Sleep

When I was unemployed, I got a lot of time to sleep as I had no appointments during the day (excepting perhaps interviews) and therefore didn't need to get up early.

Time to sleep does not mean that I actually go to sleep. Most of that time consisted of me staying awake in the middle of the night, or waking up at odd hours worrying about the finances.

Now that I'm gainfully employed (albeit under the standard probation clause), I don't have as much time to sleep. But I enjoy a full night's worth of sleep - I am normally in la-la land the moment my head craters the pillow.

I guess it all makes sense, logically. I do wonder sometimes if the length and quality of sleep is a window into the state of the soul. I'm content, nay, excited about the opportunities I have currently - a big change from the nail-biting stress that weighed me down not a month ago.

I'm starting to like sleep. Maybe I'm getting older or perhaps I'm just calmer. Meh, this is making my head hurt so I'm heading off to bed. Good night!

From darkness into blazing light

I have just completed my first week of employment. It's great getting back into the swing of things after over a month of being at home or out interviewing.

On the flip side, I have definitively confirmed that yes, I'm a workaholic. I've gone from interviewing (itself a surprisingly exhausting stage) over to working in an office again. I'm tired, nay, exhausted but I'm *happy*.

I have to go check my work e-mail. More later. :)

Traditions

My sis and the kids presented me with a Waterman Carene fountain pen this morning. I start my new job tomorrow, a job that is a first for me in quite a number of ways. This is not the first time I have stepped into a managerial role but it's the first where I have family to share it with. Yes, I am feeling like the most fortunate gal alive right now! Thank you, dearest sis and the kids for this.

Giving someone you love and/or respect a new pen upon them ascending to a notable job or promotion is a tradition that is mostly lost these days. It's been a tradition that I've seen in my family and something I'm keeping alive for the next generation. If I'm not mistaken, I'm the first woman in my family to ever make it this far in the corporate world, ironically because I'm not saddled with the burden of cultural imperative given how far away I am from the rest of my birth family! I don't know from whence this tradition came from but if I had to guess, it probably stems from the old age-of-sail era, when a naval officer made senior command rank and was given a new (far better quality) sword to commemorate the ascension. Over time, captains of warships became captains of industry as peace broke out and I imagine the tradition shifted from swords to pens then - an apt transition if you ask me, both sharp, pointed weapons equally capable of saving and destroying lives.

Traditions are important, doubly so in this modern era where the things that make us civilized have become subsumed by the cult of the individual. I'm not saying that all traditions are good - there are some that are just plain wrong and should be condemned as the ignorant excesses of a bygone benighted age. We are people of reason, and reason should prevail as with all things.

Why is the gifting of a pen important? It's the same way that an officer's sword represents his honour - remember that in a court martial, the verdict is displayed by the defendant's sword. If it's pointing towards him, he's been found guilty, accused by his honour. Also remember that when judgment is carried out, the guilty officer's sword is snapped in half.

No, the job I'm going into doesn't have any of the mortal severity that naval officers at that time had. Not even close. I am, at best, a middle manager now and while I would like to slide into delusions of grandeur, the worst I can do is maybe make the stock drop a few cents by my idiocy. After over a month of unemployment, I'm eager to return to the corporate world and strive towards the greater glory of my company. Yes, I'm a dinosaur in that respect but I simply cannot work for a company I do not believe in.

I'm looking at my pen, feeling its weight, admiring the sharp clean lines tipped by a sharp clean nib. There's a scratch in the metal down one end of the nib and in a previous life, that would have bothered me to no end and spoilt my enjoyment. These days, the imperfection doesn't mar my appreciation of it - I no longer see it as a scratch but as a character flaw...and who amongst us doesn't have any? One more uniqueness in my life.

In the end, a pen is merely a pen and that's not the point. The point is that my sis and her kids have chosen to honour my traditions and it is that love which I have to be worthy of.

Oy, I'm in trouble now. :)

Hunger

I had a few errands to run in the downtown core this morning so I stopped to grab a quick breakfast at one of the multinational fast-food megachains. Completely by accident, I recently discovered that their breakfast burrito contained an egg-product that tastes disturbingly more like egg than real egg. I'm not sure how they do that and I definitely don't want to know how. I do like the taste so I indulge sparingly.

