It's Not Rocket Science But It Passes The Time

There are tasks which are complicated and interesting, like assembling the Large Hadron Collider, or a turkey dinner. 

Some tasks are complicated and boring. Answering phones for Canada Post, hoping that someday every woman in Canada gains a sense of perspective and a hobby, is both really complicated and desperately boring. 

Albeit occasionally entertaining. I'm looking at you, Really Important Sandals.

Simple tasks can be boring too, like cataloguing all the screws in the garage by elicited emotional response, or mowing the lawn.  

My favourite though, my favourite tasks are those moments when simplicity and fascination melt together and I spend an entire autumn afternoon searching for the most perfect apple on the tree. 

Is today that day? 

So Fired

Things Said to Me By Actual Canadians, My Reactions to Which

 Are Eventually Going To Get Me Fired 

1. Where's my package?
2. Do you know where my package is?
3. I'm really worried about my package.
4. I've been watching my package move but it seems to have stopped.
5. I'm concerned about how my package was handled.
6. Am I the only one who cares about my package?
7. Who do I speak to about getting my hands on my brother's package?
8. Thank you for handling my package.
9. My package is leaking fluids.
10. If I send you a picture of my package, can you tell me if you think it looks normal?

This has been an episode of Package Handler

 and Professional Platitude Provider:

Apologize, validate, apologize authentically again, thank with apology, offer a fourth,

 even more genuine apology and close with a final thanks and one last apology

 which supersedes all previous apologies in it's sincerity.

Good Vibrations

I am not dancing with the black dog, or experiencing a darker shade of blue. I certainly don't have the vapours or hysteria, although the original "cure" for that one is...intriguing.

I am depressed. Was depressed. Will have been depressed, once I'm finished being depressed at this time.

This is not a brave declaration, really. It doesn't feel brave, I mean.

Mind you, smiling every day for the past 6 years has felt a bit like bravery. Actually it felt a lot like lying, but also a little like bravery.

Mostly like lying, though, to be honest.

And I got really good at it. I even started to believe that maybe I wasn't numb all the time because, look, see? I'm smiling. All the time.  

It's a commonly held belief that Humans are the only animals that bare their teeth as a sign of happiness or a gesture of good will and welcome. I suppose that might be true, although it doesn't fully explain sharks or salesmen. For me, a smile is simply something I put on every day like shoes or a jacket. It is a part of any outfit I call Dealing With The Public, so I wore it. 

I don't really like it, though.

And why DO I have to wear it, every damn day? Anyone who goes around smiling all the time, no matter what goes on in their life, is either a lair or a moron. 

And we've already established which one of those I am.

Depression, as they say, is no laughing matter. I don't know about that, because I do love a laugh. 

And historically and medically justified reasons for a stock pile of D-cell batteries.