Sadness

I don't go looking for it; it just shows up.  The day can be as positive as ever, but the hours come to an end and there it is. 

Is it the lonesomeness or the loneliness?  One of these feels like being endlessly homesick while the other feels like exile.  

Both are hideous (and possibly avoidable), but one is definitely given to you and the other is sought out.  Either way, with either outcome, the sadness materializes and brings you to a low you didn't see coming. Couldn't see coming.  

I should say "I" since I am speaking of my own experiences, but the little bit of distance this difference in verbiage affords me makes it seem just that much less painful.

Wow, that is a complete cop-out on my part, and I know I'm trying to fool myself.  Sad is sad, and sadness is real.  My sadness may subside over time, but how do I make it leave me alone until I am stronger?

I don't know this for certain, but I am of the frame of mind that a pill shouldn't be the way I handle it.

Is it the lonesomeness or the loneliness?  

When I reached out to a years-long friend to get together recently, and was put off several times, I wanted to believe the first one or two rejections were legitimate reasons, but the last two attempts?  Well, let me just say I now know were met with less than genuine responses; but because I wanted to believe the reasons (because the alternate thought I was entertaining was not ideal for fighting the sadness).  I hung up the phone thinking, 'some other time.'

I bought being gently rebuffed, until I found that this person ended up getting together with other people instead, and I then I fell apart inside.  Tried not to take it personally, but that is easier said than done.  This was a friend.

It's heartbreaking.

It's an eye-opener.

It's demoralizing.

It's trust-breaking.

It's a horrible way to reinforce learned behaviors - learned over a lifetime of a poor self worth.  Does anyone have any extra self-worth I can borrow, or have, or pay you for?

This all makes me feel like walking off into the distance; like disappearing and finding a new place to blend into the woodwork.  At least if I make the effort to never be seen right from the start, the lack of interaction won't hurt, as much - right?  

No boo-hooing here, just stating what I feel is the a better way to exist.

Responsible versus responsibility

For the longest time now, at work, I have been responsible for the quality issues at the DC.  Not that the WH Lead would allow me to do my job to the best of my abilities, or that he would assist me in the endeavor (because there were many instances where he handicapped my efforts whenever possible - and several of the Material Handlers have said as much).

Timeline is this:
I was hired in January 2018 -
worked under the Quality Manager (trained by and directed to perform basic menial tasks...he wanted an admin, basically).  He was pleasantly surprised that I trained easily and accomplished tasks quickly, correctly, and efficiently.  Our WH Director assigned other duties and short-range tasks to keep me busy, and because I was more than capable (she knew I would do the work and keep it to myself).

He (QM) was wooed to another facility in June 2018 -
He attempted to take over the impossible task of managing a systemic collapse at his 'new' facility assignment, while also pseudo-watching the goings on and questions that arose at our location.

By July -
we were basically on our own, borrowing moments of his time and attention that his new bosses begrudgingly spared.  I was not prepared for the everyday issues that popped up (beyond my scope) because he refused to share information or impart training that could have helped mitigate problems at a low level.  However, I managed to chronicle and respond to Sales, CSRs, management and our suppliers, to keep communication moving and prevent material returns from building up and containment issues from becoming stagnant.  Again, this was all while trying to work against the wall of opposition from the WH Lead.

August arrived -
and I was tackling problems that were, at first, understandable and easy to keep track of.  Unless a PPAP or Material Cert request popped up, or some absolutely technical debacle cropped up (which I would steer towards our Engineering staff and former Quality Mgr), I was doing well - given the circumstances.  Our WH Director was supportive and proactive, and she sought to understand my role and functions (as she met with the Quality Manager and myself to better define my tasks and abilities in his absence).  She wanted to delegate more responsibility my way, which was fine.  All of that would require some training and direction (again, which I was ok with), but the training and hand-off of responsibility would never come.

September thru December -
came and went; no movement was made in finding a replacement for the QM role (mostly because he didn't want to replace himself).  We had our year-end inventory, which I was not included in, and then enjoyed a pleasant holiday break.

