anyway and no one noticed that I wasn't supposed to be working, and I worked for an hour before I realized that I wasn't scheduled, and then I wondered if I should just keep working because I liked it or go home because - hey, go home! I miss the coffee shop, but alas, it's in my blood.

If they do offer me the boob job, and if I do accept, there'll be some changes for me. There would be some risk involved, but I think in my case, I won't ever leave a very cushy, very stable (yet ultimately bad for me) plastic surgeon without taking at least a bit of a risk. But something has got to happen, or I will go mental, lose my mind, and shout expletives at everyone and tell them they're the reason I've been so sick and why don't they all go fork themselves.

You know, as in, stick themselves with a fork.

So I'm tired and headachey and I don't know what I'm saying, but welcome to my world, people. It's time for me to go to bed.