Nightmares

Lastnight I had a nightmare.

It was about my party. It was terrible.

In my nightmare time was flying by. Real fast like (hmmm... sounds normal to me). I remember the time of the party coming and we were in this little tiny old rickety church hall type place that could really only hold maybe 20 people comfortably.

For some reason there was a mis-communication with the DJ and he didn't come at all. Then I had forgotten to get the decorations done so I had a mixed array of dollar store streamers ripped and masking taped up to and fro. I also happened to run out of time to find anything decent to wear so I looked a fright.

To top it off barely anyone showed up. Which considering the sounds of the party that occurred, it was probably a good thing.

So I guess I need to do a bit more planning or something. I am starting to worry a bit about some of my ideas and stuff. EEK!!

With less than 2 months til party time I think I'd better get on things.

No Time to Think

So it's 5:30am on a Monday morning in which I will soon begin my day.

It's a different day in my work world as I am working during the day today and home this evening (miraculous!!)

I am only up because I have a pooch that is not feeling well and I am doing my best to keep him from giving me proof on the carpet. Not my favourite activity.

It's at this point I briefly contemplate calling in for work to be with him but realize that might be a tad on the crazy side since he's probably ok.

sO I sit here and think ...

It's been in the past couple of weeks I have come to a serious conclusion: I am too busy to think.

Not in an 'I'm too busy to think because I am soooo important and have way better things to do' way. More in an 'it's March already!! I haven't made time to do all of those things I meant to do this year yet!' way.

I am beginning to realize that I am totally letting my job and financial goals overcome everything else that's important in my life. (And by the way getting so busy that I am neglecting any sort of good budgeting which would make those financial goals see any light of day).

This is really hard for me. I am a very focused person. I see a goal and I go for it. If I want to 'experience life', I devote time to 'experiencing life'. If I want to travel, I travel (ok so I haven't done a lot of this at all but when I do it's takes focus for me to accomplish it, since it doesn't come natural to me). If I want to truly get healthy, I truly get healthy (again not something I've experienced but there is more to tell you regarding this later). If I want to try 40 things in 40 days I do my best to try forty things in forty days.

My main goal in life is to live. Live with passion. Live with fire. Live with gusto. After my experiment last year the biggest thing that I learned while trying loads of new things, whether it was a new food, or going to a new religious experience, I learned that relationships were the most important thing in life. At least in my unprofessional opinion.

Now as I look back on my last 6 months of life I am realizing I have slid back in time to my old, old ways of doing things. My bad habit of saying 'yes' to everyone (only regarding my work). My focus lately had been entirely work related. Why? Well when I started my new job I was told 'Permanent schedules come faster to those who accept shifts quicker'.

I took that to heart and have worked no less that 43 hours every week (you are only allowed to work 44 awake hours a week) plus 2-3 overnight shifts a week (your are only supposed to work 2 a week) the past few weeks.

Initially I was very proud of this accomplishment. I was working hard, doing my part to get a permanent schedule that I could count on (mostly because if I had a permanent schedule I wouldn't be obligated to take everyone else's stray shifts).

A couple of weeks ago I had a great conversation with another co worker I had just met. She works approximately 15 hours a week, give or take. She's been with the agency for years but she's still not much older than myself. She's a liver, like me (or like I was). I liked her immediately after a few sentences were exchanged. I knew she'd 'get' what I talked about when we chatted about our lives.

She told me not to burn myself out with work there. That they would take me for all I had. She didn't said it was a terrible agency or anything but that if I was willing to be worn out that would happen. Right now I am definitely letting that happen. all for the sake of money really. Well, that and a good reputation at work.

*Sigh*

So now I'm in an interesting position. One I didn't think I would be put in again. I'm in the class of life called 'Saying NO 101'. You see I did pass this class at one point in my life, when I had realized that I just needed to trust God would give me all I needed and then some if I wold just sit back and let him. It didn't mean being lazy, I just meant letting go of my own ego fulfilling desires and trusting that by doing so He would fill the other voids in life.