Also somehow, through this same time period, the WH Lead was allowing an alarming number of mis-pulled and mislabeled materials to leave the facility.  These growing issues greatly annoyed our customers and resulted in a lot of fees, returns, and 8D situations.  He was told to watch the one very responsible party in his shipping crew creating the bulk of trouble, but never did.  This would become a very unmanageable situation for him because he refused to take responsibility.  His 'fix' would become my new task - 95% of my new workload for the coming year.

January 2019 -
Upon the return to activities in the new year, our DC Director made the announcement she would be retiring - which, I guess, she did every year.  No one held their breath, but her attitude did seem lighter in some respects and more fretful in others.  Her most immediate goal was to work with our former QM (my now non-boss) to find his replacement at the DC.

Sometime late in January A-dude joined the team as a year-long temp Quality Manager.  If he proved himself, he would be hired the following year.  If not, well...

Things went from worse-than-bad to WTH?! at breakneck speed.  By the time A-dude showed up, I had already been 100% inspecting every effing labeling job leaving the WH.  Every label on EVERY package.  Add that monumental chore to the other tasks of my own that I could now not even get to, and you have a big problem growing.  Then there was the added strife of training A-dude (trying to train, that is).

He was a man dressed in Teflon and stale-smelling clothing, doused in too much old cologne.  Not only did he smell (literally), he stank at his job, too.  He wouldn't learn because his MO was to find others to do his work for him.  I figured it out early, and after a lot of wasted time trying to repeatedly show him how to use our AX system, I opted to remove myself from his workforce and use the 100% verifications as my salvation.  Besides that, he was not my responsibility.  He could learn to sink or swim another way.

Over time, he and the WH Lead tried to join forces in an effort to remove me from my position.  I had the support of those who knew my work and my capabilities, and would not let them park 'the bus' they were driving on me, but that didn't prevent the work situation from becoming a cluster "f."

December -
A-dude was a waste of money and time, and it only took the company ten months to figure that out.  In between, our lovely Director did retire (mid-year) and was replaced by another female figurehead.  My new Quality boss began shadowing - and cleverly questioning - A-dude to learn the scope (and status) of all the customer issues, and let me know I was not alone.  By...

January thru June 2020 -
I was once again working with, and I still am, our new Quality Manager - and what a difference. [happy sigh]

Now we're doing it during the Covid era, but we are working as a team, and it's been better.

Of course we have a long way to go but at least we are getting there together.  We have tackled a big learning curve and become a good team.  She has given me knowledge and responsibility, and I try to back her up where I can.  She knows she can count on me, and routinely throws things my way - and this has proven her trust in my ability, which I am grateful for.

There's still a lot to do, but it doesn't feel insurmountable any longer.

Moving on - sort of

I've been wanting to write lately ("lately" equating to from around December 2019 to about now), but ran into a couple of technical issues that kept me from the blog.  As you can tell, things are right again (for the time being), so here we are, and here we go.

It's a bright, beautiful Saturday afternoon.  The boys are cuddled up and napping, and since Odin currently is hunkered in 'the tent', I feel obliged to remain in bed, too.  Yes!  It's after 7:45AM and I am still in bed, so calm your jets.  Do I have a lot of things to get to...things I should already have accomplished after all of these weeks of flying solo?  That would be an emphatic "YES" (- doesn't everyone?), but I seem to have skillfully managed to fritter away so many weekends finishing very little after starting so much.  [grimacing]

Let's blame it on:
 - the doldrums, or
 - the blues, or
 - rewarding myself with weekend laziness for having made it through another week, or
 - Covid19.  Goodness knows this pandemic is the root of all unhappiness at present.

Oh, and in case you've lost track, my lovely girls are all gone now.  Old age and health issues have taken sweet, outgoing, robust Cleo, her glorious-but-skittish litter sister (and Blue Cream Maine Coon) Flop, and lastly our mouthy mama bean Hobbes.

After Clee and Flop departed we found Hobbes was depressed and lonely in the kitty partner category, so we adopted/rescued an older sweet street waif - a gentleman through and through - we named "Jake."  He was in worse than rough condition, and diagnosed with extremely advanced FIV (feline AIDS), but none of that could tarnish the desire to add him to our brood.  Jake was priceless and one of a kind, but besides all of that, he deserved a home and an easier future (for whatever remained of it) - even though it only ended up lasting 5.5 months.

