I'm pissed off. Quite. Below is a letter I emailed to a few of the editors at the Edmonton Journal this morning...

Good morning, Journal staff

I love getting the Journal on weekends. There is always quite a lot to read, and there’s no better way to spend a quiet morning than reading the paper and sipping coffee. This morning, however, my paper has greatly disappointed me.

As it so often is, my paper was delivered outside my apartment door, upside down. I began to skim stories as I was picking it up, and almost immediately had to throw it down again. While I won’t be melodramatic and claim that you have RUINED the final Harry Potter book for me, I was certainly less than impressed with your decision to print a spoiler on the front page of your newspaper.

I, like, many other people, value my sleep and decided to have the book delivered to my apartment. I pre-ordered from an online website for home delivery (and it’s a good thing I did – I’ve ended up being sick the last few days, and a trip to a bookstore would not be high on my priority list at the moment). It’s now 8:58 a.m. Harry Potter has been out for nearly 9 hours. I still do not have it in my hands. And while I’m a fan of the series, knowing that I will get it within the next few hours is enough – I did not need to have it in my paws at midnight.

I was, therefore, unfortunately shocked and disappointed with my door-opening, paper-fetching experience this morning. What about those individuals like me who DON’T have the book yet? How many of those casually picked up their upside-down newspapers this morning and were blasted in the face with the plot outline of a book they hadn’t read and didn’t yet want to know? Could you not have kept the spoiler even on the second page? On the first page of the second section? Anything other than glaring in my face when I perfectly innocently picked up my paper this morning. Sure, there was a little warning at the top of the article – not much good when you pick up your paper upside down, as the warning is on the top half.

So to you, staff of the Edmonton Journal, I say thank-you for taking a little joy out of the event that I’ve been anticipating with a ferocity that is probably only second to Christmas. Or at least Hallowe’en. Again, while I cannot say that you have RUINED the final instalment of the series for me, you have certainly diminished the excitement, mystery and anticipation that I’ve been holding for the last little while.

Bah. Humbug.

And I still don't have the book - I imagine it will arrive sometime this afternoon.

42.













Ok, just kidding.

I just don't have much to say right now, but feel guilty for neglecting the blog. In fact, there's really nothing for me to say. Still in limbo on a couple of other jobs that I've applied for... still working at the uni and at The Body Shop.

First cemetery tour tonight, should be fun...

And that is all.

Ok, if bad things happen in threes, then I'm wondering what the kicker will be...

1) Dad, skin cancer, see previous post.

2) I applied for a couple of nice, permanent, full-time-with-benefits positions in my department of the university. The first position I probably wouldn't have applied for if I hadn't been encouraged by the person who would be supervising that position. The second position I was waffling about, and probably wouldn't have gotten my hopes up about applying if it hadn't been for encouragement from the same individual. I found out about a week ago that I didn't get the first job, and found out today that I didn't get the second. It was down to two candidates for both positions - myself and another individual - and I didn't get either. I'm trying not to take it personally, but when you've been encouraged to apply for the jobs, it feels like a slap in the face when you don't get either. To make matters worse, I have to work with members of the hiring committee on a very close basis for the duration of my contract with the uni. I am NOT looking forward to going to work for the next couple of weeks, and watching the candidates that got 'my' jobs come in and do things precisely the way I wouldn't have.

So what'll #3 be? Anyone want to take bets? So not impressed with the world right now.

Having said that, though, this isn't really anything that bawling my eyes out for a bit and scarfing down a ton of ice cream won't fix (unlike #1, where I get to have a nagging worry sitting in the back of my head for however long it takes).

I've also applied for a job with the City of Edmonton that was recently vacated by a certain MA History grad that I know... although if I can't get myself hired by people who know me, like me, and know what an excellent worker I am, then what hope in hell do I have of getting hired by strangers?

And the cemetery tour gig is going to be a ton of fun - M McD is going to lend me some backup for the first couple of tours (and as far as I'm concerned, he can talk about his own family in that cemetery - I'm not going to pretend to be an expert!).

And my score for some of the music from Spamalot arrived today, so I will be sitting at the piano and playing with that. Perhaps with some ice cream.

It's gotten to the point where I can't process this internally any more, so here goes.

My dad has skin cancer.

Which, if you're going to get cancer, is the sort of type to get, really. You can usually just dig the mole-y melanoma-y thing out, and do a bit of follow-up chemical treatment stuff, and voilà! good to go. One of my former bosses went through having skin cancer in her younger years, and you'd never know it. Healthy, upbeat, fine...

Nevertheless, the 'c' word is a fucking scary one.

It's even fucking scarier when it's happening to someone you know and love. It's even scarier when, during a follow-up appointment, the doctor notices ANOTHER spot, digs it out, and sends it off for biopsy. And then he's doing a little more looking, and oh, look! there's a third spot. And it's in a place where my dad had skin grafts as a kid, making the skin, well, not entirely skin-like, complicating removal.

So, yeah. I get home, and my dad has new stitches and bandages, and we all avoid talking about it over our pleasant, picturesque family dinner, and I get in the vehicle so that my mother can drive me back to my apartment and this is the news that is casually dropped as we're backing out of the driveway, as I'm waving goodbye to my father.

We're still waiting on the results from the second biopsy, but in the meantime, I get to sit here and fucking wait again.

I thought I'd already cried about this as much as possible. I thought I'd exhausted all the tears, all the worry. I thought I'd talked it over with enough people that all my fears had been mostly allayed.

Apparently I was wrong.

Still alive.

Still kicking.

Still waiting on a few things before I write a long post that's full of news.

Quick update, though - looks like I'll be doing cemetery tours at Edmonton Cemetery this summer, so if you're not busy on a Wednesday night and want to find out about all Edmonton's famous dead (ok, well, a fair number of them), swing on by. I can't guarantee I'll be entertaining at M McD and JL and the other Kate were a few years ago, but I'll do my best.

Ciao for now!

I can't even blog about the possibility of something potentially good maybe happening in the future, in the vaguest of terms, without having something come up that completely and utterly ruins any sense I might have had that things might just possibly be going right for a change

I've discovered that blogging about things makes them not happen, apparently.

So keep me in your thoughts, as there are some things on the horizon within the next couple of months.