A cat and mouse tale…

If you want to know what kind of day I’m having, I can tell you. It’s a “which cat pooped in the food bowl?” kind of day. Although to be fair I think it was more of an Olympic kitty litter kick kind of incident and not an actual squat over the dish. The end result is the same though.

It pales in comparison to my experiences exactly two weeks ago.

Angel sleeping on my bed filteredFirst I saw my grandson on Saturday and shortly after got a gazillion scrapbooking kits (where a gazillion equals six). The next day was Valentine’s Day my cat Angel’s 15th birthday which is obviously very important and required plenty of attention, yummy food, and her favourite stuffed catnip carrot. I didn’t get much done on the computer that day. And finally Monday rolled around and I decided to devote the day to scrapbooking. The kits were already downloaded and sorted into the right folders and albums (I’m just a little organized) and all I needed to do was save my pictures from Google to My Photos then I was good to go.

Except the mouse. just. stopped. Right there in the middle of the screen.

Okay, that was irritating. Obviously the battery must have died, the downside of having a wireless mouse. So I got a freshly charged battery and nothing. Tried Ctrl-Alt-Del and tabbed my way to the shut down menu then the computer restarted with a frozen mouse. Moved the dongle to several different ports and… nothing. I even pulled the second mouse out of the closet (it was a set of two) and that one didn’t work either. At this point I was getting worried and so I called Colin.

His first suggestion was to try remote desktop which, luckily he’d already installed on my computer so I had no problems added it to my phone. I must say that trying to repair a computer by controlling the cursor via a tiny phone screen and one finger ranks just above getting a root canal.

*thinks for a moment*

Marginally

I tried for hours, both with and without Colin, before giving up. I uninstalled that damn mouse so many times!!! Colin wished that I could try with a wired mouse but I didn’t have one and didn’t have any money to go buy one so that was out. His only solution was for me to buy an SSD drive and then he’d coach me, via video chat, on how to transfer all my files over and then format my hard drive. You can imagine my enthusiasm.

Then I remembered my friend has an older computer and, sure enough she had a wired mouse and it worked!!! So we traded mice because my mouse worked just fine on her laptop. And, because of anxiety, it took me two days before I attempted to finish downloading those pictures and over a week before I could bring myself to complete this post. But there hasn’t been a single hint of trouble from the computer since we traded mice and I (thankfully) haven’t needed to buy a new drive of any sort.

And I still don’t know who the Olympic poop flinger is although, if I had to play money, I’d place my bet on Smudge. Then, a couple of days before the flinging incident, I had to give Blackie Boo a bath. She thought I was trying my hardest to drown her which made bath time very enthusiastic with lots of extra bath toys in the water like the pot scrubbie and the dish soap and very nearly a small vase of artificial flowers. Poor kitty. I picked her up to put her on my bed and she started flailing like it was bath time round two. She seems over it now, hopefully, or well maybe I should keep checking my slippers before I wear them for just a little longer. Just in case.

Above: Angel on her birthday
Below: Angel’s birthday layout (because that’s not extra at all). It’s the first layout I made after the computer started working again.
 
Angel's 15th birthday

When the spiders sang…

TW/CW: Holy fuck racism!!!

Colin and Savannah campingWhen I was a little girl I had a friend who lived across the street from me. He was about my age and he had a bright green coat. He also claimed that the spiders in his front garden sang to him every morning. I tried to tell my Mom about him but she couldn’t figure out who I was talking about as there were a lot of kids on our street. I was frustrated because I knew I had a very easy way to describe him as he was quite black. But, while I was young, I also had eyes and ears and knew that describing someone by any colour other than white meant that they disappeared and only their colour remained and I didn’t want to do that. So I went with the second best description, his coat. It took a while to pin down her friend’s son as my friend with the green coat. Both my Mom and his got a bit of a chuckle that I apparently didn’t find his skin colour relevant enough to mention. They didn’t live there for very long and, after he moved, my sister and I went over one morning to listen for ourselves but the spiders never sang. Maybe he took them with him.

Obviously I was quite privileged as a young blue eyed, blonde haired girl in white suburbia and, even with him, I could count the number of BIPOC I knew on one hand growing up. Even so, I learned and realized that people are people. That we all have hopes and dreams… thoughts and fears. And that skin colour does not tell you what a person is like. Some people missed that memo. Some never even saw it go by.

I follow a page by Ally Henny and she posted yesterday about a woman named Sharon Lee Davies-Tight who is, hands down, the most batshit crazy racist person I’ve ever had the misfortune to read. If there’s an award for self entitlement and ignorance she’s up there on the podium smiling and waving, oblivious, to the crowd. Her shitty post that was shared said, and I quote, “All animals have the capacity to love, including black people – The Animal-Free Chef”. Because, of course, that five pounds of shit, triple dipped in crazy, is vegan. And I speak for almost the entire vegan community when I say we don’t want her, can someone (anyone) take her?