I was reasonably happy, calm and at peace this morning instead of my usual rush-rush-rush mode so I sat down with my order and did a bit of people-watching. I'd been to this particular fast food outlet before but I guess I must have been preoccupied previously because I noticed something I had never noticed before: the people there were eating but all of them appeared miserable. They eat but they still look empty inside, their hunger unassuaged.

Maybe I'm imagining it but there's a terrible look of despair in their downcast eyes as they munch on cheap, low-grade food. Yes, we don't have as much hunger in Canada as other places in the world does but are fast-food joints the answer? The food they serve is tasty but absolutely terrible to your health. We have a serious obesity problem on our continent; the fast-food companies are not entirely to blame but they are certainly instrumental and enablers to our obssity epidemic. I understand that the industry has a term for folks who frequent fast-food joints: they are called Heavy Users, which at least to me, brings to mind drug usage. That said, they not all to blame: the diners had a choice not to eat there.

Or do they?

If you're strapped for cash, what will you do: go hungry (non-viable long term), eat cheaply but poorly or eat well but deplete your dwindling funds? When you can have a lunch for $2, would you do that or go to the local grocery chain to get something healthy? Remember, the healthier it is, the more expensive it will be - that is the twisted logic in our industrial world today.

But the despair. The silence, which was only broken by the shrill punctuation of the fast-food joint workers calling out orders. Everyone looking down at their food, not talking even to the person they're eating with.

Yes, I know, I'm eating there so what right do I have to comment and judge? Comment yes, judge no - I don't know the stories of the folks there. But it is non-trivial to me that everyone's there sitting and munching quietly with an aura of gloom. Maybe they're sleepy? Maybe it's too early in the morning? Perhaps.

Why am I affected? I'm not sure I know. It's just depressing to see that such a joyless place exists. Colourless diners in a colourful diner, filling their mouths in all-consuming silence.

Roots

I'm not from Canada originally. Yep, I'm a zeroth-generation Canadian! I have been extraordinarily fortunate to have family here in Canada; my sis, the kids and the close friends I consider family are more than I deserve.

I'm not having a very good day today, mostly because my passport application just got hung up at the local office. It's nothing major in the grand scheme of things and I'm sure it'll all get sorted out eventually. Having said that, I was queued up for an ungodly long time trying to get in and subjected to the rather labyrinthine governmental regulations that eventually decreed that no, despite my best efforts my documents were not in order therefore so sorry, but they cannot grant me another passport. So, I called the appropriate folks who are supposed to send me another copy of the offending document, this time with the proper phrasing and whatnot. This is a royal pain in the tush because I had explicitly asked the provincial rep in question if the document I had was the right one, and he said yes. Today, I learnt from his assistant that he was fully aware that the version I had won't pass muster but told me to go ahead anyway. If a corrected document isn't forthcoming posthaste, I shall be asking my solicitor to have a little chat with the provincial official. I hate doing that, not just because of the cost but because having a lawyer calling you about your transgressions tends to ruin both your day and night. However, I will do what I need to do and I do hope things will be resolved on their own without conflict.

The passport office folks were great - I am amazed and impressed at their understanding and compassion for a rather distraught version of me, which scares small children at the best of times. Their hands were tied and I understand that - they even went to the trouble of calling Ottawa for a senior case officer to see if the documental requirement could be waived. Alas the answer was no, and that was that. However, I understand that the senior case officer and the legal department is now aware of my file and I have no idea if that's good or bad. I've been a good little quiet inoffensive citizen, so I'm assuming I'm okay since I have nothing to hide. Still...not having a good day.

All this has made me rather melancholy and as my mind drifts as it is wont to under stress of this sort, I wondered what life would have been if my Dad hadn't sent me overseas. Did I miss much staying in Canada? Would I have done better had I returned to my birth country after finishing my studies? I don't think so. I'd have returned and been the dutiful child, producing heirs and whatnot. I love children but I would to be remembered more than just for producing children.

