You are currently browsing the monthly archive for July 2008.
1) Bendigo is cold.
2) So is Melbourne.
3) Both places have this weird wet stuff that falls from the sky. What’s that about?!
4) Coffee is cheaper in Melbourne. Not better. Just cheaper.
5) I am easily confused. Give me a street and I will get lost in it. Give me a map and I will get even more lost, as I walk halfway down the street before peering at the map, deciding I’m walking the wrong way, and retracing my steps. I can do this several times, back and forth, without appearing to get sick of it.
6) I am unnacountably excited by trains.
7) Internet people are fun.
8 ) Normal people look at you weird when they ask why you are in Melbourne, and you say ‘well, I was in Bendigo for the Sheep and Wool Festival and I thought, it’s only a two hour train trip, so why not!’
9) They look at you even weirder when they ask you what you are doing during your stay and you say ‘well, Tuesday and Wednesday I am meeting two of my imaginary friends…’ (that would be the aforementioned internet people)
10) Alpacas are CUUUUUUUUTE.
11) Walking around all day and then spending the evening meeting new people is tiring.
12) Suburbs are a thing in Melbourne. Almost everyone I met asked me what suburb I lived in in Adelaide, even though not one of them had any idea what I was talking about when I told them. I don’t know whether it’s just the people I hang out with, but generally Adelaide people will only ask you where you live if it comes up in the conversation – it’s not typically right after ‘what do you do?’ as a conversation started.
13) Alpacas. They are CUUUUUUUUUUTE
It’s 8:42. I have to catch a bus into the city at 5:45 tomorrow. That’d be am. I am going away for a week. I am not packed. I have an inspection while I am away. Half my floor is mopped.
And I just dropped a whole jar of coffee on the floor of my kitchen. And the floor was wet. Because I’d just mopped it (what was I doing walking on my just-mopped floors, you ask? MAKING COFFEE, that’s what). So now there is a half a jar of coffee stuck to my kitchen floor.
Did I mention that I am not packed? I haven’t even started to organise the knitting I am taking. Well, ok, I’ve started. One half-finished cowl and one not yet cast on. A pair of socks. Half a sleeve knitted and the other one and a half to go. Half a jumper.
I’m thinking about maybe casting on another pair of socks. And maybe another cowl. You know. In case.
Did I mention I have an inspection? And coffee stuck to the floor of my kitchen? And instead of mopping it up (which would be easy, because the mop is right there because I had just mopped it), I am blogging.
Oh, and watching videos. This is hilarious:
The best part (apart from the wedding – I mean, wtf?) is that the site I read it on, Broadsheet? Is splashed with ads saying ‘wanted: overweight women to do a study that helped women in China loose weight FAST!”
You can make that stuff up. I don’t know why on earth you would, though.
I got rid of my TV a while back. Not in a self- righteous way. I still consume media. Just, most of it is either in the form of a podcast or a DVD. I hadn’t used the TV for a while, and it was taking up valuable shelf space. So I moved it. And put yarn there.
But now, when I accidentally see some free-to-air tv, I am agog about the ads. I mean… for reals? Are you people joking? This shite makes people want to buy stuff? I just makes me want a nap. Or maybe punch something.
Oh, ALSO? If that self-conscious voice in my head would please shut up? You know who you are. Yes you do. You. Yes, you. The one in the cheesecloth shirt and the birks. The one saying ‘serious, lady? you’re blogging about how horrible it is that you broke a jar of coffee? What about the starving orphans that harvested that coffee? Huh? Did you think of that?!’
Look, Voice. I’m blogging. That means I’m a blogger. What about that makes you think I wish to be reminded of the scale of my problems in the real world?
Me and my first world problems will be over here watching you tube. Actually, I guess that would be me and my Core Problems will be over here. Doesn’t have the same ring to it, does it? Still, looks like four years of International Studies haven’t gone to waste – I got a sidenote in a blog post about it! Horrah for me!
Did I mention that I’m not packed, yet?
It’s raining out. That set-in, determined rain that makes weekends so cosy. The type of rain that makes you long to be in bed, with a book and a cuppa and maybe some knitting.
I seem to be doing a lot of longing recently.
Whatever. Time for some knitting content.
I’m sure y’all remember the ‘never quite right’ mini hissy fit I had a whiles back. I don’t know why suddenly I’m from Texas. But there you have it.