I remember when I passed the class before I was able to say no without guilt because I knew it was what I was supposed to do. I knew that by doing so I would be taken care of in an area of my life that I needed something other than the high of saying 'yes'. It was a wonderful class that I learned so much in. I feel it grew wisdom within me. Somewhere along the line I think the wisdom took a hike, or perhaps I sent it on a vacay.

It's funny I've been thinking about this struggle of mine for the past several weeks. Too scared to admit it or bring it up because I knew it meant that I would have to deal with it if I 'talked' about it. Well I've talked about it. To to fix it.

*Sigh*

I'm going to think some more on this and see where it takes me.

Hopefully somewhere great.

Chocolate = Death?

I guess Part 3 of my story will have to come later seeing as I don't have it in me to write it right now. Oh well...

I'm not sure what exactly I want to write I just know that I wouldn't mind an outlet. Just don't know what to let out.

I mentioned before that I am learning some Catholic stuff. I kinda want to look at it as Liturgical stuff right now seeing as I guess specifically that is what I am looking at.

Right now we are in Lent. I'm learning more and more about it. I'm finding it rather incredible and interesting.

When I was a teen I thought that Lent was about picking out something you loved (like chocolate, tv, video games) and giving it up for forty days. I was never entirely sure as to why. I guess I thought it was to represent Jesus giving up his life. You know, because me giving up chocolate is like totally the same as Jesus dying and stuff.

I would love to go on and tell you what I'm learning but I'm not ready yet. I will say that I know now that Lent is not about really comparing your toils to that of Jesus really, it's about growing closer to Him. Well, that's the short version I guess.

I thought I had more, but I don't.

I'm a tad on the melancholy side right now. Not a bad thing. Just a thing.

Friday, November 13th, 2009 - Part 2

The door opened and Guy's mother marched up the stairs up into the kitchen and I think flew into his room. She essentially began doing what he said she was going to do. Except for actually using the word retarded that is.

In that moment I felt like a betrayer. I felt like I fed him to the wolves. I just wanted to hold him.

You see 2 weeks prior, we faced a similar scene (minus the sexual assault and plus a physical one). Then though it was Guy telling us that he wanted to die, to run into the middle of a road and get hit by a car. That he hated his mother and hated his life.

It was then that I had to identify with him and let him know, though I didn't have his life, I had felt those feelings before in my teenage years. That I too had feelings of suicide in my life. That I too felt angry with my mother at one point.

I remember telling him that he didn't want to kill himself and there would be a lot of people that would be so saddened if he hurt himself , that he was loved. (I will never tell someone how they feel again - it's not fair and I knew that it was wrong). He looked at me very honestly and purely, and said 'I don't care'. The sad part is I could tell by his eyes that he didn't. I knew that by the way he was treated in his life, having to live in a group home (while his four siblings lived in a nice home in the country), not being given any control or barely any choice, he would feel better off dead. It broke my heart.

Of course now it was two weeks later and this incident was even more out of control and even more heart breaking to watch.

After his mother got to his room she spent a good 10-15 minutes shouting at him, about being disappointed in him, and on and on. At one point her live in boyfriend joined her side as a male figure. This didn't help at all. He was senseless when it came to dealing with someone who had a disability and was mentally distraught - he had also never seen this side to our very sweet Guy.

It wasn't long and Guy had lost it. And I mean lost it. He began to physically retaliate towards his mother. We had to intervene and then he tried to get out the window again to run.

During this time the decision was made for me to call 911. I did so and was told by the dispatcher that 'it is a busy night tonight we'll get someone there as soon as possible. Call back if things get worse'.

Things continued to get out of hand. Guy at one point had jumped onto his bed, peeled off his shirt and started groping different body parts, seemingly at his mother and step father. I couldn't gain eye contact - he did not even seem present. His face was bright red, his veins were popping, he was displaying raw anger at the world, specifically those in his world. Part of me couldn't blame him.

Guy continued to utter 'I hate you' at his mother along with a colourful host of other profanities chained together in the most interesting of ways (at least that I'd ever heard).

After beginning to lash out again physically at his mother (who by the way is like 5 feet tall and would weigh maybe a hundred and ten pounds). Her boyfriend helped her put him in a physical restraint that was anything but proper (yes there is a proper way to do it). At this my co worker (who is a Safe Management instructor - teaching holds and protective actions) and I had to remain hands off as he is under age with his mother there sort of calling the shots. If she hadn't have been and we felt the need we would restrain, but with caution and proper technique. People have died while in restraints.