November found us looking for another companion for 'Beana', and she was quickly joined by a totally different sort of brute in the form of an immense Red Maine Coon we dubbed "Booker."  Book was a thin-ish juvenile (judged to be around three years of age by the rescue vet), rambunctious and rag-tag in his furriness.  He needed some love and care, and a place where he could learn to feel safe once again.  He hated my crying over Jake from time to time, and had no issue hissing at me to express his dissatisfaction.  I have to admit to being somewhat terrified at his full-faced hisses, and lack of desire to be held, so it's little wonder there was good cause for confusion and trepidation about this new addition.

While he and Beana were excellent company from the start, we humans were held at bay in the get-to-know-you arena.  I should say that was true more for me than Karl.  Book took to Karl at the beginning more than to myself, and I had a hard time adjusting to the whole thing in general.  Don't get me wrong, I loved Booker - I wanted to show him this - but we did not hit it off at the first, and I am not an inwardly patient person.  Outwardly, people see me very differently...but this is of little consequence to the story at hand.

A few months later we came to the end of Hobbes' earthly reign, and it was time to search for a companion for Booker.  This was not going to be easy or straight forward...and perhaps Book would have been alright as a solo house cat but, truth-be-told, I needed to have another kitty.  After all, this had been a three kitty household (and family) for the better part of twenty years!

Once again our purveyor of rescue cats, Dottie (the bringer of Booker and Jake), stepped up to ferry a new rescue into our lives in the form of Odin (formerly dubbed "Possum").  His hard luck story has been told here before, so I won't bore you with it again.  If you need to review, you can find it by clicking the label "Odin," and all entries pertaining to our little rapscallion will be at your beck and call.

It took very little time to get the boys integrated - granted, it took more time than other introductions had in our shifting feline dynamics - but less than it could have with these two strong male personalities.  Before long, they were comfortable and silly with one another, and we had a working, co-habitating family once more.  If you haven't seen it, I put together a very short photo display of the two boys ("the Twins" as we called them), and I will try to locate it and include it in the blog.  It shows Booker and Odin, in napping form - and always, ALWAYS with Odin inching closer to Book, until one day...boo yaka shah! [thanks for that, Faraaz]

After less than three years in our arms and beds, and everywhere in between, Booker's time on earth  came to an abrupt end.  It took the rest of August and all of September for Karl to allow even the possibility of finding a new addition to our family.  Odin was in tremendous need, and I was, too, but Karl was torn apart and unable to permit himself the thought of another addition.  So, one day while he was out and I ran errands, I came across a roadside rescue event...and the rest is history.

Moving on is not always easy, but it isn't always difficult either, it's just a process.  Sometimes the process is messy or protracted.  Sometimes the process requires additional steps to be added to the flow chart.  Sometimes you don't have anything more to the process other than simply getting up each and every day and surviving until the sun sets and you crawl back into bed.  This is where I have been lately, stuck in the get-up-go-do-make-it-through-and-get-back-to-safety routine.  I am trying to put distance between myself and my miserable recent past.  Depression, the doctor said, and here's a pill for it.

Well, I said "no thanks" - maybe it was a wrong decision, I know it cheesed off one friend - and I am still finding my way around the fuzzy corners and through dark mental hallways.  It looks (in my emotional-mentals) like a long dark space (not unlike a wide corridor), and every so often I come upon what I swear would be a doorway.  There's a narrow beam of light piercing the gloom, as if from under a closed door, but when I get to the wall where the 'door' should be to feel for a doorknob or handle, there's nothing.  I get down on my belly to look under the door, but have the distinct feeling of fear that I am far too close to the edge of being on that floor and falling over instead of seeing something tangible in the space where the light is existing. 

Sorry, that's the best way of describing how it feels.  It makes taking chances seem futile and overwhelmingly frightening, and so it is safer to keep to myself.  Don't reach out; leave your hands at your sides and be careful.  See, it feels if I reach out - instead of receiving help - I might actually accidentally push people (family, friends) away...over the edge and out of my life.  If I do nothing, if I keep my hands to myself, I won't be doing any unintended harm.  Does that makes sense?  Don't pull people down and don't push them.