Well, last night I re-examined my CPH. I had taken Carol’s advice and soaked it. I soaked it for about 30 hours. It just dried last night. The sleeves have relaxed – they’re still a scooch tight, but they’re no longer stupid-tight. And, judging from my wrap cardi, they will relax some more before too long. So that’s good. And given that, the fact that they are too long actually becomes a bonus. Walking to work from the bus stop this morning they came in handy as mittens. Pity the hood looks retarded and I am only going to use it in temperature or precipitation emergencies.
However, the point of this is that it still doesn’t close over the front. I was discussing this with the knitting group the other week, and several suggestions were made. Last night I raided my button stash. Nothing like what I wanted. And buttons would involve working an i-cord or crochet edging for loops, or ripping back. Neither was something I wanted to attempt at that hour (ok, so it was, like, 7:30. But it felt much later).
Who suggested this? I can’t for the life of me remember. I only had small ones. And it was, you know. Late. So I just whacked them in.
I know, I know. Taking photos of yourself in a mirror at night is full of suck. It’s the best you’re gonna get. None of the ones showing how gapey it was without them came even close to being acceptable.
How can tht room look so messy? That table is seriously the only thing in there (the bunnies usually live here. They’ve gone home to stay with my folks while I go on holiday. It’s real empty all of a sudden.)
ANYWAY. The upshot is, it’s still not quite right. But it’s wearable. In fact, I’m wearing it now (as hinted at above). I will need to get bigger press studs, I think. Either that or just suck it up and find some buttons, but I kind of like the way it looks now. If I find the perfect buttons, though, I’ll rethink.
If I was doing it again, I would definitely include buttons.
I also ripped the too-big cowl. And started another one. In different yarn. What? It’s going to be cold in Bendigo. I won’t finish a DK-weight cowl by then. But an aran weight cowl? In two days… sure. I can totally do that. If I don’t, you know. Clean. Or pack.
Oh yeah. And, I’ve started the sleeves for that weird alpaca thing I knit a while back. Don’t remember it?
And blogged here. In February.
I tried a couple of times to do the sleeve maths myself, but couldn’t brain. Had the dumb. So I found a sleeve that looked like I wanted, in the right gauge, and decided that I would just risk it. That’s me. Winging it. To be fair, I am totally prepared to take it if it turns out to be a disaster. Oh, I will whinge about it. I just won’t feel righteous when I do.
Last night when I was finding needles to cast on my new cowl with, I discovered that the lace was on my 3.5 knit picks. This was odd, because I thought that that was what I was knitting the sleeve with.
Nopes. 3.75. Well, you know.
Actually, that might be why I got gauge. The sleeve I am knitting calls for 4mm needles. The rest of the top is 3.5. God, I am sooooo professional.
And somehow in my brain I am going to finish this before or at Bendigo.
My delusion is all part of my charm. Or something.
The smaller it seems.
That can’t be right, can it?
Post lunch haze. Feeling full and sleepy, but good. If I was at home, this would be a perfect time to retire to bed with a book, which I would then lay next to me as I stared out of the window at the lovely damp sky, or even just at the inside of my eyelids.
Chatty Colleague was Chatty again this morning. I have already email whinged about this to several of you, so I’ll refrain from doing it again. Besides, it doesn’t really help. Sure, it stops me from feeling the urge to actually physically harm her. But it does nothing for my internal turmoil.
She is a lovely person. She is genuine, concerned for others, caring. Sure, she has some irritating traits; even unbaised, Nice people agree that she can be grating. But she’s young. And she is Sincere and Nice. And yet… increasingly, I feel not even token positive feelings towards her. In fact, I am full of negative ones. Not hatred. That’s too strong a word. But I realised this morning on the bus that I was actually dreading coming to work, because it meant having to talk to her. Not because of the in-the-moment experience, but because of the way I am left feeling afterwards.
Angry. At her, and at myself for feeling so negative, for having such large feelings about such small things. Why can’t I just let it go? Take a deep breathe and calm the f*ck down? I mean, really. It’s not like I live with her. It’s not like I even talk to her that much.
I probably shouldn’t even be blogging about this. Still, it’s not about HER. It’s not. It’s about me. Me, me, me. None of the things that annoy me about her are her fau… ok, wait. Some of them are. But in fact, the things she has control over are only really annoying to me in the context of all the other negative emotions she evokes. I mean, it’s stuff that when other people do it, I just sigh and move on. But because I am already cranky about her…
I was trying to think, why her? But I don’t think that there is any particular reason, apart from the fact that she already sort of rubbed me up the wrong way. And since I am sort of tense and on edge at the moment, she’s become a focal point for my angst.
