Sometimes you have to get a phone with a different OS from the one you have known and loved for years, especially if your Windows phone has worn out and your provider no longer carries Windows phones and you are of the opinion that you refuse to pay money for a phone if you are eligible for a "free" upgrade. However, changing from a phone you know to a phone you don't may include whining, of varying intensities and frequencies, as you get to know your new OS. Here are some steps I took to ensure I had a new non-Windows phone that I loved.
1. Walk into the cell phone store and announce you need a new phone, but you want to see only their "zero dollar" phones.
2. Look at the two identical-looking phones they show you and ask what the difference is, after you read the boxes and see nothing glaringly different.
3. Take the one the person behind the counter tells you has a bigger screen.
4. Get home with your Android phone and start joyfully loading all the apps that you couldn't use with a Windows phone.
5. Do this for ten minutes before your phone tells you you have no space, because you have gotten an EIGHT GIG phone for your zero dollars.
6. Ignore your friend and your husband when they tell you to take the phone back right this minute while you still can.
7. Negotiate all the many learning curves, like getting your calendar to show up, and your contacts, and all the other things you cannot live without, complaining bitterly that all you had to do to accomplish this with a Windows phone was TURN IT ON and ENTER YOUR ACCOUNT number.
8. Use the phone for six months. Mutter at it on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis.
9. The 197th time you have to move an app BACK to the SD card after the Android phone helpfully moved it back to the largely full internal storage in order to update it, announce you have Had Enough.
10. Go back to the cell phone store and after a few weeks of talking (it may have only been an hour), choose a phone that lets you make no changes to your smoking good deal legacy plan if you pay $$$ for a stronger better faster phone.
It took me about an hour to set up, because all I had to do was go look at my old new phone and copy stuff. And it is so fast. So very fast. It is likely much slower than yours, because it's still only 32 GB with 3 GB of RAM but it is so much faster than the phone I clung to on the moral high ground.
Monday, 4 December 2017
Tuesday, 17 October 2017
Maybe I won't even publish this
Complex PTSD. There's some letters and acronyms to describe it. A nice box to put things in. A result of prolonged repeated trauma.
The thing is, the label doesn't help, much, sometimes. It doesn't make October less awful. I can't actually tell you why October is so awful for me - it's not that I don't know, it's that it's not really that believable. I can't think of a sentence to sum it up with. I can't think of a single thing to say to make it crystal clear what happened to me, on a long ago October, or Octobers. I met a psych nurse once, a student in a class I was teaching, who knew I had DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) before I told her, and then she said something that has stuck with me: "You can't even write about that kind of sh*t." And you can't.
But I can write about October, and why it's 1 am and I have an essay due less than 12 hours from now that I just started 5 hours ago. I'm not going to get an A on it, because it's 400 words too short, but it's all I've got. And it's all I've got because it's October, and October haunts me.
Bessel van der Kolk (look him up, if you like) wrote a book called "The Body Keeps The Score", but even before I read it, I knew - the body remembers things you don't consciously remember. My body does not like October either. I'm sore and stiff and I can't breathe, and I'm in fight-or-flight every minute that I let up the vigilance against it. So when I try to lie down to go to sleep. Or when I try to study for that exam I had this afternoon, that I skipped my first class to study for - or when I try to look at a blank page and write an essay. (And I am a WRITER.)
I got through the exam studying by going through review sheets one painful question at a time, stopping to walk or deep breathe or take a good long cold drink every time the panic started to overwhelm me. It took a really long time. I got through the exam because I had lavender on my fingerless mitts and because I will not allow myself to quit. I will deep breathe and I will send up desperate pleas for help and I will stay the course because October 1967 or October 1975 doesn't get to WIN. That was then, this is now. I finished the exam and checked it over and did not wait for someone else to leave first because I had a vicious stomachache and I could not wait one more second. I probably got a really good mark because I knew most of everything, My stomach didn't care. My body was in fight or flight and none of my careful, kindly worded logic did anything to change that.
And then I had an essay to write, to hand in tomorrow. But it's still October, and my left leg wants to have a vicious muscle cramp when I sit down, in class, to write, to eat with my family, because the body keeps the score. But I sat down, because that is what I do. I do not, I will not, quit. There is a vast array of marks between 0 (no essay handed in) and perfect, and I'll get one of those marks, because my essay is 400 words too short.