Maybe I am doing it all wrong, but I am also not moving forward (good) or backward (not so good).  However, I'm also not moving on.

[sigh]

How do you do that?

Odd but true:
I have three salads due me, all around town, because several restaurants 'forgot' to put them in with my lunches or dinners over the past couple of weeks.

Yeah, guess that means I will be a 'regular' sort of customer. [insert groan here]

OK, Mother Nature...keep it up

No, seriously - don't stop.  I like drizzle now and then, and no hot temps.

Summer can stay permanently in the wings as far as I am concerned.

To the rest of you warm weather weirdos...tough nuts!

I love the Material Handlers & Re-Pack Folks

No two ways about it, they made me feel important and missed.

Their friendship and caring, and the concern they expressed, made me feel like I matter.  Some of the best medicine - EVER!

Golly, it was a long day, and I am not too proud to admit I am pooped.  I also have a feeling it will be an awfully long week.  There is a lot of overdue work in my inbox, many requests that need tending to, and still the 100% verifications to contend with.  Sorted through the glut of tasks and made myself a game plan for the next few days. 

Was not surprised to learn the new QC Eng did not pick up any slack, nor did the WH Lead, who had a huge hand in creating/allowing the mislabeling debacle.

Well, that's me, then

May 19th... the day I had my heart attack.  The day my unstable angina sat up and proclaimed its power.  It was rude and sneaky and surprising, and not my favorite way to spend a morning - or that night - and on into the next day.

Once I arrived at the ER, blood was drawn to measure troponin levels, and that carried on every few hours.  Yes, every few hours throughout the remainder of the day AND all that night.  I must admit to having a favorite phlebotomist through it all, though; I detested when her shift ended and the replacement appeared.  Even when the preferred vein closed down and she had to move to a new location, Elizabeta made the procedure a piece of cake.  The replacement was horrible, and created way more holes than she ever managed to siphon blood from.

Ah, well.  Water under the bridge.

When I fell, though, at home (I passed out trying to walk to the living room), Karl did his best to keep me from hitting the floor (no mean feat, that).  I managed to hit my head twice, however. 

The first blow resulted from a rollicking bounce - I impacted his bedroom door frame with my left shoulder, then slammed backwards unexpectedly into the other side of the frame... and met that with my head.  Karl's description of what happened immediately after is a little chaotic, but he says I continued to shuffle forward, becoming more and more wobbly.

Somehow the migration to the front room carried on in a somewhat forward fashion, until I seemed to crumple in his arms.  Karl said he heard what he took for snoring coming from me, until he smelled something like vomit and realized my head was bent in an uncomfortable angle to my neck and shoulders.  That's when I slipped through his arms and 'found' the floor.  Yup, you guessed it, my head hit another wooden surface, and Karl needlessly apologized several times (after I came to) for that accident.  He tried to soften the blow, but I was a lot of human heading to the ground with gravity on my side.

Soon enough he realized I wasn't breathing "well," and forcefully jerked me to a sitting position when rolling me to my side didn't work.  It wasn't long thereafter that I came to and we discussed what had just happened... because I 'wasn't there'.

Just so you know, I don't hold Karl responsible in any way for the concussion - which went undiagnosed by the ER team - and everyone on the Cardiac Unit - despite my descriptions of the bizarre auditory occurrence (thousands of locusts loudly buzzing... while on fire), the louder than usual ringing in my ears, the non-stop headache, the room pitching madly whilst I am still, being light-headed, and a very steady double vision in my right eye.

You should also know this all may have happened due to a good deal of stress over the recent results (just the week before) of a CT showing an "apple core" shape in my ascending colon.

Oh, yeah, probably should do a little filling in.  Re-cap of the untold:
- Had significant, escalating discomfort for a couple weeks which felt like a hernia (not an unfamiliar sensation);
went to doctor.
- Told by physician it was not a hernia and most likely appendicitis;
was sent for CT scan to see how inflamed appendix was.
- CT showed long appendix, but no issues there (and no hernia); but
doc overly concerned by "apple core" appearance, so sent for GI consult and colonoscopy.

All of this had me on the edge of my seat - but more about the pooper chute stuff another time.