Yup. I’m still tired. I still feel like I have no excuse to be dragging myself around. Still think I’m on the verge of coming down with something, although I refuse to be sick, do you hear?!
Holiday next week. I can’t wait.
Emotions are so hard. You have to have them. Then you have to think about them, and figure out what exactly they are. This is harder than you might think. Then you have to figure out why you are feeling that, and is that a justified response? Then you have to act accordingly. Which is why I so often put my emotions on hold, because I take far longer to do all that than a normal encounter allows for. So, if I can, I just ignore my emotions until I can figure out what they are.
I’m trying to work out how I feel about my mum. The best I can come up with is ‘ambivalent’.
She’s a bit mental. Small mental. She’s not, you know. Crazy. Whatever that even means! I don’t know how you would tell the difference between officially crazy people and officially sane people. Anyway. She just makes everything harder than it needs to be. And she doesn’t… I don’t know. It’s like she doesn’t realise that my sister and I are in fact seperate people. Seperate from her, not from each other. And every time we do something that she doesn’t like (and it’s always completely arbitrary when she doesn’t like something) it’s personal. We didn’t just do it because of our own reasons. It was on purpose to hurt or offend her.
I dunno. It’s more complicated than that. And we have a long history of conflict – not big conflict. Just constant.
I always forget that I can’t tell her anything. At least, not anything that is important to me, or means anything. Even things like my holiday – have I talked about that here? Everyone who I know reads this blog knows about it anyway – most of you are involved in some way! I am going to Bendigo for the Sheep and Wool show, and then to Melbourne to stay until Wednesday night. Going to meet some bloggy friends, do some exploring of the city, buy some fibre. Hang out with good people, and do things I like. I am so, so looking forward to this – and then I have another four days when I get back, before I have to go back to work. I am hoping that it will be what I need – refreshing. A pause. A time to sort myself out.
I was talking to my mother about it on the phone the other day. I said ‘I am really looking forward to my holiday.’ Her response?
‘It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?’
I don’t even know what that means. I am assuming she is talking about the sheep and wool part of it – she knits, but she is not a Knitter. She certainly doesn’t have the Yarn Lust. Even so… what kind of response is that?
Last month she came for a visit and I showed her my single finished Monkey Sock. She looked at it and said ‘I’ve never gotten the point of knitting socks. And I really dont’ like that green. But you would, wouldn’t you.’
I don’t know what kind of a relationship I would like with my mother. But that isn’t it. I know those are just two incidents, out of context. Maybe it doesn’t say too much. But… I was just talking about this with my sister. Every time it’s going nicely, you’ve had great conversations with her, you feel like she loves you and you love her and you understand each other and you’re on the same team… she goes and says something like that, or does something that makes you feel isolated, wrong, alone. And I always feel so betrayed.
It’s funny how much those two throw away remarks hurt. And also how much they didn’t. How much I’ve detatched myself from her, because I don’t have the energy to be out there, taking the punches. She is not the most important relationship in my life. Maybe she should be, but she just isn’t. So I am not invested enough to be interested in going with her wherever her moods are.
Obviously she’s got her own internal stuff going on. And I’m kind of hoping that when my sister moves out at the end of the year, there will be one less thing that she can blame for how she feels. I know she does this – I do it too. I feel unhappy. It must be because X has left their shit everywhere. How dare they! It’s rude! This is my space too! It’s like they hate me! I could be blissfully happy, if only they’d put their stuff away! It’s all their fault!!
Sure, the mess isn’t helping. But it’s not the problem.
Anyway, the point of all that is that I was trying to work out if I love my mother.
I guess the trouble is that I am not sure what that means, anymore. Was I ever sure? I remember being surprised the first time I fell in love. I had thought that maybe I didn’t have it in me, and there I was, arse over teakettle, in love with someone. Undeniably in love.
Now, I love plenty of people. In a quieter way. I give thanks almost every day for my boss, who is awesomeness personified – as a boss, and as friend. I have friendship-love for work colleagues. I am so very grateful for my fibre friends. I miss my friend in China all the time, even though I haven’t seen her in years.