But this isn't really about complex PTSD or DID or October. It's about how answering desperate prayers for help is God's strong suit, and how when I picked up my computer, trying to sit so my leg didn't hurt, I saw a tiny bookmark in the middle of all my bookmarked sites that said "hymns" and when I clicked on it, I remembered I had this hours-long play list of so many of my favourite hymns and so I started the music and I started to write, and my whole body exhaled, listening to hymns, to Him, and this - THIS - is HOW I don't quit. I ask, beg, plead God for help, and He shows up.
The thing is, the label doesn't help, much, sometimes. It doesn't make October less awful. I can't actually tell you why October is so awful for me - it's not that I don't know, it's that it's not really that believable. I can't think of a sentence to sum it up with. I can't think of a single thing to say to make it crystal clear what happened to me, on a long ago October, or Octobers. I met a psych nurse once, a student in a class I was teaching, who knew I had DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder) before I told her, and then she said something that has stuck with me: "You can't even write about that kind of sh*t." And you can't.
But I can write about October, and why it's 1 am and I have an essay due less than 12 hours from now that I just started 5 hours ago. I'm not going to get an A on it, because it's 400 words too short, but it's all I've got. And it's all I've got because it's October, and October haunts me.
Bessel van der Kolk (look him up, if you like) wrote a book called "The Body Keeps The Score", but even before I read it, I knew - the body remembers things you don't consciously remember. My body does not like October either. I'm sore and stiff and I can't breathe, and I'm in fight-or-flight every minute that I let up the vigilance against it. So when I try to lie down to go to sleep. Or when I try to study for that exam I had this afternoon, that I skipped my first class to study for - or when I try to look at a blank page and write an essay. (And I am a WRITER.)
I got through the exam studying by going through review sheets one painful question at a time, stopping to walk or deep breathe or take a good long cold drink every time the panic started to overwhelm me. It took a really long time. I got through the exam because I had lavender on my fingerless mitts and because I will not allow myself to quit. I will deep breathe and I will send up desperate pleas for help and I will stay the course because October 1967 or October 1975 doesn't get to WIN. That was then, this is now. I finished the exam and checked it over and did not wait for someone else to leave first because I had a vicious stomachache and I could not wait one more second. I probably got a really good mark because I knew most of everything, My stomach didn't care. My body was in fight or flight and none of my careful, kindly worded logic did anything to change that.
And then I had an essay to write, to hand in tomorrow. But it's still October, and my left leg wants to have a vicious muscle cramp when I sit down, in class, to write, to eat with my family, because the body keeps the score. But I sat down, because that is what I do. I do not, I will not, quit. There is a vast array of marks between 0 (no essay handed in) and perfect, and I'll get one of those marks, because my essay is 400 words too short.
But this isn't really about complex PTSD or DID or October. It's about how answering desperate prayers for help is God's strong suit, and how when I picked up my computer, trying to sit so my leg didn't hurt, I saw a tiny bookmark in the middle of all my bookmarked sites that said "hymns" and when I clicked on it, I remembered I had this hours-long play list of so many of my favourite hymns and so I started the music and I started to write, and my whole body exhaled, listening to hymns, to Him, and this - THIS - is HOW I don't quit. I ask, beg, plead God for help, and He shows up.
Saturday, 30 September 2017
On This Day* - Carrying Matches
(From September 2013)
Teach us to always carry matches, to light every candle we find.
They are key witnesses to the dark.
From here.
This post was originally written as a rant that I decided not to publish, and then this morning I read a poem by John Blase, and a reframing happened.
So I was at the rink today - we are the rink most days. After B's game, as I was waiting around for him to emerge from the dressing room, and reading a book, I noticed two little girls being very loud, at the open area just inside. I looked up, but they seemed to be shrieking in delight, so I let them continue.
And then one of them started hitting the other and I heard phrases like "if you want it harder, I can hit you harder" and then the toys and books that are there for kids to look at started getting thrown around. I had been standing there for several minutes and no other adult had come by. Every so often I looked at the knots of adults standing in the restaurant talking but none of them seemed to be paying any attention either.
I looked one of the little girls in the eye and said "You need to stop treating these things this way. If you can't play here nicely, perhaps you need to be somewhere else." She looked at me for a moment and then walked through the swinging doors to another open area, which also seemed to be strewn with toys and books.
