Wednesday, April 27, 2005

i kissed the buddha and made him cry 

Life is so good.

What do you think would happen if, instead of huddled around wretchedly guarding our treasures, sneering jealously at one another, we all just... shared? I don't mean Communism, necessarily, although if we all went around being generous and open-hearted with each other, we'd probably have personal property issues licked, but just letting other people be and giving to them, instead of demanding from each other all the time.

Can you ever really be poor or disadvantaged if you just give?

I mean, I know that's sorta what Jesus was talking about, etc., but it's not the same thing, nowadays.

What really slays me is, they teach you this in parenting, to give of a whole self instead of parenting out of your own need. The only thing that surprises me is that they stop short of applying this universally. They don't tell you it's 42.(And if you don't know what I mean by that, you just plain haven't been listening.)

What if you could grow the Garden of Eden inside your own heart?

Wow! This therapy thing is great!

Of course, I don't see her for a week and a half, so you'll have to wait that long to find out if this is Mommy's First Manic Episode, but I don't think so.

My heart feels like a dense, sweet shard of honeycomb. If my heart broke right now, light, cloudy honey would come dripping out.

I've even been knitting.

Maybe it's all the tequila shots, but if it is, I'm buying y'all a round.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

your heart felt good, it was dripping with pitch and made of wood 

So, folks, serious par-tay tonight at my work. You're welcome to drop by, although I think there's a cover charge. Make sure to bring your camera so you can get some incriminating photos of me.

Friday, April 15, 2005

we thought that everything good always would remain 

Long overdue questions...

For Else:

1. What characteristics do you hope your kids inherit from you?

2. Did you say tattoos? What tattoos? Spill.

3. Which blogger's lifestyle do you most envy?

4. So, what's the story with you and Misty? I read through your archives, but I'm not sure what the relationship is.

5. What's your dream?

For Juno

1. Seriously, what's the worst/best/most humiiliating/most costly thing you ever did for a friend? (No bridesmaid-dress stories.)

2. What makes you crush on a boy?

3. What are your hypothetical kids' names? This isn't pressure--by all means, stay happily kid free.

4. Why the nom de plume Juno? Is that really your name and I missed it? If there is some great mythological explanation, gimme.

5. I've been reading your archives and I think we have a lot in common. You remind me of a me that didn't get married and get Mommied. So why in hell, when we are both significantly spatially oriented, do we both have such problems with sweaters that fit?

So, boys and girls, I'll be in and out. Spring is sproinging around here and I feel all juicy and mentally healthy. If I'm quiet, I'm probably cleaning out the closets, so don't worry.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

i'm always walking down the escalator the up way 

Knitting tonight, boys and girls?

Saturday, April 09, 2005

you're a bad-hearted boytrap, babydoll 


All single persons who are sufficiently concerned about their marital status to join a singles' group!

If you go out for drinks, and 95% of your single friends are discourteous and peremptory towards the wait staff, know this:

We are all behind the bar, laughing behind our hands, and saying, NO WONDER YOU'RE SINGLE.

(I am gonna post for real really soon; I've had a huge deadline coming up.)

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

baby suck your thumb 

So, ladies and gentlemen, shall we knit tonight?

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

laugh hard, it's a long ways to the bank 

So, my girl has flown the coop. We got her on the plane, but she got off in Pittsburg and called her ex to come get her. He lives in NJ, so she still might turn up at her friend's house to get straightened out, but the heroine is not as optimistic as she once was. I don't think (and my personal mental health specialist agrees) that my girl has hit her bottom. She is hellbent on proving no one can tell her what to do. She is going to destroy herself no matter what we say. And it's so sad.

But you know what? This is my stop. This is where I get off. I will not watch her destroy herself. She has made it crystal clear that no attempts on my part to talk sense to her will be received, and I'm just done. I've worried myself sick over it for two months, and I hope she doesn't end up dead, but it's out of my hands either way. I have a family who needs me home, not off in space or driving around the country trying to save someone who doesn't want to be saved. I've known self-destructive people before--you're so shocked, right?--but I've never known anyone as frank about it as she is. If she gets herself sorted and chooses to be my friend and make the reparations she needs to do to make it right with me, then, well, we'll see. But I have no time left for people who are simultaneously imploding and treating me like crap. I want to be saved. I want to play with the big boys and girls, the people who know who they are and what they want and how to live without making everyone else crazy. I hate the drama and the game-playing and the hypocrisy.

I had finished the pink-and-purple Lorna's Laces socks--my first LL socks--and contemplated giving them to my Girl aloud to Pman. On Friday, when it became clear that she was not going to tell me anything, I conveniently forgot about the gift, until Pman remembered and made a big noisy deal about it. I want my socks back, dammit.

That sounds mean. I guess I had thought about giving them to her as a gesture of friendship, and when it became obvious that our friendship was not something she cared much about, I started feeling protective of my beautiful socks.

I started a RetroPrep sweater with the Rowan Kid Whatever that I ripped out of my Fluffy Sweater. I am loving this RP action and can definitely see myself knitting this pattern again. It's lovely. I'm also embarking on an ambitious project to make copies of all the patterns I want to knit--particularly from IK--so that when I'm ready, I pull the pattern out of the file and go.