I would do all kinds of ridiculous things for my sister. If anyone tried to hurt her, I don’t think I would even think twice about jumping into harm’s way. Same goes for my cousins. ust don’t fuck with them, ok? I feel a gentler, but no less deep, love for most of my family – my grandma and dad particularly, I respect and love and admire, even though I see things about them that aren’t perfect.
But I can’t find what I feel for my mother, right now. In the abstract, I feel love and respect and fondness. When I think of past-her, of her when she was my age, when I was small, I feel sympathy and understanding and love for her as a human being with flaws and talents. A mother, a woman, a person just trying to work life out.
I just don’t know what I feel for her, now, today. Why should it be different? Have I run out of patience? Is that fair?
I guess I feel… nothing. I don’t think I will feel that way forever. I’m sure tomorrow I will be angry and frustrated, in a month I will feel positive again, in another month, something different again.
But for now, I feel… nothing.
I probably shouldn’t be ok with that. But I am.
So, I mentioned that I went to go see Sex and the City on the weekend. I went to it already having read Audrey’s post, and therefore knowing 1) a lot of the plot and 2) a lot of the things that would make me angry about the movie.
What I didn’t know was how much I would like it.
I went to go see it because my sister and I had some free tickets and wanted to spend some time together. I wanted to go see Prince Caspian, but she wanted to see SATC, and I had no real objection, since I sorta kinda wanted to see it, but had no desire to spend actual money to do so.
Let’s get this right out the way: I am going to basically spoil the whole plot. If you don’t want to see it, wouldn’t see it if someone paid you money to do so, would poke your own eyes out if forced to see it, or don’t care if you know the plot before you see it, then read on!
First off: this movie is completely ridiculous and gratuitous. It is not set in New York. It is set in the imaginations of billions of women who have never been to New York, and who dream about being there and being rich and special. It is a New York where Penthouse Suites have teeny tiny closets, but romantic men make them into large, shiny walk-in closets as engagement gifts. (I love you, Big.) Where when you are having an emotional disaster your friends will say ‘whatever you need, honey’, and then whisk you off to foreign climes. Where even if you are a busy attorney, you can drop everything at the drop of a hat to be whisked off to foriegn climes. Because, you know. Whatever Carrie needs. And where if you shriek loud enough, you can get a taxi in New York on New Years Eve. For symbolic reasons, natch.
I think some of my bitterness came out there. The second thing I need to establish is this: I cannot stand Carrie Bradshaw. SJP herself seems nice enough, if a little whack in the wardrobe department. But Carrie is irritating, annoying, shrill, self centred, psuedo-intellectual, and needy.
Part of the problem here is that the film is About Carrie. Samantha gets a mini plot line, Miranda gets half of one, and Charlotte is pretty much there for nostalgia value. And to squee a lot. And not only do I like Miranda the best, I identify with her. A lot. Several times during the film there would be a conversation, and I would throw away an aside to my sister under my breath, and then Miranda would say exactly the same thing. I am her. I am.
Which made this film disappointing for me. The whole film was essentially ‘how do we do a film, but get the girls right back where they were at the end of the series?’ Charlotte finally gets the daughter she has always wanted – again. Samantha is on a new journey of sexual/romantic discovery – again. Miranda learns an important lesson about love and life – again. Carrie and Big get together, forever. AGAIN.
I felt betrayed by Mirand’s arc. At the end of the series, they lead you to believe that she is thawing, that Steve is good for her, that she will always be prickly and hard-nosed, but that she is learning how to be happy within herself and around that. In the movie, she is waaaaaaaaaaay more terse and prickly than she ever was. And not only that, she is unreasonable. She was never unreasonable before. At least, not within her own frame of reference. I realise I’m taking this a little personally. But there’s this one part where she screams at Steve ‘I changed who I was for you!’ No. No, she didn’t. She was doing that at the end of the series. But it’s like that never happened.
Maybe she wasn’t unreasonable. I don’t know. Because although her marriage is falling apart and she is going through emotional hell, we don’t get to see any of that. Why?
Although. I did finally realise why Miranda and Carrie are friends. Throughout the series, there’s always reference to how they are Best Friends, and all that. I never got that. I mean – why? But there’s a sort of wrap up scene at the end, where Miranda has to make an emotional decision and is struggling because for all her smarts, that’s just not her thing. And Carrie talks her through it. Because Carrie is all about (her own) emotions.
