I have been at this job for 23 months. My initial feelings of guilt over being incompetent have faded and given way to guilt over slacking off because I'm so competent that my work doesn't take a full day. Grass is always etc. Anyway, I'm realizing that there is a lot about this job that I do almost subconsciously. I'm pretty sure I ran all the reports this morning, in fact looking over I can see them on boss's chair, but I don't remember doing it particularly. Someone is printing on the printer behind me and every time I hear the noise I jump up and reach for the printout. And then sit down because it's not mine, but for two years I was the only one using the printer. Maybe it's because after two years I'm still not used to this shift, and I've never been all that awake before 10, so it's all either learn to do it in your sleep or nothing.

Today however, I am quite awake. I've had my huge cup of coffee. I have a new coffee maker. I finally gave up on the second-hand espresso machine that as far as I can tell is actually a spray-boiling-water-on-yam machine. Was. I left it in the garbage room with a note "works fine! free to good home!" (felt a little guilty about that one, but then people who rescue skeevy appliances from the garbage room should have a few grains of salt on hand.) and someone took it within the hour. So now it's a spray-boiling-water-on-one-of-my-neighbours machine. Or maybe even an espresso machine if they're more appliancecticly inclined than I. Or whatever the term would be.

So anyhow, I went to london drugs and got the easiest looking wee-est coffee maker I could find. This one is, I swear, "now available in MORON!" flavour. There's one button, and it brews straight in to a travel cup. Heh. I managed to spray coffee in my hair the first use, but god knows I sometimes have trouble operating a SPOON, let alone electrical appliances, so I feel that's my special talent rather than a design failure. For now I still need to pour the coffee out of the travel mug in to a big frickin' bowl so I can add an equal amount of milk and a huge gob of caramel. I'll get some cream today, though, and maybe then I'll be able to fit all my wussy adulteration in the actual mug. (Oh, how well now I understand the sad complaint of my katimavik group mate when we bought him skim milk instead of cream for his coffee. Skim milk does not fucking cut it.)

Everyone is so happy for me about my new coffee habit, it's silly. "Congratulations on your new lifestyle addiction!" "Welcome to the club!" "Hahaha, she's one of us now." It's kind of creepy, like coffee is actually the secret badge of scientology or something. Boy's mum just said "Oh yam. It's a long road." But she was smiling. It's kind of like the universal brotherhood of smokers - the crankiest cranks I know will bum cigarettes from, give cigarettes to, and express sympathy to perfect strangers when it becomes clear they both smoke. Except for the whole "..and they're both going to die of lung freaking cancer" part, it's almost kind of cool. I think we need more random bonds like that, more reasons to feel kinship with strangers. Only not so much with the drugs. Oh well. Coffee is a fairly harmless dysfunction.

A tree spat at me today. I have sap in my hair. Wah. At least it's not bird poo, I guess, especially since my first reaction was to reach up and touch it to see if it was bird poo. I don't know why I do this; if it IS bird poo, do I want it on my hands? Fortunately it's usually water. Having a bird crap on your head is supposed to be good luck, but I think that's just to make the poor bastards feel better. It happened to me once years ago, and I didn't feel that lucky, I tell you what.

I feel like singing all day long. At the choir deal I was doing last week, the director was talking about how he wants to start a subversive singing movement. You know, he says, how you're walking down the street humming, and when someone comes close you stop until they've gone by? Next time keep humming. Or hum louder. Or sing. Sing all day long. There's a guy in town who sings lusty operatic arias everywhere he goes. Everyone has seen him and everyone loves this guy. He doesn't give a shit, he just loves opera. That's pretty cool.

I've had my share of singing this weekend and it just makes me want to sing more. It's a very wavering restraint from busting out with SHEEEEP SHEEEEEEP DON'T YOU KNOW THE WAYYYYYY right now. A wavering restraint mostly brought on by how senior management is having a conference ten feet away, heh.

I saw Leah Abramson again and she still rocks fucking out. I saw a melodion for the first time. A melodion is like the crazy guts of an accordion - a little keyboard and a tube and a mouthpiece you blow in to. It's super. She was playing with Jordan McKenzie, a busker from out of town, who was awesome. He sang about velcro shoes, satan selling plastic diamonds, and he rhymes "summer vacation" with "pink carnations" AND he played one of my dorky mining songs!!! I heart a man who plays dorky mining songs.

And I got to play a lot of dorky mining songs this weekend. I got in my usual sunday night jam (but alas! half the family band has flown away back east for two weeks.), and also got to jam with a bunch of friends the night before. Every song needs an accordion, I dare a man to tell me that's not true.

Oh it's dark aaaaaas a dungeon, dammmmmmpp as the dewwwwww! Apparently I'm the only one on their tour who knew that song other than a crusty old man in the interior. A condition to which I aspire, you know.

Well sir. That's enough of the lame minutiae of my life for now.