I feel God is using the universe as a two-by-four to get my eyes open wide, and to get me heading in the direction I have been side-stepping/avoiding/ignoring/wasting time by denying for far too long.  I can only imagine Him sitting up there, shaking His head in disbelief and smacking His forehead in frustration, while I continue to avoid my destiny in cunningly stupid, and innocently disbelieving ways.

Maria, we need to talk.  For now, I need to stop this typing and shut my eyes again.  I am supposed to be resting them to try and get a handle on the healing process from the recent brain injury. 

Christmas cards

Many people send them; many more people love to get them - and why not?  What's not to love?  A token of friendship and remembrance, but also a way to tell people they mean something to you.  Even though you may have fallen out of general contact with them, you're saying (in a minute way)  that they still matter to you, even though you may be horrible at showing it (the rest of the year).

I am familiar with the sensation, I receive cards, too.  It's never not delightful.

I'm not certain how other people go about it all, but in my case, I take time to search for the most representative cards to send.  I don't make out many - maybe thirty or so - but that's enough for it to be a chore (not a 'bad thing' chore, just a process that requires time and thought).  Do I buy any cards of a 'more personalized' nature in addition to boxes of one card or another?  You betcha - one special one for mom, one for my son and his bride, certain friends... I search for style and substance, not one over the other; something that sounds like me and pleases my mental palette, so when the recipient reads it they can tell I am sending my greetings. 

Yes, I buy boxes of cards, 16-20 per box (usually two boxes of totally different cards/messages), that way the folks who might not appreciate one message or illustration may be a better fit with the alternate selection.   And yes, one of the greetings tends to be a bit more secular than the other.  It's worked for me for years - and on occasion I've received complements because of the card choice.  That's when it's totally worthwhile. 

With very few leftovers (from the boxes), I easily use those for co-workers the following year; or as thank you-type notes to people who have affected my life positively throughout the year... people I don't communicate with otherwise.  It all works out well, usually.

Except [sigh]... this season I slipped into my all-too-familiar blue funk, and while I wanted to send cards, I simply couldn't produce (or hold on to) the necessary momentum to seal the deal.  Thanksgiving weekend is typically the time I make out my notes (then address and stuff the envelopes) so that the cards can travel that first week of December, but for some reason I could not propel myself into action.  When cards began arriving in our mailbox, I knew I was up against it then.  Yikes!

Even that wasn't enough to force my hand - not completely.  With the heaviness of an unrelenting Navy blue hue now hanging about me, I tried to make myself accomplish the task - sets of six cards at a time.  Anything to get the ball rolling.

So, if you are still waiting for your Christmas card from me... just know, YOU SHOULDN'T BE.  I completed the task prior to Christmas (thank you very much), including the part where you drop the addressed, stamped envelopes into a mailbox for the carriers to do their thing.  If you normally get a card from me and you still haven't received one, let me know - please.  I would love another reason to go postal.

Ah, Christmas cards, oh, Christmas cards. [humming carols quietly to the cats]

A tick in the box

2018 is winding down, but for some reason it feels as though this particular downhill slide to the final midnight is happening at an unusually precipitous rate.  Am I alone in this thought?

Well, before I lose all hope of finishing the year with little more to show than clean cat boxes and a full time job, there's a list in my pocket with several things that require doing before the final days and hours evaporate.  So, allow me to bid you a fond adieu - at least until I can sit at the keyboard again and regale you with bits and pieces of my daily comings and goings.  Shouldn't be long, only a few more boxes to tick.

Merrily yours ~
== ^ . . ^ ==
  >^..^<

Life as you know it, or life as you make it?

I have lately been absent from doing one of the things I absolutely love to do.  In fact, I've been so delinquent in taking part in one of my most favorite activities that you might think I'd given it up completely.

Well, no, I haven't.  I haven't given anything up, but I think I have nearly - almost completely - given up on... myself.

Can I trouble you for a moment to truly cogitate over that last line.  Really read the words and ponder over the differences between the first and second pieces of that statement.  You might think that that's a difference without distinction - or you may even believe there to be no difference at all - but you  know you would be wrong.

Yep, dead wrong.