And I recognised that scene. I have that friend. We have that talk. All the time.
Thankfully for me, I am not nearly as emotionally cramped as Miranda. And my friend is not even close to being as self absorbed.
Further notes: I know it’s a scholcky movie. I know. But there is some beautiful shots in the middle, when all the drama was happening. Over dramatic, sure. Heavy handed, I can’t argue. But I thought to myself ‘if this movie was in Spanish, and set in Mexico, all the intellectuals would be clamouring about how Deep and Meanigful and Beautiful is is. But because it’s white women in New York, we’re not supposed to like it.’
But I really think it did some interesting talking. There were real, serious themes of forgiveness and relationships and marriage and commitment, and what all those things mean. Just like the show. Just because it’s schlock doesn’t mean it can’t be powerful.
And in the end, it was, at least for me. I cried in several parts of the film. Heck, I got teary in the opening montage! Because that was when I remembered. I remembered how much I liked (most of) those girls. And the other characters – Steve, Harry, Big, even Smith. How much time I have spent with them, how much crap they’ve gone through. How much crap I’ve gone through. How many metaphors they have provided, conversations they have started. Just because it’s white middle class culture, doesn’t mean it’s not culture.
And I really really liked Samantha’s arc. Spoiler alert: she breaks up with Smith. I cried then, too. Not because they broke up. That was inevitable – from the opening credits, I knew it would happen. But because it was beautiful and caring and well executed. I know a lot of people won’t agree with me. She leaves because she is not happy – she doesn’t like the monogamy, sure (they make a big deal of how she wants to sleep with her next door neighbour. Which she never does, which is either a sign of her emotional maturity, or a truimph for Moral America. I can’t decide which). But more than that, she is frustrated by the way her life has come to revolve around a man, to the extent where she doesn’t do the things she loves any more. Like… uh… have lots of sex and shop in New York. Ok, so maybe the moral high ground is a bit further up.
But still. As she is leaving she says ‘I love you. I am going to say what you are not supposed to say. I love you, but I love me more. And I have had a great five year relationship with you. But I have had a great 49 year relationship with me. And that’s the one I’ve got to work on right now.’
Yay, Samantha! I am proud of her. She did what she needed to do. Instead of staying with Smith and throwing sushi at him, she got out of a relationship that was not what she needed (after giving it a fair chance). And she is right – he will meet a lovely girl who will appreciate him and his commitment. And who won’t throw sushi at him.
This is getting soppy. Which is the point of the movie – it’s not high art. It’s fun. It’s silly. And the reasons it is good are purely emotional. You like the movie because you like the characters and you are invested in their stories. And I am. So I liked it.
But soppy is not something I enjoy being, so I am going to stop. Except to say this.
I really fucking hate gladiator sandals.
That Phone Guy was on my bus today. He looked like a ginger Christopher Walker, said ‘mate’ a lot (‘that’s foine, maaate. Foine. I’ll certainly do that, for sure… mate.’) and carried his lunch in a plastic bag. By the end of the trip I felt very sorry for him. Which is probably unfair.
Then I was trying to make coffee and one of my less-favoured colleagues was in the tea room. This is how the conversation went (she has a high voice, so imagine this at a fair pitch. My favourite morning experience.)
(That was sarcasm.)
Her: Morning Kate! How are you?!
Me: Hi ___. I’ve been better. I think I might be coming down with something.
Her: Oh nooooo! blah blah blah blah blah bleh blah blah blah bleh bleh
Me: uh huh.
Her: blah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blah
Me: Can I just get to the kettle behind you?
Her: Oh! Sure!!!! blah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blah!!!!!!! blah blah blahblah blah blah. blah blah blah!!!! blah blah blah? blah blah blah!!!!!1!!1!!
Me (internally): OMG KILL. SHUT UP SHUT UP. WHY WON’T YOU SHUT UP?!?!?!
Me (out loud): Really? That must have been nice. I think…
Her: Yeah!1!!!! blah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blah. And then I got my mum out of bed and made her change teh fuse!!!!!!!!!blah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blahblah blah blah.
My head hurts.
I should never have children. Ever.
Speaking of lame blogging, I’m stealing this meme from Jac:
Rules: You must answer the questions using only one word. Then tag four others.