Guy is now laying in our narrow hallway outside of his room on his naked stomach with his mother sitting on top of him and his step father on his legs. He is now using every last bit of his strength to get them off. At one point he head butted his mother in her face, among other things. Again the profanities were streaming out of his mouth and the anger boiled.

At this point I had made a second call to 911 saying we needed help now! They said they send some one over soon but it may take 20-25 minutes (there goes our so called emergency plan).

The next 15 minutes were spent retraining him (by, of course, his mom and her boyfriend). Finally my co worker stated that is was not safe to keep him like this and at the count of three to let him go and get him directed back to his room. At the count of three they released him and he somehow got back to his room. At which point he began hitting out at my co worker and started using objects in his room to throw at her or anyone around them. She took a hit and her glasses were thrown off (good thing she has loads of experience with that sort of thing).

I make a third call to 911 and plead with them to get some one there to help. Within a couple of minutes our manager finally arrived (she was out of town for the day). She is able to calmly walk into his room. At which point Guy put himself in his closet and wailed with the door closed while the five of us made a mini assembly line and took every object we could get our hands on and put them into Gui's room for everyone's safety.

Then, all but our manager, got out of the room.

She stayed in his room and talked calmly to him and he did calm down ... somewhat. Definitely not completely or even a lot. But enough to get him to a place where he was prepared to be taken to the hospital for help.

Finally, as Guy and our manager began to walk out of his room to get to a car, the police make their grand entrance. Well it wasn't really grand. While Guy was in his room they had come in the house and got a one minute overview with who they would be dealing with and the state of things. That's when Guy came out of his room.

As soon as Guy saw the two officers he tried to run, then he punched the one officer in the face. At which point he was once again restrained (and instantly might I add) on the floor, on his stomach.

He again began to yell and wail hateful comments and interesting profanities, followed by the statement 'Please just kill me now'.

That is when I am quite positive my heart broke all over again for this young man whom I spent 30 hours a week with taking to basketball try outs, floor hockey nights and helping do homework.

I've mentioned before that I'm not a crier. Let alone in front of my boss and several strangers. But I couldn't take it anymore, I lost it. I wasn't hysterical but a well of tears escaped as I watched my Guy be detained. In my point of view for simply revealing his hurt.

A hurt might I add he tried to show us two weeks earlier but was ignored (even when three of us core staff sat and pleaded to our manager in her office to get him some help).

After several minutes and a call for backup, he finally agreed to comply with the police. A third officer arrived to help take Guy out to a proper cruiser for transport. Guy seemed to be doing ok until he got into the cruiser and realized his dreams of overtaking the police weren't going to come true. He wrestled and couldn't get out of his handcuffs and was now not going anywhere. He apparently had a look of desperation on his face.

The house was a flurry of people communicating where everyone was going. Mostly all but my co worker and I were going to the children's hospital (Guy was only 14). Meds and papers were being sorted through. At one point my manager gave me a hug, which I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted (or at least not from her) but I let her. She attempted the same thing with my co worker, who had kept it together, but was declined. My manager made sure to remind us to fill out all necessary Occurrence Incident Reports for the evening and not to forget any other paperwork. (Because that's the most important thing ... clearly. Sarcasm strongly intended).

Finally it was 5:30pm, two excruciating hours had passed by, and my co worker and I were alone, with Gui still locked in the living room (it's an open area which we can monitor all the time). We just looked at each other for a few seconds and then ... we wept. And we wept. Then we wept a little more. She asked me if she could hug me. I said yes.

After 3-4 minutes we took a moment to breathe again and then she looked at me and said 'we can't do this tonight' (meaning work the rest of our shift with Mr.S.), there were still 5 1/2 hours to go.

She immediately went into the office to call someone to come in and be with Gui, while I went up to the raised living room to get him out to give him a brief change and think about what to feed him for supper.