In fact, I had almost convinced myself that my writing didn't matter to anyone else, so I needn't waste my time to communicate my thoughts or feelings, my musings or daily highlights, my opinions and aspirations, my successes and disappointments.  Myself.  My words.  I am lost without my words.  I am no one and nowhere without my words.

So whether anyone else reads them, whether I am communicating with the silence of the stars or flecks of dust in the sunshine, or somehow, amazingly with another human, I will write - and the words will be mine.  And if I am doing little more than saving my thoughts for myself to read years from now, so that I might remember that I did ultimately survive a horribly defeating time in my life, well then, that's enough of a reason for speaking my piece.

My words; I may couch them at times, or I may brazenly lay it all on the line.  However the spirit moves me or the winds carry me day by day, I am entitled to express myself.  Mainly, I will speak my mind and empty my heart, because to to be less than I am, to say less than I am able, to slip into silent corners and molder away is not really my style.  It shouldn't be anyone's style.  I should never have allowed myself to become less than I was meant to be.

I am a child of the most high God, and I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

I am back, and I will not be silenced.  No telling how often or infrequently, but there will be words.

Whoopee ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Finished piecing my long-suffering H6 this afternoon, then got busy at the machine to get it put together.  CANNOT tell you how absolutely satisfying that was.  Once done, I hot-footed it back to the design wall and began building H7.  I have a lot of lost time to make up for.

Of course, I am only documenting this for myself, so I will enjoy reviewing it all in another year.

Decisions

Gee, we humans make an awful lot of decisions in a day, don't we?  Some of us have to make decisions minute by minute, and when you are driving, well.... it's goes without saying.  Suffice to say, life is a decision-making roulette wheel.

Just over a year ago I decided to go into blogging hibernation with this blog.  I have two others that I regularly write in, and since there was/is no readership on this blog I figured, "why not."  This was the first of my forays into blogging, and I hated the thought of eliminating all of the work and words that had been committed to e-paper, so I simply walked away for a while.

I hoped the time away would have helped me keep from sharing the absolute bitterness I was feeling in nearly all aspects of my life at the time.  And so it did.

Am I any less bitter?  Oh, probably not.
However, I am feeling more akin to the description I originally posted for the blog so many years ago.
I am feeling more in control and less frazzled than I have for a long time - and that's a good thing.
I feel more likely to share and (hopefully) less likely to 'vent' than I would have a year ago.

I posted once or twice from around June, and then again back in October, and realized there was still an overriding element of anger in what it was that compelled me to pen an entry.... so I stopped and took another step back.  Life had become a nemesis.

Deep breath.

So here's me, blogging once more.  It most likely won't be lots of stuff, and most definitely won't be every day, but it will be something.  If you have a curiosity about the sewing/quilting activities, you can make your way to one or both of these bloggy-type addresses:
 1) for Crazy Quilting only - www.bethsmadasahatter.blogspot.com  and
 2) for traditional block quilting updates - www.truenorthquilter.blogspot.com

I carry on at those two sites about quilting simply because anyone who loves quilting will want to be there, and some folks who have read here in the past had been critical of "quilting stuff" showing up in my everyday life/words.  Well, hey! Gee I am so sorry my interests got in the way of you reading about my life, but....thpbt!  Pardon me while I snicker at your idiocracy.

'nuff said.

Those other two blogs are full of happiness and accomplishment from the last year (and more), but if you can't handle that sort of happiness, by all means stay here. [laughing at your folly, you grumpy person out there]  This year was full enough of things to catch up on, and over time, some of it will be revealed - but much of it will fall by the wayside, and that is OK, too.  At least, it's OK with me.  I lived through it, and I know what happened.  The automotive world has their 'big three', and so do I. Mine are work, family, and other stuff.  I guess that's enough to look forward to, eh?

Anyhow, lots of stuff needs doing, and I haven't a moment to spare, so let's not dawdle here.  I will be back in a day or two to begin the recap, and if you're good, Santa will leave you a cookie or two for the new year.

Glad we're all back - this feels like a good decision.  Enjoy your day :v)

Things you can count on

You know how you can tell if someone is truly full of sh!t?

If they have had unrelenting diarrhea since the early morning hours.