In any large old clan, family politics are inevitable. Being in Canada means I don't really matter to them, a fact both convenient and distressing. Unlike most of my family, I'm not all that interested in inheriting governance of that pit of vipers I call my uncles, aunts, cousins, nephews and nieces. Instead, here I am in Canada about to embark on a new career as a manager, inheriting product governance of that peculiar herd of contentious cats called software developers! There is symmetry here and I'm sure humour as well. Not sure I'm up to exploring that today though.

I love Canada. I gained my citizenship years ago and it still fills me with wonder. I still stand up whenever "O Canada" is playing. I don't go out of my way to proclaim that I'm Canadian but if I'm asked, I will proudly state that I am. When I was living in the US, one of the things I truly missed was Tim Horton's coffee, as cliched as it may be. I love our multicoloured currency and odd two-part coins. I love the fact that as a nation, we have rarely shirked from doing what is needed but always modest enough to keep our mouths shut when we're done.

Yes, I have left behind almost my entire family back in my birth country...but I love the new one here with all my heart. I am glad that my sister's children will grow up here, where there are better and fairer opportunities. Ultimately that is what counts, since *they* are the future and I am now the past. It's strange to go from budding leaf to anchoring root in the family tree in just a few decades. But...it is good soil that I am setting the family roots in - rich, earthy, nourishing, good, honest soil. The family shall continue here in this land that I call home as did many others before me have. I hope that we shall make Canada proud. But quietly, for we are Canadian. :)


UPDATE: The provincial official has faxed me the corrected document today. I understand his entire staff scrambled to get it ready so fast. A part of me feels guilty for causing all this work. Then I remember that, oh wait, *he's* the one who assured me *twice* that the original document was sufficient. I don't feel so guilty about him anymore but I still feel bad that his staff had to scramble. :(

Black gold

Both my sis and I have been feeling under the weather a lot lately. She works insane hours so that's understandable. Her solution (recommended by a friend) was to take multivitamins, B-complex in particular. I don't know if it works but she swears by it and to be honest, she does seem to have more energy since she started taking those horsepills.

Me, I hate pills. With a passion. I have a very strong gag reflex and am wary of pills of any kind. But I'm running rather ragged these days and it seems like B-complex is partly the answer. So, what do I do?

Simple: Marmite - one of the richest dietary sources of B-complex vitamins out there.

Well, what can I say? I grew up in a former British colony and therefore had a high percentage of English staples in my diet. I grew up with it. I love it. One of the first things I sought after when I arrived in Canada was a distinctive jar of that savoury black gold. Marmite isn't just a food, it's an institution! Like the type my sis and the kids seem to think I belong in as they watch with horror on their faces whilst I devour Marmite on toast.

Next, Marmite in cooking! I wonder if Amazon has Marmite cookbooks? Hmm, what's that, sister dearest? Run for the hills? Pardon?

Inertia

Yay! I'm done my term project for my course! Of course, it's well past bedtime over here so why am I blogging? Well, I've been laying off the coffee for quite a while and have gotten down to just *gasp* ONE cup a day.

Today/yesterday/the day before/whatever, I drank about 4-5 cups. My brain is fried, I'm throughly sick and enchanted by exoplanets at the same time and my body tells me everything's A-OK and I should be out eating breakfast.

Oh boy, tomorrow/today/whatever is going to be fun. Have to love that caffeine-inertia.

On the bright side, now that I've finished my term project, I have nothing to do! Yay! Oh wait, I still have to (among other things):
- relearn PowerPoint
- swot up on Agile methodologies
- go shopping for work clothes appropriate to new job
- get a new passport (new job requires travel)
- fix up my sister's website
- review and revise the kids' lunch diet
- resume volunteer work with scientific organizations

Hmm, is it too late to run away from home? Oh wait, I don't have a valid passport anymore so I can't even do that. *sigh*

Y'know, all in all I'm pretty happy or at least content. I think I'd go positively batty if I had nothing to do, so having life-inertia isn't half bad after all.

On an unrelated note, I used to be exactly like that. Nowadays, not so much. Yes, I'm stunned too. :)

Universal connection

I am an amateur astronomer. Over the years I have accumulated more telescopes and other astronomy-related equipment than you can shake a stick at. I'm awfully tempted to donate some of it to the local schools, which is I will probably do soon.