However as I stepped up the stairs I noticed that Gui was bending his legs funny. He was no longer standing straight up at the banister looking on as he usually does, he was slowly shrinking to the floor with wide eyes.

I comment and said 'Gui, what are you doing? I've never seen that look before.' I opened the gate and got near him - not something you usually do without caution. I begin talking to him. My co worker hears me say 'That's weird Gui, you sound like you are sleeping' and she bolts out of the office.

She yells 'Oh my goodness! He's having a seizure!'

What?! I thought. Could this really be happening. Literally five minutes after an incredibly huge rage by Guy. This couldn't be happening.

My co worker jumps into the living room as I try to feel for a pulse. Gui is now lying on the floor with eyes glazed over. I couldn't find a pulse, but then again my adrenaline was pumping pretty hard.

She had grabbed his emergency med and gave it to him and listened for breathes. He began to turn a pale blue colour. She states 'He's stopped breathing' and proceeds to ask me to get the scissors to get his shirt off. I do so and within seconds he is lying bare chested on the floor receiving CPR by my co worker as I am calling 911 for the fourth time in 2 hours.

Within minutes the ambulance arrives with three EMS personnel. A small young lady, and two burly men, one of which could have used a few laps around a track (no judgment though). They declared that Gui wasn't having a seizure and looked at us mockingly for calling it that. Because Gui wasn't having a traditional seizure of shaking of the body and such they figured we had no idea what we were talking about.

Of course as we debriefed them on Gui and his disability and behaviours they had no idea what we were talking about. I am constantly astounded at how little those in the medical community know about people with disabilities. Astounded.

Because Gui is a big guy they decided to lift him down all of our stairs themselves (split level houses aren't an advantage when you need an ambulance). They got him to the stretcher and he had already improved quite a bit. By that I mean he was already swinging and trying to head butt the ambulance people. Because of their rudeness to us, we didn't mind.

Once again meds were found, papers and cards were sent and Gui's father was called to meet his son at the hospital - something normally we would have taken care of. Clearly that night we weren't going anywhere.

It was 5:55pm and the house was now officially empty, except for my co worker and I. This time we were stunned. We looked at eachother and and began to laugh. And laugh, then laugh some more.

I mean what are the chances that something like this is ever going to happen? Like never. Four 911 calls, three for police, one for an ambulance. The need to use both PRNs, that are generally used in extreme circumstances, for both guys, within 2 1/2 hours. To see one guy have a psychotic break and the other one literally stop breathing, is just silly. It's just ... crazy.

And there we were, 2 1/2 hours into our shift with nobody to support.

The dramatic part of the story ends here. However the bitter end doesn't.

I shall wait and share that in Part 3.

At Work - Friday November 13th, 2009

I'm probably breaking rules or something, I'm not exactly sure. I'm at work right now doing a sleep shift at my old job, which I have to add doesn't necessarily mean you sleep the whole time. I just tucked in Mr. Slaps-a-lot (it's wrong for me to say that, I'm not trying to be rude but he does do that), a few mintues ago after he got up soon after my arrival.

Poor guy has a cold. At one point I heard him gasping for air, wait I thought I heard him gasping for air (on the monitor we keep in his room). You see Mr. S. (A.K.A. Gui)has life threatening seizures that we have to monitor. They don't happen often, but when they do, it's really crazy. An automatic call to 911 is required, along with serious first aid, sometimes including CPR. Not my favourite activity.

Mr. S. doesn't have seizures often, maybe once a year. However this year he's already had three (all since the time I've been working there - hopefully that's not saying anything about me).

I've only ever seen one and that was on the night of the 'Incident'. I started my post on the 'Incident' but never finished. It's a lot to bite off, chew and spew out.

Maybe I'll try. THe following si the beginning of the post I started about my Guy and the 'Incident'.

Here she goes.

My guy is Guy. Guy is the young man I worked with at the group home I worked at (well still take night shifts at once in a while). This is an account of the date above. And how my heart broke again for the first time in a long time.


It was 3:15pm as I opened the back door of the house. I noticed I was a few minutes early so I slipped into he office to check my e-mail for the day. It was Friday. Finally. I would get my only day off for the week, the 70 hour week, tomorrow.

