Blog

Quickly:

I feel SO much better this morning. I believe it’s all due to my dear readers’ good thoughts AND Christy and Mom listening to me growl last night. And the hot bath helped, as did all the drugs I could find in my medicine cabinet – the panicked “two of these and one of these and oh, this can’t hurt, either!” kind of pill-popping. Not to worry, I don’t mix and match much, and we’re talking marrying tylenol with sudafed, but whatever I did, it worked. That migraine never quite latched. It was still revving up when I went to sleep, and when I woke, it was GONE.

Like magic.

I feel better equipped this morning to wrestle with printing the Rogue pattern, which I REALLY want to start in the lavender Lush (50% wool, 50% angora, ooooohhhhh). But if I can’t make it print, I have socks to do, and that’s just fine. Why did it feel like the end of the world last night?

Sometimes it’s the little things. The big problems I am equipped to handle. Those I can usually take and process and work with on my own. I’m strong enough for them. The little things like last night (did I tell you I dropped a glass full of water that then shorted out the teakettle? Grrr) are the things that make me crawl on the carpet (which I found out last night I REALLY have to have shampooed) in self-pitying misery.

Over it. And I’m happy that I get a long drive today. Usually I don’t look forward to it, but today I am. It’s raining softly, and it has been since last night, so I expect I’ll chase the rain during the four-hour drive south. The kitties are going with me, and Digit came back from his morning run, so I’m not worried about trapping him. I have a couple of new CDs to listen to and I plan on turning the brain off (except for the Steer Avoid Brake part) and relaxing. And hugging little mama by the end of the day!

I’ll be back on Thursday, prolly won’t post till Friday. So have a good week, all. And thanks.

No Koigu. Not the boys’ fault – they’re a shipping marvel. So no starting Cromarty this weekend (which starts tomorrow, Tuesday morning, when I drive Home).

No Imitrex. I was a very good girl and dropped the Rx off on Friday. My pharmacy is open all day and most of every night, so I was confident that I’d either pick it up before the next migraine or at the onset of one. This is the onset. And they lost the damn prescription. When they found it (twenty bright-light minutes later), there was no strength written on it. So they have to wait until tomorrow to contact my doctor to fill it. I can pick it up before I leave, yes. But the base-of-the-skull pain is building and this thing’s gonna be full-blown by midnight.

And I have cramps. (Yes, I see the migraine PMS connection. And I don’t like it.)

I want two things: A glass of wine. And a good cry. Both would only make the migraine worse, so I’ll settle for a bath and a cup of Sleepytime tea instead. And this rant, which helps a little.

The only positive thing is that I bought a cone of Classic Elite Lush in a discontinued lavender color and it arrived today. Maybe I’ll start Rogue this weekend instead. And I get to see the little mama tomorrow and Mariko on Wednesday. Things will look better in the morning, I know. They always do. But for now I need the lights out. Kay?

A kiss and a growl to you. Just like Digit (who’s worrying me by not coming when called tonight). See what he’s doing with this catnip Mousie?

Let’s all get our frustration out like that. Kill a catnip mouse or two. (Although yesterday he brought a really big-ass rat from outside. Oy. That makes my head hurt more to think about. G’night.)

** Addendum: An hour and a half later of being stupid and Not Going to Bed Where I Belong, I give up. Digit finally came in, so that’s one worry resolved. But Rogue’s last 5 pages aren’t printing. I give up. I’m knitting socks all weekend. Screw it. Bed. NOW.

Went out last night to a club in the City to hear some bands. My friend Jes Muse (her real name) is in a band called the Hunks. They were up second, after a one-man band. Now, let me tell you. This was bizarre. Bee-zare. His name was Fauntleroy. He wore a shiny purple sateen three-piece suit. He had a beard and a mustache, and was obviously either totally crazy or on something that you can’t buy at Safeway. He had Casio-sound coming out of his laptop that was plugged into the speakers. When he sang he jerked and twitched. He was a little tone-deaf.

But get this. He had the most amazing Tom Waits kind of timing, a very alarming use of language (this was NOT someone with whom I’d want to share a seat on Greyhound), and he completely won over the small crowd. We went from blatant snickering to rather shamefaced amusement to astonished admiration. Dude was working it. The tall skinny boys in the crowd wearing leather and spikes stopped touching their messy hair self-consciously. It went from Fauntleroy’s only friend boogying in the front row to all of us shaking our hips a little.

I don’t know why it touched me so much. And taught me again that you can’t judge a book by its cover. I’m ALWAYS wrong about covers.