At first I told myself that I did not want to go down that rabbit hole and I went and did something else. But the rabbit hole stayed and the search bar is a thing that exists and holy hell!!! This woman starts talking about multi-ethnic people and how much more diverse and open minded they were than single ethnic people. At first I had no idea what the hell she was talking about but it soon became apparent that she considered white people to be multi ethnic and black to be single ethnic. Yes, there are multiple white ethnicities but Africa is not a monolith, there are many ethnicities there. Australia, New Zealand, and Tasmania have black aboriginal people and there are the people of the West Indies as well. Black people are far from being a single ethnicity.

She mentioned several times how black people don’t call the police, not because they’re worried about harassment and/or harm, but because of their own criminal involvement. That black people all call themselves the n-word in bars just in case there’s an undercover police officer. That white women call the police while black women scream and fight, the latter because they didn’t want to get the police involved and their criminal misdeeds uncovered. I don’t know where this woman’s lived but I’ve encountered plenty of white women who screamed louder than angry opera singers and a few who wouldn’t contact the police because of criminal issues. Like my daughter’s friend whose Mom had a grow op in the living room. The plants were lovely and green by the way, just not legal at the time. As for calling the police, as Colin pointed out, that’s an act of force in itself. That’s “I want to get you but I don’t want to get my hands dirty so I’ll let someone get you for me and they have a gun”. And that’s just plain shitty.

There were reams of posts and she had pages of external links listed but I couldn’t bring myself to read any farther so I just backed on out and wrote here instead. In bits because my brain can only handle so much vile at a time. If I was a kinder person… a more understanding person… I’d wish those singing spiders would rest under her window and sing her songs of empathy and humanity. As it is I just hope they crawl up her fucking nose and bite her!

Another spin around the sun…

oldI was brushing my teeth last night then could feel a wave of doom hovering over me. I snuggled Smudge, who purred and drooled all over my hand, read a good book, ate vegan ice cream, chatted with my Mom and Colin on the phone, and listened to quiet music. The wave stayed, crested and silent, and once in bed, I slowly slipped into an exhausted slumber only to wake again at midnight. The wave crashed as I got up, drowning me in terror barely before my feet hit the floor. This time breathing and quiet music were not going to cut it, not on their own. So I took some Ativan, listened to some tunes, and finally crashed. It wasn’t until morning that I realized today’s the first anniversary of me moving into this apartment.

Back in 2012 I picked out an apartment for Colin and I to live in. I fully figured that he’d need to stay living with me so I picked an apartment that seemed perfect for us. Two bedrooms, two balconies, lots of closets, two storage lockers (one en suite), gym, indoor and outdoor pool, nearby library, and lots of shopping. We had three grocery stores plus a Giant Tiger (with a good size grocery area) all within a 10 minute walk plus a Dollarama, Value Village, and three drug stores. It was convenient and, between the two of us, affordable. I just hadn’t factored in one thing. I couldn’t handle living with Colin.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Colin dearly. He’s an amazing person with great insights into a lot of topics but we often disagree (especially over politics). And I’m not interested in Reddit. I’m really not interested in hearing about the Men’s Rights Forums on Reddit. And I completely, absolutely, do not want to hear about their topic of the day at 3:30am. Colin knows he’s only supposed to wake me in case of emergency. Unfortunately he seems to thinks that big feelings are an emergency and will do anything, up to and including flicking on and off my lights and yelling at me, to keep me up to hear why he has big feelings. I have explained the difference between emotions and the apartment burning down more than once, he simply doesn’t see the difference. To him they’re both BIG. We also have completely different standards on clutter, where I prefer none and he prefers decidedly more. Which is why, when I was offered this apartment back in the beginning of 2019, I hesitated for a moment and then took it. The town was farther away from my family and I’d never set foot in it but the unit was subsidized and it would just be the cats and I. Saying “yes” felt awfully like jumping off a cliff but I still did it. And, with that, I changed our lives.

Moving here was such a huge change for me. Not only had I left Colin behind in a half empty apartment, I’d also left behind close friends and supportive groups. Our closest grocery store and Dollarama were a five minute walk away before; I could see Metro from our windows. Now they were between 20 minutes to a half hour away. We were supposed to have groups and activities start in my new building then covid hit a month later and everything got canceled. We had exactly one card night. Thankfully I became friends with my neighbour because the options for making friends were very small. And just as thankfully, groups reopened on Zoom so I could still see my old friends and discuss new topics. I even joined a zoom exercise group with my parents and began singing karaoke with friends via Facebook chat.