The 15 minute walk I took from the college was very cold and it seemed unfair that the bus drivers were on strike. But they were and I had legs so ... that was that.

I quickly checked my mail and by 3:30pm was already into the staff room (which is just a third bedroom where the night staff slept, meds were kept and the rest of us congregated). I was reading through the first of 3 books I would need to catch up on with what was up. (Wouldn't take long since I was in every day).

Not two minutes after I began my reading I hear Guy enter the house. There's a brief conversation between him and a staff, then out of no where the staff yells 'Eva I need your help Guy just sexually assaulted me!'

I bolt out of the bedroom to see Guy going into his room with the staff behind him. HE slams the door and begins to cry loudly in anger and slam things around. There are three staff present in total. Myself, the co-worker that was assaulted and the staff that just returned home with Guy.

The three of us congregate in the staff office to go over what the heck just happened. A phone call is made for the PM (Program Manager - our boss). A few minutes have gone buy. Myself and the staff that just returned comment on how quiet Guy is in his room. Initially he was crying and being very loud, slamming things and such. At this point we didn't hear a thing.

I ran into Gui's room to look out the window as the other staff knocks and enters Guy's room, to see his window wide open with the screen removed. I see that Guy has climbed out of the window and onto the room and is making his way along the awning to jump down and run away. We catch his attention by yelling his name. HE stops and grins at us.

I dart out the front door and to the side of the house where he is several feet in the air climbing on the over hang on the patio. I quickly call his name, calming ask him to come down carefully so we can go into the house and talk. He begins to come downward until he sees the staff he asssaulted. HE then begins going back up. I ask the staff to return to the house and that I felt ok to handle it. I knew that her presence at that point wouldn't make him feel secure. I talked with his for a few minutes and he slowly made his way down. I allowed him to follow me into the house, until we got to the front door, when I let him go in first.

He was imediately asked to go to his room to hang out - with the door OPEN this time. HE did so without a problem. There was much discussion at that point with our manager over the phone as to what we should do.

The Program Manager (PM) decided that I should give him his PRN medication. This is generally a big deal however I had gotten the experience 2 weeks prior of giving it to him. It's a story in itself.

You see he used to get it all of the time when he was young and raged. His behaviour has improved greatly over the past 6 years and hadn't had it given to him in over a year.

Luckily (I guess) I had the experience of doing this before myself in a very similar situation. I needed gloves (so the med wouldn't get into my skin and knock me out), a cell phone (in case he acted out), and mental preparation because I knew this would take a little while.

I took a deep breath and was given by my co workers what I needed. I went in and held what I had discretely in my hand. And we talked. We actually started the talking 10 minutes before I got the med, then we continued to talk for 20 minutes before he would agree to take the med. But he eventually did take the med.

2 weeks prior when I had to go through virtually the same routine and I had gotten him to take the PRN my co worker's eye balls had almost bulged completely out fo her head. He took it peacefully, willingly and came out of his room calmly after wards. She told me she(in her 6 years of working with him) had never seen anything like it. Of course that stroked my ego (a lot) and gave me confidence the second time around.

The only thing was, the second time around was a whole different ball game and everyone knew it.

AFter he finally take the med, which once his adrenaline calms down is supposed to kick in and really relax (and at times knock) him out. At least it had 2 week before that.

Afterwards I stuck around standing just outside his bedroom door chatting with him as another staff fixed him a sandwhich (as he hadn't yet had lunch). I got out of him why he had done what he did, as well as a confession of what he indeed did do. He told me that 'she deserved it' because she was 'torturing him' and he wanted to 'teach her a lesson'.

Now I need to set the record straight. She is a fabulous staff. Probably the strongest one on our team. She has become a close friend of mine as well. She in no way was torturing him, but in his mind her specifically asking him to do something (like leaving his overnight bag in the staff office due to the fact there were his meds in it for the weekend visit he was soon to be picked up for). He has a history with her. Memories of her being there when he used to rage as a child, of when things weren't so smooth.

Anyways I talked with Guy for another 30 minutes. Everything was very calm however I knew something was 'off'. He wasn't right. He began to fixate on the door. He was calmly anger at the other staff, whom I had to ask to leave the area as I did not feel she was safe, even though he was quitely talking to me in his room.