1. Where is your cell phone? Desk
2. Your significant other? Nonexistent
3. Your hair? Short
4. Your mother? Mental
5. Your father? Endearing
6. Your favourite thing? Light
7. Your dream last night? Forgotten
8. Your favourite drink? Coffee
9. Your dream/goal? Happiness
10. The room you’re in? Office
11. Your hobby? Knitting
12. Your fear? Vulnerability
13. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Home
14. What you’re not? Awake
15. Muffins? Cupcakes
16. One of your wish list items? Yarn
17. Where you grew up? Lobethal
18. The last thing you did? Blogged
19. What are you wearing? Clothes
20. Favourite gadget? iPod
21. Your pets? Bunnies!!111!!!!1!
22. Your computer? Alsome
23. Your mood? Fatalistic
24. Missing someone? Nope
25. Your car? Imaginary
26. Something you’re not wearing? Smile
27. Favourite store? Yarn
28. Like someone? Yup
29. Your favourite colour? Green
30. When is the last time you laughed? Yesterday
31. Last time you cried? Weekend
Tagging is for n00bs. So I’m not gonna. I am such a freaking rebel.
On the weekend I saw Sex and The City. It made me cry. I know, right?! I am totally going to blog about it. Later.
I think I need another coffee. And maybe a blankie.
Be warned. This is merely a vent. It is not going to be very interesting. So I will start off with the vaguely knitting-related content.
I finished the cowl I was knitting. It’s beautiful.
It’s soft. It’s warm. The colours are enchanting. I am even coming around to that weird, muddy green.
One problem. As raveled, here. It’s too big.
At first I thought it was just a teeny bit too big. I did cast on ten too many stitches, and although that should have been accounted for by the fact that my gauge was off, I could see how maybe it didn’t quite work out. Gauge is tricksy, after all.
I wore it yesterday. In the morning, I tucked it into my jacket, and folded the front over diagonally, like a pidge. It sort of worked. Trying to get it to work on the way home was a dismal failure, thought.
When I got home, I pulled it so that it sat where I would want it. I haven’t counted the stitches yet, but it’d be somewhere closer to 40 or even 50. Le sigh.
See, I think the idea is to wear it like this:
Up over your head. Hood like. And, if you don’t want to wear it thusly, it will be tall enough that it will stand up anyway. Well, mine isn’t tall enough. I ran out of yarn before I hit the recommended amount of repeats. I didn’t mind, because I will never ever ever desire to wear it as a hood. ever.
But it’s not working. So it will be frogged. Once I can get up the energy to find the damn ends. And I washed and blocked it and everything. Also, it means I will have to magic loop it, since it will be too small for my smallest circ. I hate magic loop. It’s fiddly and annoying and disrupts my rythm and isn’t relaxing at all.
cowl: #1 it’s never quite right.
Well, technically it’s #2, but I don’t have photos of #1
Which would be my CPH. Which is done, but I don’t have any photographs of it. It’s still drying from being blocked. Which hopefully (ha!) will fix a lot of what was wrong with it. I.e:
- The sleeves are tight. Tight enough that I wouldn’t be able to wear anything but a tshirt under it, comfortably.
- The sleeves are also too long. Not a big deal, but annoying.
- The ribbing is tight. This means that it bunches around the bottom. Since I knit it an extra repeat long, it hits nicely at exactly my widest point.
- This means that it doesn’t come together nicely. It can. It just doesn’t naturally sit that way. Because, you see, the ribbing keeps pulling it open. Which means, since I can’t wear anything but a tishirt under it, that my boobs get cold.
- This means that I think I might have to put in bottons. Which means that I have to unpick the cast off on the button band and put button holes in. I do not want to do this because one row of that freaking button band took me an hour to knit. I dislike 2×2 rib. A lot.
#3. The monkeys.
I am wearing them now. They are pretty. They are soft. They are warm but not too warm. They are GREEN.
They are too long.
Not a lot too long. Just that teeny tiny bit enough too long. Half an inch shorter, and it would be no probs.
I was going to knit them a half an inch shorter, but my last pair of green socks are currently on my friend’s feet and not mine because the last time I shortened a pattern they were too short.
Wah wah wah. Poor little me. Nothing is ever right.
This concludes the knitting part of this post.
I am tired. I am sick and tired. And I am sick and tired of listening to myself whinge about how sick and tired I am of everything.
