I'm Looking Through You

I'm looking through you,
where did you go?
I thought I knew you,
what did I know?

You don't look different,
but you have changed
I'm looking through you,
you're not the same.

Your lips are moving,
I cannot hear
Your voice is soothing,
but the words aren't clear.

You don't sound different,
I've learned the game.
I'm looking through you,
you're not the same.

Why, tell me why,
did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit
of disappearing overnight

You're thinking of me,
the same old way
You were above me,
but not today.

The only difference
is you're down there
I'm looking through you,
and you're nowhere.

Why, tell me why,
did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit
of disappearing overnight.

1965 Lennon/McCartney

Dashing through the... water?

Mondays are epically crappy enough, but when you combine them with no heat in your office on a day with temperatures nearing -40°C, it doesn't really entice you to be at your best.

By Tuesday morning I had woke up with what felt like a really bad chest infection so I called in sick and opted to lay in bed and moan to myself. A visit to the doctors resulted in her telling me what she normally does -- stop smoking so much in the blistering cold.

Thankfully because I called in sick, I missed what eventually turned out to be an even cooler day. Both boilers in the office broke down and left the ambient temperature in the office at around 6°C. For those unaware, most household refrigerators run at between 4-5°C.

It should have been no surprise to us when we walked in the doors on Wednesday morning to discover pools of water absolutely everywhere. A pipe had burst and left well over half the office under water, so like a bunch of refugees we grabbed what we could and tramped over to the hospital where they stuck us wherever they had room.

Since most of my job entails me to be in the office filing and generally organizing things, I am feeling particularly displaced. It means I have a lot of time to write long, pointless, rambling letters to my nearest and dearest (watch your mailboxes!), wander around looking for messages to deliver and generally to feel useless.

With all my free time I look forward to 'coffee breaks' even more, which is obviously contrary to Tuesday's doctor's orders and makes me feel especially awkward when I have to go stand on the sidewalk in front of the hospital and be leered at by old men driving their Crown Vics around town.

I cannot wait to be back at my desk in my own office.

The Death Knell of the Postage Era

Every New Year we make our resolutions, nurse our hangovers, bemoan all the things we meant to do in the year prior (but never got around to), but as of late we have a new tradition -- many of us go stock up on stamps.

Not because we are all pictures of ettiquette who feel the need to write endearing thank you notes to everyone for their thoughtful gifts and invitations, but because every year as of late, our wonderfully unreliable mail service provider -- the bumbling Canada Post -- feels the need to raise the price of a postage stamp by a few MORE cents.

In fact, at the beginning of this year Canada Post even scrapped the idea of selling postage stamps with denominations on them simply because they were changing their prices every single year, which made it necessary for them to print large numbers of the extraneous 1 cent stamp to make up the difference.

By January 11, 2010, the price of stamps will have gone up 11 cents per stamp in 10 years. Granted that 11 cents isn't much if you're just after a single stamp, but these things do add up.

Combine this with my frustration that it literally costs less for me to ship something to France, than it does for me to ship something across my own province and this fun Crown Corporation ONCE AGAIN ranks high in my shit list.

Oh, Canada Post -- From anywhere, to anyone -- for a price.

*DISCLAIMER*

This rant is not against all those front-line Canada Post employees who genuinely do give a crap -- like the lady who took the time to find my misplaced parcel from New Jersey today despite me not having a tracking number or parcel card. My uncle is a retired mail carrier and I know that for every bad apple there are several good ones. Besides, let's not delude ourselves that they have even a modicum of control over their employer and it's policies.

I've been a corporate drone and I know the score.

And then there are the bad apples -- like the mailman who felt the need to cram every single bit of my mail (including mail order DVDs and paperback novels) in my tiny apartment sized box, but left me a handy dandy parcel card for the manila envelope full of PeTA propaganda that was clearly marked "Addressed Admail". Or the person who botched up my birthday delivery years ago -- how a parcel sent from High Level, AB to Edmonton, AB ended up in St. Albert, AB after a month is beyond my comprehension, but it happened.