At this point during hte incident the third staff who had been with Guy all afternoon, had left (as things seemed calm), the other staff was outside the front door making phone calls to both Guy's mother (who was supposed to be on her way to pick him up anyways for the weekend), and our PM (boss). She was making sure everyone was up to speed. Oh yes, Gui (A.K.A. Mr.S.) was in the gated living room for his own safety.

During the 30 inutes after giving Guy his med I discretely called my co worker on the house's cell phone I had in my pocket. I feared he was going to escalate. As I said before, he wasn't himself.

He told me that he wanted to run to the door and distract his mother before she heard what happen. He was literally preparing to run. He also spoke of how he could out smart the police as well and how they wouldn't be able to catch him. He also said that he knew that his mother, if she found out, would come into his room and yell at him about what he did and call him nothing but 'a little retard'.

All the while I continued to talk with him, update my co worker, and wait. His mother was running late as usual. Of all days, this didn't seem to be the one to have her be late on. But she was (an hour late).

When she finally arrived my co worker was outside briefing her on the events of the afternoon, telling her that she really needed to go in and approach him with love and care.

Unfortunately that idea turned into a pipe dream because it wasn't love we saw ...

To be continued another day ...

Nudie Patoodie

Six months into my new field (like around June of last year), I had made the announcement to my loved ones that I hadn't' seen so many nude men in all of my life.

Several months have gone by and I can now say that I have never seen so many nude women in all my life.

As I have been training to work with so many different people during the past couple of months I have really begun to think of how vulnerable those I work to support are.

Initially when I began seeing the naked bodies of strangers I was understandably a little embarrassed. I mean it wasn't like I was going to have to take my turn being naked in front of them.

Clearly it was not a game of 'If you show me yours, I'll show you mine'.

Now though, several naked bodies later, I am nearly unphased at the nudity I am exposed to.

I will admit I don't think I was really prepared to deal with that part of the job. It's not exactly the reason I went into this field. I mean originally I thought I'd work in a school (and still may some day), not a forum of birthday suits.

I think back to when I was growing up, to a time when my parents said I began to really become aware of my body and being unclothed. I was very young. Since then I have always been quite conservative with how much and what areas of skin I have shown. Sometimes it doesn't have to even be about the skin, it could be just about how much concise my silhouette is.

I've learned a lot seeing people at their most exposed.

I've learned ...

It's not fair that there are people that have to allow strangers to bath them.

The ability to clean your body yourself is a gift.

So much trust is involved, yet more times than not people aren't given a choice whether they trust you or not.

Ultimately you don't get to decide the temperature of the bath water, how well you are cleaned, if the shampoo is rinsed out or how you want your body cleaned.

I've also learned that bodies are bodies. It is rare to find body perfection. The vast majority of humanity are physically imperfect - eat the dam fat-full salad dressing already!

Bums can be triangular.

Most women have boobs that hang (mine don't - and it's not because they are young either...)

I've also learned though that having to be naked doesn't have to be the end of your life, or pride.


A couple of months ago I was talking with a friend about my schedule and that you don't really get 'lunch breaks' or breaks at all. She asked about when I get to go to the bathroom and where.

When I told her that I politely just ask the person I'm supporting if I can use their washroom she was aghast. 'You actually sit on their toilets?!' she asked.

I said 'Their shit is no different than yours or mine'. She nodded her head in embarrassment.

I will admit though there are certain bathrooms you do like to disinfect before you use them. One guy I see has Hep B and you have to. You get the point though.

I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this little rant. I suppose I just want to dispel the myth that those who are different than you, aren't really all that different than you.

I learned today too that just because someone is used to having most people in their life see them naked doesn't' mean they are always comfortable with it. One person I was seeing today, when asked if I could come in and watch their bathing routine, told my trainer 'no'. The trainer said she never says 'no'.

I was kind of proud of the lady for saying no to me watching. Not because I'm tired of seeing strangers in the buff. But because she used her voice and it was respected.

If her privacy couldn't be at least her voice was.

Ninjas in Wrinkleville and other wandering thoughts...