I am sick of looking at people, talking to people, listening to people. I am sick of having to think for people who can’t manage simple, day-to-day tasks. I am already sick of my disruptive office mate, who has been back from leave for all of an hour and is already being… well… disruptive. I am sick of my family, some of the worst of whom I will be dining with tonight. I am sick of my house being a mess and things not having a home. I am sick of work, where nothing ever seems to go smoothly, or work right the first time. I am sick of being admin, so that this is my problem.
I do not have the headspace for other people’s problems. They are not my job. Really. Only, somehow, they are. Somehow, because person A doesn’t understand written instructions, she has to stand over me for ten minutes explaining what is already written on the page for me to do. At length. In words of one syllable. Because person B has technology blindness, they have to come and get me because the printer is ‘broken’. The printer, in fact, is telling us to press a particular button. Once this button is pressed, the printer works fine. This is why printers have little screens with words on.
I am sick of people sending me incomprehensible emails which take five minutes to wade through, and at the end, I know I am supposed to do some work for them, but I have no idea what. I am sick of having to hold people’s hands. ‘No, it’s fine. No problems. Have a nice day! How was your trip?’
I keep finding myself in situations where I know there is a proper response/facial expression/comment. But I just can’t summon it. I look at the person, and my face just goes blank. I don’t care. I don’t care how their trip was and it is a problem and it’s not fine. Or maybe it is fine, but the fact that I have to reassure you fifty times that it’s fine is a problem.
Wah wah wah. Sob sob sob. Poor little me and my first world freaking problems. Woe!
I am SO SICK of hearing myself whinge.
Because I know I don’t have anything to complain about. Well, that is not true. Obviously I do. But the things that are legitimate complaints are either:
- so ridiculously, insignificantly small in the scheme of things that, once articulated, I feel petty and squalid and ungrateful.
- not gonna change. So deal with it.
- not really the other person’s problem. They’re my problem, something internal.
The things that are getting to me are not really about what is happening, or even about what I’m thinking. They’re about how I’m feeling. I’m already feeling jangled, so my office mate talking under her breath as she talks is all the more disturbing. I’m already feeling burdened, so having to be pleasant as I walk people through basic tasks that I’ve walked them through a dozen times before is too much. I’m already feeling tired, on a soul deep level (please excuse my ennui), and so having to get up early to come into an office where nothing is quite right is exhausting.
Usually I deal with this pretty well. People who know me might call me a pessimist. I prefer to think that I’m a realist, but then, I would. And I’m aware that I’m on the negative side of that. I have fairly low expectations of other people – and myself, often. I don’t really think that this is a bad thing. (But then, I wouldn’t). Thinking like this takes care of #2 above. Usually. I try to find that zen point. Or daoist point, maybe. That point where you know, without thinking about it, that the world is how it is. That the fact that it’s imperfect doesn’t make it bad, or wrong. That a perfect world would, in fact, not be desirable. That it is what it is what it is, and the only thing you can change about it is how you see and deal with it. And that that is a very real change.
Somehow I can’t find that place. It moved, maybe. I need to remap. But I just can’t find the headspace, the calm, the quiet. All the things that usually sing for me, that help me sens eout where that place is - the colours that soothe, the golden light that glows, the textures that hum… all that is dry and hard and my brain sees it, but it doesn’t seem to penetrate. It’s not the compass I need it to be.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not Depressed. In fact, I’m pretty happy at the moment. Which is weird. I just… can’t quite click into my days.
I seem to post here a lot when I feel like this. Partly it’s because that’s when I need the blog. Studies show (say in news reader voice) that writing about your thoughts and emotions together is more therapuetic than seeing a counsellor, for some people. It’s good to be reminded, too, that I felt like this before, not that long ago, and I got over myself fairly rapidly. It’s good to sift through what I’m feeling and why, is this something that will change, is there somethign I can do to make that change?
Maybe I’m just hormonal. Hormones have a lot to answer for, if you ask me.
Last weekend was great. I slept in both days. That deep, healing sleep where your limbs feel heavy when you wake up. On Saturday I met up with friends, I did my shopping. Sunday I ordered my house. Not as much as I’d like, but enough that it was a pleasant place to be in. Then, just as I was settling in for some defraging… it was Monday.
Always running. Always slipping backwards.
How do people with real lives do it? People with kids and proper houses and work and commitments and all that. I can barely manage to keep my floor mopped these days.
I feel better now. Thanks
Cannot WAIT for my holiday.