Out of all my telescopes, my primary instrument is a research-grade catadioptric telescope on a GPS-capable motorized guiding mount. Looking around the house, it's probably the most expensive piece of equipment around. It also very heavy - I've been growing progressively weaker since I started my treatment for my Condition. When I bought it, I could lift it by myself. Now, I can't. Fortunately, there are usually some very kind gentlemen in my local astronomy club who'd help me get it setup and taken down.

Having a self-guiding motorized mount that auto-calibrates using GPS is very handy. I can put my CCD on the scope and take pretty pictures. Eventually, I may buy a photometer for it to do so photometric measurements. It's handy - I don't have to continually bump it to keep objects in view at high magnification. I also don't need to find it - just scroll down to the thing I want to see and it auto-slews to it.

It's useful. It's handy. But it all seems like cheating somehow.

I started astronomy, really started astronomy down in California with a handy 8" Dobsonian. I learnt the skies by starhopping, as did many generations of astronomers before. There is a certain satisfaction in navigating the bejewelled vaults of heaven to find the glittering object older than Earth itself nicely centered in your eyepiece. It's a feeling of accomplishment hard to describe. I think that perhaps commercial pilots might understand, going from flying jetliners on autopilot to the sheer joy of hand-flying a nimble small plane.

There is also the camaraderie amongst amateur astronomers. The rituals of setting up one's scope near but not too near each other. The quiet enjoyment of waiting for night to fall and our scopes to cool. The anticipation that comes from seeing the first star in the darkening sky. The fade from recognizing each other by visual means over to completely audible sounds. The sharing of communial knowledge of the stars, one of the last oral traditions still in effect as each generation of astronomers teaches the next one where the beautiful things are. The smallness and insignificance of our daily troubles when put in perspective of gazing up into the night sky and seeing the Milky Way encircle the heavens like a road of stars. The awe and wonder of seeing objects in the eyepiece whose photons were already whizzing through the ether for countless ages before our own Sun was even formed.

How can you experience all that and not feel connected?

Alas, professional astronomers (as opposed to amateur astronomers) often don't know the night sky. They have computers and technicians to slew their instruments for them. Some of them never even bother going to the observatory - they can just get their electronic data sent to them.

I intend to shift over from my present industry over to astronomy/astrophysics sometime in the next decade or so. I hope I never become so intellectually cold as to forget what it means to be an astronomer, amateur or otherwise.

Stepping stones in the Long Dark

I am currently writing my term project for my course on SETI. In the course of my research, I'm plowing through old articles and research papers when I came across the fact that we imaged an extrasolar planet (i.e. a planet around another sun not our own) back in 2004. There's a nice understandable article with nifty pictures here.

Every now and then, I'm amazed by the march of scientific progress and the modern miracles we take for granted. I mean, we went from our first tentative steps towards powered flight at Kitty Hawk to picking up geological samples off our Moon in less than a century! Being a space aficionado (my sis prefers to use the alternate term of "nut") myself, I have a more in-depth knowledge of what challenges it took for the Americans to get a person to the Moon safely. What is even more astounding to me is that we, humankind, saw that as a species-wide achievement. All this in the depths of the Cold War no less! Truly, there is hope for us yet.

Now, we can take photos of other planets around other stars. Soon, assuming we don't return to another Dark Ages brought about by anti-science theocrats, we'll be sending people to these planets too. We will leave this cradle of humanity called Earth, people. Partly because the human spirit cannot be contained within just one planet. Partly because we're curious. Mostly because if we don't, our species will be stillborn and our cradle will be our coffin.

One of my kids wants to be the first man on Mars. I don't know when I can shift careers into astrophysics and I don't know if it will help. But I owe it to him to try! It is our greatest endeavour, one that will determine whether we last through the ages or if we are but a cosmic blip, here for but an unnoticeable moment and disappearing without a ripple. I am under no delusions of grandeur, that the contributions of a single woman of science will matter much in this era of inhuman supercomputers. But I intend to do my part, for whatever it's worth because when the day comes and we have someone landing on Mars, it is my ardent hope that we, all of humankind, will celebrate that as an achievement for all of us and not of just one nation.

Ultimately, in the Long Dark of space, we are one family living in the home that is Earth.