Getting used to the size of my apartment was another issue. I joke that it’s my tiny apartment but it really is just that. More than one person has described it as “a one bedroom but it’s kind of like a bachelor”. It’s open concept but has a separate bathroom and bedroom. I’m used to it now, and moving the kitchen table from in front of the hutch to right in the centre of the kitchen helped, but there have been several times the smallness of the apartment has triggered a panic attack. I’ve spent quite a bit of time this year buying relaxing decor. It wasn’t just out of some need to shop. Thankfully time and feeling soothed have made a difference. Every corner I look at holds something I love and the apartment has slowly become home.

Covid curtailed a lot of exploration too. My new town has quite an expansive old downtown with lots of small shops and little cafes. In pre-covid times my Mom and I planned on doing quite a bit of window shopping and ambling until we found a place to eat. Hard to do when everything’s closed. There’s a Thai restaurant I’ve been planning on ordering from for over a year now but they don’t do delivery and have fairly odd hours. Maybe this summer?

newAs for now, I’ve got an online grocery store to shop through, I’ve sorted out the bus system, I’ve found several nearby walking paths, I’ve got a dentist, doctor, and optometrist, and I’ve got three local Dollaramas and a Winners for happy shopping. Life is starting to settle and, thankfully, it’s settling well.

I have no idea what’s going to have happened by the time February 5, 2022 arrives but I hope I have some amazing things to write about and a whole lot less covid outside my door!

Today was socks…

money for blogToday, well, today was something all right. Today reminds me of the saying, “If every day is a gift then today was socks” and not the fun and funky ones either, just those horrid scratchy “sport socks” with ragged toe seams.

I guess things really started on Thursday when I found out that online grocery shopping (with home delivery) is finally a thing in my area. We’ve joined the 90’s!!! So I got online in my fuzzy slippers and cozy nightie and went grocery shopping. It was great! I found almost everything I needed, picked a delivery time on Saturday, and hit “submit”. It almost immediately showed up in my bank account as a pending order. Pending orders just seem to sit there until the order ships then they plop down to the actual balance. They don’t show up in the balance before then so I’m regularly calculating my “real” balance but that isn’t a hardship.

Saturday rolled around and so did my order. Everything arrived except for my vegan black garlic nut cheese, it got substituted for artichoke and fine herb nut cheese… and I got credited for it. I was all excited about my $10 credit. The new charge went through but my original pending charge was still there, just chilling and pending. I called the grocery store yesterday and was informed that charge had been cancelled and it takes between three to five business days to disappear. I didn’t like seeing it there but it wasn’t causing any problems. Right? Right???

Then came this morning. I was having a great day. I got all my chores done before breakfast. I even brought my handful of Valentine’s Day decorations up from storage and put them up. I sat down at the computer with my cinnamon toast and mug of hot chocolate while I chatted with Colin… then I opened my bank account.

$45 NSF charge

What??? I had only one thing coming out of my account currently and that was my rent and I had over $100 on top of my rent still in my account. How could it bounce with that much money padding it? Meanwhile all that money was accounted for so the $45 was literally money I didn’t have. Cue a quick goodbye to Colin and a 45-minute long hold for my bank. The rep I spoke to was terrific. It turned out that the pending charge was the issue. Even though it does not show up in my balance on my end, it shows up in my balance on their end. So while I really did have enough money in my account, I ended up “short” by $7. They credited back the NSF fee then I called my landlord to ask them to hold off on taking my rent out again until the pending charge is gone. I’m hoping that worked. My landlord is a big mental health organization so I have to call my care team then they call me back and then they have to message the housing department and wait for a response. I’m going with no news is good news.

So, there I am, anxious and tired with my mind worrying about money issues but not entirely sure where to land, and I decided my best bet was to get myself a bowl of chips and a book and curl up in my swing chair to read. Pour the chips, go to grab my tablet, and the doorbell rings on my phone. It was the drug store delivery person dropping off a prescription. Picture me with ??? above my head. I hadn’t ordered anything. Turns out my psychiatrist sent in a prescription for lorazepam yesterday, which is great, and they filled it, good, and immediately delivered it, okay. I get all my other prescriptions delivered so that makes sense. It costs $17. Wait. What? And it’s non-refundable once it leaves the store. And now you’ve got to be fucking kidding me! So I called and now the fee is postponed until the end of the month when I actually have money and they’re going to call me from now on if something costs money instead of automatically sending it.

Come to think of it, it’s likely a good thing I’ve got that lorazepam prescription now because after today I really could use a couple! Or maybe I’ll just make curry and console myself with curry and a brownie (not simultaneously).