I started making argyle socks for Pman, in brown, orange and green, but it remains to be seen if my colorwork is attractive enough to make up for what a pain in the ass it is to do argyle. I actually started at the ankle of a previously-knit sock. These stupid brown socks are near death, I tell you. I knit one sock for Pman, with a pretty something-or-other on the leg that (I didn't realize at the time) drew in the leg like, 30%. RIIIIIP. I had started the matching foot, too, and for some reason (I haven't investigated) it's too big. Bigger than the other foot by about an inch. RIIIIIP. So now, I've started this whole Argyle Thing. We'll see. If this doesn't work out I am ripping the whole damn thing and burying the yarn in the bottom of my sock yarn drawer. Fuck it.

How are you feeling? Are you feeling good? 'Cause I am feeling good.

Good enough to race around the world singlehandedly saving junkies from themselves?

Hahaha, you thought you got me--


Friday, April 01, 2005

and to the one you thought was on your side, she can't understand, she truly believes the lie 

So, for those of you who need to update your scorecard:

The Best Friend Situation continues to grow more dire. Turns out the root cause of a lot of odd behavior is a year-long Chemical Dependency on the part of my friend. Think Less Than Zero. Did she finally come clean to me? No, she did not. Her college roommate was in town and nailed her on the drugs immediately (I haven't been around that particular block before.) So my Girl is going back to NJ with our friend tomorrow, to get her head clear and to get away from the SoD. My Girl is still barely speaking to me. She did address me long enough to ask me to keep her car and call her mother. I promised I wouldn't tell her mother(a LOVELY woman who has asked me numerous times if there were drugs involved, and I can't believe she totally called it, with less information than anyone else had)about the drugs, and so I lied my wooly little head off to this great mom I adore. But I didn't promise not to tell her dad. So there. I'm so glad she's getting help, and getting away from the SoD, but I'm still steaming mad that ten years of friendship is just out the window.

I had the distinct pleasure (I know all y'all are green with envy) to call my best friend's dad and tell him his daughter is a drug addict. There's an unspoken code among people my age, we don't get the parents involved. At least in my case, my parents are total products of the Me Generation and it's thoroughly unlikely that they'd be of any use. But my Girl is going to need some help getting straightened out and back on her feet, help that us twentysomething-friends-of-the-Girl are ill-prepared to offer.

Let me be perfectly clear. I am only tangentally involved in the Plan to get the Girl to safety. Obviously, I am not the person she chose to ask for help. I am helping out in a few minor ways--clearly, I'd rather contribute by talking with the Girl instead of calling her folks--but if this is what she needs to get better, then all I can do is be supportive and deal with my own feelings when she leaves.

Perhaps we will be friends again sometime in the future, but it's not looking good. Addiction or not, she totally ditched me.

Well, apparently my Cake of Trauma was feeling a little bare, so my mother kindly provided the ICING. ON. THE. FUCKING. CAKE.

She called me after midnight last night, when I was unpredictably tucked in my warm bed and snoozing, and harangued me about how this is all my fault. She's apparently concerned that my Girl will freak out on the airplane, causing it to plummet to the ground in a fiery tailspin. She told me if I didn't essentially kidnap the Girl, drive her to Nebraska and put her in detox, than I would be "endangering the lives of innocent children." Um, I know I haven't flown since 2000, but weren't you all just saying how much harder it is to get on a plane now? Don't they have like, Tasers and shit on planes nowadays? It's my job to make sure she's here in time to make her flight. Aren't decisions about the fitness of certain passengers for travel left to the airline? And what damage can an underweight 5'7" pacifist do on an airplane? Hopefully not as much as sixteen suicide bombers, or the defense of this country is in SERIOUS trouble.

She was screaming at me. My husband heard it, and, so help me, if I'm exaggerating any of this for my audience, he'll call me on it. I hung up on my own mother (I said goodbye first) which is not really in character for me. My mom sounded crazy; not fun, kicky crazy like me, more like Brother Justin crazy. Satan's Ventriloquist crazy. And aren't I lucky that the focal point of her rage is how my best friend's drug addiction and subsequent downward spiral are ALL MY FAULT?

Well, I am so damn sorry. To be perfectly honest, my first instinct is to rush in there, full of drastic solutions, and take care of everything. But look: I've been right here for the past year, waiting to do anything and everything she asks. (My Girl AND my mom, frankly.) It's clear to me now that the Girl doesn't really want me involved and doesn't really want me to run this show. Otherwise, she WOULD have come to me. Obviously, the girl wants her help to come from elsewhere, and what am I supposed to do? Scream at her that she can't get better unless it's me helping her through the process? Ridiculous. Thanks, Mom, for taking a horrible situation and making it all better. Now that I know you can be counted on for unwavering love and support, I don't need to waste my time and money in therapy any longer. Now that you've reassured me that all the guilt, sadness, fear, and grief I feel about my friend are perfectly normal, since it's ALL MY FUCKING FAULT, I can continue murdering babies and lighting puppies on fire.

I tell you people, it's a fucking miracle I'm as functional as I am.

My therapist is going to LOVE all this shit. It's cocktail hour somewhere, right?