Mortality

A double post today. Lucky you, you who are bored enough to come here. :)

Around two weeks ago, I received news that a teenager with the same Condition as I had had died. His Condition was caught very early and treatment seemed to be going well. Suddenly, he just...passed on. I'm not going to repeat the details here out of respect for his family but it was very sudden and shocking.

In this year alone, I have seen no less than 8 people with my Condition whom I know in one way or another pass on for various reasons, none of them natural causes. Counting my support groupss, I'd guess that cumulatively, we're talking about 20-30+ folks dying this year. Given that this Condition is rare, it means that the survivability rate is dropping this year as 20-30 people is a *huge* chunk of our community.

This makes me sad. I'd say that even though my symptoms intensified slower than others, I have been fortunate to retain that which I still have. I know that others have not been so fortunate and I try my best to help them where I can.

But...this young man had every advantage too, more than I have. He was farther along in his treatment and seemed to be responding better too. But he is no longer with us.

It took me a while to come to terms with this. I'm not sure I totally grok my feelings about this yet. I'm certainly scared and demoralized. I'm not sure if all of this is going to be for naught in the end and if I will just end up being yet another statistic. Given that I very nearly was a couple of years ago, this is something that I am actively trying to prevent, for whatever good it does. However, I have reconfirmed that the treatment path I'm on is the right one and that I should continue. In this, I have the full support of my family, for which I am thankful for - family should never be taken for granted.

Greasy and wet

I caught the fountain pen bug a couple of years back. Up until then, I was firmly in the ballpoint camp. They're cheap, abundant and if you lose them, who cares? Besides, most of my experience with fountain pens have been with Hero pens, which had serious flow problems if you didn't know how to use them properly.

A couple of years back, I decided to start journaling when I ran headalong into my Condition. I needed to let the fear, the frustration and the sheer helpless out somehow. My family wasn't really in the loop as they were struggling with it as well. I found that journaling on cheap notebooks using ballpoints were...unsatisfactory. So began my love affair with fountain pens and Moleskine journals.

Yesterday, I completed the restocking of some stationery supplies I had wanted to replenish but couldn't due to the whole "don't have an income" thing. In that process, I picked up the Fisher Space Bullet Pen in matte black. It's astonishingly tiny - I have small hands but I could palm this pen easily. It's really nicely weighted and obviously made well; there were beautifully machined metal parts all the way around, including a gasket ring to keep water out.

I love well-designed creations and this definitely falls under that category. It's a relic of a time long past, harkening from the era of tin toys and transatlantic zeppelins, when things were made to last. I miss that quality in this era when things are made "just good enough" or less. I guess that's partly why I'm a perfectionist - it would be hypocritical for me to do any less.

Why the Fisher? I tend to wake up in the middle of the night a lot. Actually, I tend to dream about my problems of the day a lot and occasionally, I solve some of these problems in my dreams. I have a pretty good memory, so most of it tends to stick until I wake up and get to work but the recent stress has eroded my capacity to remember details somewhat. So, I'm keeping a notepad and the Fisher by my bed in case I have epiphanies, like how they get the caramel into the Caramilk bar.

The key selling point of the Fisher pens are their pressurized ink cartridges. Apparently, they can write under any conditions including inverted, underwater and on greasy surfaces. I bought it so I can write inverted while lying on my bed. I'm not sure if I'll ever need to write underwater and on grease. If I did, I suspect my message would be along the lines of "Help! I've fallen into some greasy water and I can't get up! Glub!" - the usefulness of writing such a message would be dubious at best but it's nice to know I can write that if I chose.

Illiteracy

I just spent the last little while trying to find a good letter-writing pad. I have regrettably failed - no one seems to sell good pads of paper anymore, other than the mass-produced junk you find at Office Depot. This makes me sad.

I have fond memories of snooping into my Dad's desk drawers, something I wasn't supposed to do. I have vivid mental images of his old bottle of Quink, his pads of onionskin paper, envelopes and sealing wax. No actual expensive fountain pens or his personal seal though - he knew what sort of inquisitive brat I was. Back then, everyone wrote letters. Not postcards - letters.