The other little girl looked at me to see what I would do next. As kindly as I could, I asked "Where's your Mom?"
"Oh" she said cheerfully "Today is a not a day that we get to see our Mom." And then she rattled more details about visitation and such and I looked at her and the mess they'd both made and I said "Somebody needs to clean these books up. How about you pick up two and I'll pick up two and then we'll see how many are left?"
So we chatted as we worked and I wondered who she was there with and an older boy showed up, hovering on the periphery of our conversation, and I asked if he was their brother.
"Nope", he said, a little grumpily, and I asked if he knew them.
"Yes he does!" the little girl I was cleaning up with said, so I kept guessing. Uncle? cousin? friend? Dad? He cheered up at that guess and told me "We're all in foster care."
I stayed with them chatting until another child came running up to tell them they were going now, learning their names and ages and favourite colours.
Lighting matches.
Teach us always to carry matches.
(*On This Day denotes a post that got deleted when I accidentally deleted my old blog due to electronic incompetence. When Facebook reminds me that I posted something that I want to re-read, I go fetch it from the many various cobbled together electronic rescue attempts, if I can find it, and re-post it here.)
Teach us to always carry matches, to light every candle we find.
They are key witnesses to the dark.
From here.
This post was originally written as a rant that I decided not to publish, and then this morning I read a poem by John Blase, and a reframing happened.
So I was at the rink today - we are the rink most days. After B's game, as I was waiting around for him to emerge from the dressing room, and reading a book, I noticed two little girls being very loud, at the open area just inside. I looked up, but they seemed to be shrieking in delight, so I let them continue.
And then one of them started hitting the other and I heard phrases like "if you want it harder, I can hit you harder" and then the toys and books that are there for kids to look at started getting thrown around. I had been standing there for several minutes and no other adult had come by. Every so often I looked at the knots of adults standing in the restaurant talking but none of them seemed to be paying any attention either.
I looked one of the little girls in the eye and said "You need to stop treating these things this way. If you can't play here nicely, perhaps you need to be somewhere else." She looked at me for a moment and then walked through the swinging doors to another open area, which also seemed to be strewn with toys and books.
The other little girl looked at me to see what I would do next. As kindly as I could, I asked "Where's your Mom?"
"Oh" she said cheerfully "Today is a not a day that we get to see our Mom." And then she rattled more details about visitation and such and I looked at her and the mess they'd both made and I said "Somebody needs to clean these books up. How about you pick up two and I'll pick up two and then we'll see how many are left?"
So we chatted as we worked and I wondered who she was there with and an older boy showed up, hovering on the periphery of our conversation, and I asked if he was their brother.
"Nope", he said, a little grumpily, and I asked if he knew them.
"Yes he does!" the little girl I was cleaning up with said, so I kept guessing. Uncle? cousin? friend? Dad? He cheered up at that guess and told me "We're all in foster care."
I stayed with them chatting until another child came running up to tell them they were going now, learning their names and ages and favourite colours.
Lighting matches.
Teach us always to carry matches.
(*On This Day denotes a post that got deleted when I accidentally deleted my old blog due to electronic incompetence. When Facebook reminds me that I posted something that I want to re-read, I go fetch it from the many various cobbled together electronic rescue attempts, if I can find it, and re-post it here.)
Thursday, 28 September 2017
Thursday Thirteen
(Remember back when people used to do that? Maybe they still do. I don't read blogs a lot anymore. Does anyone?)
(This post contains two neologisms. If you identify them, I will mail you a lime green dish cloth that I knit myself.)
1. My dog is currently on bedrest. Dogs do not understand or appreciate bedrest.
2. I am currently the only person in my household in school, as everyone else has either a) been ensconced in a career for several decades and/or b) graduated from high school.
3. Last night I made up a word in my sleep, and for the rest of the night, my dreaming seems to have consisted of rehearsing the new word so I didn't forget it when I woke up.
4. The word is MYSTRIM. It may or may not be a pre-existing word. Dream Susan did not have a dictionary handy.
5. It means ...well that's tricky. It's a writing word. If you have published 5 novels, and your fifth novel was (or will be - Dream Susan has no desire to be exclusionary) published in the same month (but not the same year - Dream Susan isn't looking for the impossible) as your first novel, you have written a MYSTRIM.