Step one: Check

Have the plastering done - all of the patching is finished (hopefully). If it dries successfully before nightfall I will have it sanded and cleaned up....and ready for priming ASAP.

Oddly enough, today the color looks more brown than deep, deep purple - like the paint chip. Either way, I love the look of it.

Day four

It's called a "calendar," people.

Carbon footprint question

We all get it -- that unsolicited bunk people stuff (ILLEGALLY) into our mailboxes, or tuck in the flag on the box.  Oh, and the Sunday news insert ads that are dropped at the end of one's driveway....or in the ditch fronting your yard if the delivery person is lazy.

Fliers.  Ads.  Coupons.  Election flotsam.  Non-subscription newspapers.  And this list doesn't even begin to touch the litany of garbage mail sent to my post box through legal and proper means.

So here's my question:
Is that crap MY carbon footprint or is it theirs - the people/entities who leave this shite when I didn't ask for it and don't want it?

Any thoughts?

Spammers suck

And you know who you are.



Give it up....I will never allow your poorly written, half-assed attempts at faux-compliments (A.K.A. SPAM) through the filters to post on my blog.

Your veiled bullshittery and encoded ads will forever remain languishing in the SPAM folder until I delete them.  They (you) will never see the light of day as it shines on my blog.  Go sit on a cactus and spin!

Have a nice day.

Grrrrr...just grrrr (& expletives)

The substitute couriers for our regular mail person are without a doubt UNQUALIFIED for this duty.

Today was the worst experience to date, as the driver made contact between my mail box and her vehicle mirror, bending the handle used to open the flap on the mailbox.

After contacting someone at the postal office, I was told it wasn't possible the damage was caused by the substitute postal driver since this particular carrier "is honest...and would have called in to say she had had an accident."

R-i-i-i-i-i-ght. 

All carriers are so honest, nothing by way of an accident would ever happen and [they] wouldn't just drive off without saying something. 

Uh-huh. 

They are all so honest, right? 

That would explains why there have been SO many complaints and arrests for dishonesty of postal workers stealing items from their customers, not delivering mail (hording it in their homes, etc), poorly delivering items in a less than decent manner - tossing them over fences, shoving over-sized packages into too small a box, etc.

Yup, I am supposed to just sigh and accept the newest damage to my mailbox of this latest deliverer because "that's the way it goes."  Because I didn't stand out there and "witness the impact" it didn't happen...because of an accident on the deliverer's part. 

Yup, that's their policy.

I'm not stating the courier did it intentionally, but yesterday we had a huge snowfall, and the only tracks out there showing contact with (or proximity to) the mailbox SINCE YESTERDAY are that of the delivery vehicle.  So.....how else did this damage happen?

I would like an apology and culpability taken on behalf of the USPS, because I am the one who will have to deal with the rusting which will now ensue.

Yes, I have also had MORE than my fair share of mangled mail here at the house - most of which I have documented with (dated) photographs.  So to have my mailbox abused and no one owning up to it (when it is obvious how and when it happened) is truly appalling.

I tried leaving a complaint on the USPS site, which ended up tossing my note because I didn't check the appropriate boxes to let 'them' know of my issue.  THERE WEREN'T ANY APPROPRIATE BOXES TO CHECK FOR DAMAGE DONE TO MY BOX!  Hello!!!!

Way to go, USPS system.  Way to go.

Just felt like doing this

Last entry for January....honest (not that I went overboard this month).

Word out in the 'sphere is that three of the films I worked on over the past four years are finally going to see the light of day.  I know, wahoo!

Or, maybe a better way of putting it would be: those three films will finally be distributed and seen by people other than their respective editors, directors, and film crews.  What a novel approach to filmmaking.

See you in February.

OMG, BBC! TY!

How come the United States can't get our stuff together and produce television programming as splendid as the Brits?

OK, yeah, we had Firefly, M*A*S*H, Mary Tyler Moore, Doctor, Doctor, and House. We have Castle, Big Bang Theory and....huh.  Well, you get the idea.  GOOD stuff is few and far between here.

But I need more than two fists full of fingers to tally up the lovely programs offered up from across the pond.

Thank you, BBC!  Downton Abbey, AND the fantastic special regarding Highclere Castle was well worth the wait.