These days, most people e-mail or text message via phone or instant messaging clients. I do too and it's a convenience of the modern world.

But...there is a sensual pleasure to writing letters. The crispness and distinctive smell of good paper. The fluidity of ink as you refill your fountain pen. The paper thirstily drinks the ink from the pen as you scribe your wishes, greetings, fears and hope to your friends and family. Letter writing is not just about writing letters. It is about putting a part of you in the message. Unlike the sterility of electrons whizzing down wires at unimaginable speeds, when I receive a handwritten letter from someone, I know that s/he has touched it and has taken the time to write it themselves.

*sigh*

I did find a tiny block of good paper. Not foolscap-sized but it'll do. Call me quirky, but I believe in taking the time to write to my friends myself. A little piece of personality encoded in the message. Sometimes, that's nice to have.

Silence

For all of my life, I've always had a particular song that I draw inspiration from when times are tough. In fact, my life can be divided into periods, each with a particular song. Sometimes it's a classical piece, other times it could be a little pop ditty. It's kind of like the bagpipe music or drums for troops when they go to war; it stirs the blood and provides encouragement.

During the last month or so when I was unemployed, there was just silence in my head. No song, nothing. It's the first time it's ever happened. I'm not sure what it means quite yet and I'm not sure if it's permanent. Whatever it is, it's different. I guess I'll just have to see what develops, if anything.

I've also realized something over the last month as well. There are some well-known accounts of folks with my Condition but all of them stop shortly after a particular point in their treatment. It's like as if they got Cured and Lived Happily Ever After.

This is, of course, patently false.

A few months back, I considered and decided against starting up another blog that focused on my experiences and coping mechanisms for my Condition, parallel to this one. I've reconsidered it and will be starting it up soon. It's true that once you've reached a certain point in the treatment, things settle down. However, things are subtly different...and that was what kept tripping me up over the last month. This is not a blog for my friends and family and most of you have indicated you're not interested anyway, which is perfectly fine. It's geared towards helping other folks with my Condition learn how to cope mid-treatment. I intend to break the silence on what happens afterwards, in the hope that it will provide some guidance to others in my community.

Why am I mentioning it here? Well...the Sanity Defence is going to go into hiatus for a bit while I ramp up on the other blog. I'll still be posting here but nowhere near as often as before. Don't worry, you'll still get a decent picture of what's happening. :)

Transitions and Blessings

Looks like this year is a year of changes! I've been reviewing my job expectations as set out in the employment contract and have been doing some research and learning to get up to speed.

I'm beefing up on my PowerPoint and MS Project skills. Whee. After nearly two decades in the industry, I can't believe that I'm finally listing PowerPoint and MS Project in the Skills section of my resume. And that over time, things like C++ and OOP will fall by the wayside to be replaced by PMP and PgMP certifications. Eeep. On the plus side, it looks like all my hard-earned Dale Carnegie Communication coursework is going to come in handy now.*

One of the things that really sunk in today is that I will not be coding in my new job. This...is disturbing on many levels. I've been a coder all my career, even during the times when I was managing other people. To be in a role where writing code is not my primary responsibility is a major shift for me.

Yes, it looks like I've now truly given in to the Dark Side when I'm prevented from touching the code.

It does look like an excellent company though, with a good atmosphere and extremely bright folks. I talked with the dev team and they're a very bright bunch. Far brighter than I am - I guess that's why I'm managing them. :) All in all, I'm very excited and honoured to be a part of their team. I don't blog about my workplace but I figured praise is okay!

My mental state switching from "looking for jobs" to "between jobs waiting to start" is quite noticeable. For one thing, I'm completely and utterly exhausted today. I feel like a puppet with her strings cut. I think the stress and worry of the past month has finally caught up with me, now that I've got a job and can relax a bit. I'm excited but horribly tired. Lying in bed alternating between sleep and relearning Agile SCRUM principles isn't a bad way to spend one's day.

Lots to learn, less than a month to get up to speed. This is definitely a year of transitions. But...I'm happy and so is my sis and kids - this is also a year of blessings. Family is ultimately what matters, innit?

*Semi-private sidenote to GH and JG: if I ever end up sounding like AB, please give me a good kick to the head. This is very concerning to me! ;)