6. Now go use that in a sentence. (You can leave the sentence in the comments. You would totally make my day.)
7. I think that today's weather is nasty because it is bright and sunny and full of swirling fall and I have so much homework to do that I'm writing a nonsensical blog post in order to gird my (virtual mental) loins to tackle it.
8. One of my children has taken over the cooking in this house, at least the supper cooking, at least five days a week.
9. I'm not telling you which child until I know whether or not I have permission to do so.
10. Isn't it cute how I call people who are taller than I am and can legally vote "children"?
11. The aforementioned self-appointed cook is a good cook.
12. I am going to write a whole different blog post about the most interesting course of my semester, because a) I love it and 2) I almost didn't take it.
13. Some of you may think that "a lot of homework" = "no fun", but HA. I get to go read an article entitled "Demodystopias: Prospects of Demographic Hell" by Andreu Domingo right this second. And now you're all envious.
(This post contains two neologisms. If you identify them, I will mail you a lime green dish cloth that I knit myself.)
1. My dog is currently on bedrest. Dogs do not understand or appreciate bedrest.
2. I am currently the only person in my household in school, as everyone else has either a) been ensconced in a career for several decades and/or b) graduated from high school.
3. Last night I made up a word in my sleep, and for the rest of the night, my dreaming seems to have consisted of rehearsing the new word so I didn't forget it when I woke up.
4. The word is MYSTRIM. It may or may not be a pre-existing word. Dream Susan did not have a dictionary handy.
5. It means ...well that's tricky. It's a writing word. If you have published 5 novels, and your fifth novel was (or will be - Dream Susan has no desire to be exclusionary) published in the same month (but not the same year - Dream Susan isn't looking for the impossible) as your first novel, you have written a MYSTRIM.
6. Now go use that in a sentence. (You can leave the sentence in the comments. You would totally make my day.)
7. I think that today's weather is nasty because it is bright and sunny and full of swirling fall and I have so much homework to do that I'm writing a nonsensical blog post in order to gird my (virtual mental) loins to tackle it.
8. One of my children has taken over the cooking in this house, at least the supper cooking, at least five days a week.
9. I'm not telling you which child until I know whether or not I have permission to do so.
10. Isn't it cute how I call people who are taller than I am and can legally vote "children"?
11. The aforementioned self-appointed cook is a good cook.
12. I am going to write a whole different blog post about the most interesting course of my semester, because a) I love it and 2) I almost didn't take it.
13. Some of you may think that "a lot of homework" = "no fun", but HA. I get to go read an article entitled "Demodystopias: Prospects of Demographic Hell" by Andreu Domingo right this second. And now you're all envious.
Sunday, 24 September 2017
oh, so that's what it will take
I used to have a blog. I blogged for many years, about domestic triumphs (like hiding dishes in the oven, forgetting about them, turning the oven on a few days later, and Melting Inedible Things, or How Long My Christmas Tree Has Been Up) and my little kids (who are now almost 22, and 18), my dog, my writing life ...
And then Life happened. I developed a mental illness. My husband went a few rounds with colon cancer. I blogged a little, here and there, but the truth is that I was feeling a bit beat up, all in all, and then a few years ago, something happened that made it feel like the blog was no longer a safe space (yeah, I know. A blog that the whole internet can read whenever they like with unlimited access somehow felt safe? Makes no sense, and yet it did.) I'd think of something to post and then I just - couldn't. I've often wondered what it would take to get me to post something again.
And then the old blog has disappeared, due to electronic incompetence on my part, and now there's this brand new space, this wide inviting open space just waiting for All The Words. And here are some, and I'm going to post this, and then I'm going to write another post, and then we'll see what happens.
Welcome to my new space :)
And then Life happened. I developed a mental illness. My husband went a few rounds with colon cancer. I blogged a little, here and there, but the truth is that I was feeling a bit beat up, all in all, and then a few years ago, something happened that made it feel like the blog was no longer a safe space (yeah, I know. A blog that the whole internet can read whenever they like with unlimited access somehow felt safe? Makes no sense, and yet it did.) I'd think of something to post and then I just - couldn't. I've often wondered what it would take to get me to post something again.
And then the old blog has disappeared, due to electronic incompetence on my part, and now there's this brand new space, this wide inviting open space just waiting for All The Words. And here are some, and I'm going to post this, and then I'm going to write another post, and then we'll see what happens.
Welcome to my new space :)
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