Jes’s band was fabulous. Took a little warming up, but they’re good girl-punk, and Jes is freaking amazing on the drums. That kind of rhythm held in the body? I can’t imagine what that would feel like. My friend Rachel and I were the only ones really dancin’ it up, but we just couldn’t help ourselves. When you have to dance, you gotta move.

Now if only the boy next door played his drum set like that….

Today, PLEASE keep your minds focused on USPS. I want that lovely Koigu box from the boys to arrive TODAY. If it doesn’t, then I have no Koigu for the trip home for my weekend (going to see the little mama again). I want to start Cromarty! Now now now. If that doesn’t happen, then I’m taking the cashmere down south with me. But I’m just not sure exactly what I’m going to DO with the cashmere. It’s too bulky and tweedy for Rogue, and I just don’t know…. Thinking about a simple raglan vee-neck pullover. How can I go wrong? (Oh, the fear of Going Wrong with cashmere….) Hmm. Idears?

There ain’t nothing like a bacon-egg-n-cheese biscuit meal from McDonalds. With coffee. I know loving it is wrong, but I don’t wanna be right. Let’s talk grease. Lovely, salty goodness. And I have to say, their coffee ain’t bad, either.

Work is, so far, pretty quiet. Of course, the Q word is not allowed to be uttered in this room. If it is, then something awful happens and it’s suddenly very Not Quiet. And if you’re the one who said it, it’s all your fault. So I’m not gonna say it. I’ll just write it. Don’t tell.

I received a call yesterday from one of Mom’s angels. Mariko says he doesn’t like fanfare, so let’s just call him J. J gave my mother information, something she’s finding very little of elsewhere lately. I couldn’t tell him enough how much we appreciated someone who took an interest in her. I think I embarrassed him a little. But really, things like that mean the world when you feel like hell and there’s little relief to be found. Mom’s still feeling poorly and tired and shaky, and now they’re second-guessing her hyper-thyroid diagnosis. IT’S SO FRUSTRATING. And that’s how *I* feel. Can’t even imagine how she feels.

Anyway. Thank you, J. Thank you, Mariko.

(I know you shouldn’t tease an angel, but did you know Mariko is scared of Santa? Go see her insane brother for the funniest proof ever (scroll down to the 20th). I’m going home to see the little mama for my weekend, and I’ll take Mariko out for coffee to make up for this. But I had to. It’s the cutest.)

P.S. It’s not quiet anymore. My bad.

“They constantly manipulate facts, and when things don’t work out as they want, they run to mama and whine.”

Seems as if the AFA isn’t, in fact, going to take its poll on whether Americans favor same-sex marriage to Capitol Hill, as they had originally said. Hmmm. I wonder why? Humorous, but disappointing just the same. (Thanks for JStrizzy for the link.)

I got the best sleep last night! No knitting done at all, just bound off a Secret Project (pics to follow in the next few days) and called it good. I took a hot bubble bath, which I used to be good at doing every night, but I’ve fallen out of the habit recently. I tried to catch up a little with my New Yorkers (four weeks behind right now) and I got to bed at a decent time. I slept until ten minutes before the alarm would have gone off.

I took Alice Starmore’s Celtic Collection to bed with me. I’m going to make Cromarty (breathe deeply, in, out — I’m a wee bit frightened, this being my first A.S.) and I wanted to READ the pattern. You know, really understand the construction. Of course, I can’t get past the very SECOND instruction, k1b. WTF? Amy, help! Is that knit one through the back loop? That’s the only abbreviation they don’t explain in the back of the book. And it’s the second thing I’d have to do after casting on. Lord.

I’m going to do it in Koigu Kersti, from the boys, and can I just tell ya? They cut a deal with me like no deal has ever been cut. Also, I got to talk to Rob on the phone, as they were cruising — I mean looking — for a new home for Threadbear. I hate it that they have to move their business, but we’ll all pull together and order LOTS of yarn from them to make the transition a little easier, huh? We’ll sacrifice a bit. Won’t that be terrible? Ordering yarn? Stop it. And Rob? Fireball, that’s all I’m gonna say.

So I read Cromarty. That made for sweet dreams. And I tried to get further with my Proust, which the – girls – and I are reading, but I swann….. I’m loving the book — it’s rich like fruitcake and heavy cream, and it makes me drowsy and dreamy in the same way. Oh, it’s lovely. And narcotic-like.

All right. I’m bored with myself and work is busy, so I’m outta here. Have a great weekend. Mwah!