This morning my thoughts wandered a bit.

Nothing much new about this except I thought I'd try and write them down to share with y'all before I forgot. You know, 'cause they could like, change the world or something.

I was waken up by a horrible song on the radio (from the station that neither Wally nor I like but seems to be a mediation - at least he thinks it is).

I kinda think that I was dreaming at the time because in my dream I hated the song too. Mysteries.

I suited up for my morning dragging by the dogs (right now I'm hoping there's only one meaning for the word 'dragging'. Who knows these days).

I put on Wally's black silky track pants with a white stripe down each leg, over my lovely M & M pj's that, to be honest, I find really ugly but fitting for me (I have a love for peanut M & Ms). I then put on my biggest, thickest maroon hoodie with yellow 'Florida State' letters on it. Once again another article of clothing I honestly think is ugly to look at but perfection to wear.

I then dug out my thick multi coloured toque, put it on then whipped my hoodie hood over top of it. Then came my huge blue-plus-other coloured scarf (over my hoodie hood), soon followed by my sporty winter coat.

Oh, I think I forgot to mention putting on heavy M & M night socks which at some point throughout the evening I throw off because I am too warm. I usually put them back on in the morning and tuck my pj pants into them, you know, to help them from wandering north while I make the addition of the track pants.

Finally I add the piece de resistance (that's supposed to be said in a French accent), my tan coloured suede boots. You know, to complete the ensemble. I was now ready for the cat walk ... or should I say dog walk.

Anyhoo, I head out the door with my two dogs in tow and thus begun my wandering thoughts...

As we were exiting our building I quickly noticed the newspaper stand thinger and the story on the front. It was about a solider killing two women at an army base. I quickly wondered if I should dare leave the building in the dark at 6:15am to venture out into the scary world. Then I gently reminded myself that I lived int he slowest moving village within the city and likely the biggest threat would be someone with a cane that couldn't run, well, as fast as a jet like me.

It wasn't far into the walk when I hit an icy patch and used my cat like reflexes to keep me from bottoming out. They worked. I then concluded that dog walking could indeed become an Olympic sport. Flexibility, balance, sheer determination and grace were needed to succeed. clearly I would win a gold medal.

On we went.

I got to the 3 or 4 way stop, you know, depending on how you look at it. Saw a Dodge Caravan come to a stop, then ever so slowly make their turn. It looked like they had seen my dogs and I and were going to be one of those polite law breakers who would let us go ahead but they would still inch out so they wouldn't have to wait the entire time for us to cross. But then they did not let us cross - it was weird.

Then I noticed the person driving the van was a female ninja. 'Weird!!' I thought. A real Ninja mom here in Wrinkleville. 'Cool!!!' However it also may have been a Muslim because there is a Mosque down the street and it was that hour. (Ok so I don't know the actual hour but I've seen some traveling early in the morning before).

As we continued on I decided to avoid some of my chances to exercise my cat like reflexes by walking on the cliffs surrounding them. Ok they weren't really cliffs exactly. But they were a good 4 inches high of hard snow.

The dogs apparently didn't want to use their cat like reflexes either, because they joined me.

At one point we passed a parking lot with a little moped (incidentally I never knew what a moped was when I was younger, it was always a prize on Wheel of Fortune for our Commodore 64 - now I know though) Anyways, I wondered what person in their right mind would be riding around on it in the dead of winter, let alone why they would leave it in the parking lot not chained to anything. I could have like picked up with my bare hand and walked away with it. In fact I am now wondering why the dogs and I didn't hop on for a little joy ride. Oh wait, it's the dead of winter, that's why. (You thought I was going to say it's wrong to steal didn't you? Pffst!)

On we walked. Sweet accomplished some business and as I knelt down to pick it up I briefly thought about the three deer we saw yesterday and worried they may make an appearance. I had visions of the three of them in ninja costumes trying to pounce on me. They had clubs. I intentionally moved a little quicker.

Just as we were almost at the door of our building I noticed that I was seeming to be dragging Sweet. He apparently was not done his business and I realized I'd been dragging him for several paces. It's not like him to be the drag-ee.

I think my mind was wandering a little more this morning than usual...