Weighty Issues.

Rang in the New Year overweight, as always, and, as always, Sad.  That was the main impetus for Dry January.  Well, that, and the fact that, if I shed problems like onion skins, I'd get to the root of Things.

Don't know that that's what's happening, but do know that not drinking alcohol leads to wanting to cut back on caffeine, which leads to a whole bunch of other things.

In one of my stronger, more inspired moments of late, opened a box containing a journal dating back from 2012, where I found myself 20 lbs lighter than I am now ... Fretting about how I needed to lose 10 lbs.

I've always been chunky.  I probably always will be.  Doesn't mean that I'm not healthy or athletic; just means that I am Bigger than what current aesthetics dictate.

Let's us not worry so much about weight / being thin, and worry more about the body chemistry issues.  Cholesterol is fine, but could be better.  Blood sugar is fine.  Blood pressure is only high when I stress out over going to get it checked.

This is me back in 2009 - same as in 2012, when I was all upset over things.  2018 me *loves* this portrait of me, chunky as I may be.

Shadows of Our Forgotten Ancestors.

Found my next knitting project. (Hint: it ain't this.)



Is up and keeping with my goal to knit a lace scarf/stole/shawl a month this year. I have other goals, too. Will talk about them soon enough.

My fat cat diet and laser pointer therapy seem to be working, too. Since last March, I've lost 22 lbs. The goal is to lose another 15 and to get myself back into decent athletic shape. I think I can get the weight lost by mid Spring - just in time to start some serious hiking again.

***

Am still trying to decide if I'm a Happy Cat at heart, though, or too sad from too much bad. I know I try to be happy, just doesn't always happen, though.

A Happy Birthday

This evening, I sat by an open window
and read till the light was gone and the book
was no more than a part of the darkness.
I could easily have switched on a lamp,
but I wanted to ride this day down into night,
to sit alone and smooth the unreadable page
with the pale gray ghost of my hand.

-Ted Kooser

Early Birthday Present and a Nice Memory From a Past Life.



Sorry for the bad posture. I'm hunching because it's cold! Should have dressed warmer.

I've been bitten by the Lace Bug, which has sort of caused me to rearrange my knitting goals for this year. Made the above shawl from a pattern on Ravelry called 198 Yds. of Heaven. I didn't use anything luxurious, just a bit of my favorite workhorse wool. Am really pleased with the results; was so fun to watch the triangle form itself on the circulars.

As I did stretch myself a bit to learn a new skill, the yarn's color reminds me of the North Atlantic and I *did* buy the yarn near a reach, decided to name this first, happy attempt simply 'reach.'

Look at the Birds, Consider the Lilies -


I made a giant (for me) leap of faith today. Am going to be a bird or a lily for a while.

It feels pretty good.

***

"Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not worth much more than they?

...

And why are you worried about clothing? Observe how the lilies of the field grow; they do not toil nor do they spin,

I say to you that not even Solomon in all his glory clothed himself like one of these.


-Matthew 6:25-30

From Parallel Universes, by Roz Chast.

Even my shrink agrees that this fits me to a T.

Fertility Goddess?

All my life I've had a three week cycle which is kind of a shame, since it probably was never in the stars for me to breed. This has always been the bane of my existence - so much so that even as a kid I'd prayed for an early 'change' like my mom had (at 35.)*

I knew something was wrong when, after starting the male hormones, my period stopped coming for several weeks. It was then that the doctor put me on a half dose and the 'friend' came back, albeit in 5-6 week cycles.

Since I've stopped taking that dreadful stuff, my body's reverted to its original rhythm for better or for worse. Though initially I was relieved to see how quickly I bounced back, I'm back to thinking that the 'change' can't come too soon.

***

* My mom was shocked to find out that, at 37, I still was going strong in the fertility department. She was even more shocked to find out that one of my coworkers is in her mid-40s and six months pregnant, too. She just assumed that everybody was as lucky as she was.

Told my landlord the other day that I wasn't going to be renewing my lease. Don't know where I'll be going. Am not looking forward to the clean up/pare down job that comes with moving out of a place where I've been living for so long. It just feels like the right thing to be doing, though, and I'm sure that things will fall into place.

I have a running joke with my gyno that what with all the little hunks he keeps cutting out of my sensitive bits, he's very soon going to have the proverbial pound of flesh from me.

This last time wasn't any easier than the time before, but I did manage to put a good face forward - so much so that Dr. Gyno declared that the copay was a better entertainment buy than going to a movie. Wasn't too happy that I wouldn't sing as I normally do when I get an exam, but I was too nervous to do that.

When he finished cutting, I asked to see the bit of me that was going off to be tested. He brought the specimen cup around for me to look. It was actually pretty fascinating in a morbid sort of way to see that little disc floating in the medium - I don't know that I'd be more interested if it were kidney stones or my appendix, actually.

As he moved the cup back to the sample shelf, I waved and said in this thin little voice, "bye-bye." At that, he took my hand in both his and held kind of tight. Exclaimed that I was such a nice girl, a sweet girl, that I brought sunshine into the office, and that he hoped that the tests would come back negative. Slightly confused, I answered back, "and if you didn't find me so nice and sweet, would you hope that they came back positive?" That got a characteristic belly laugh and a slight slap on the back.

Now, for the wait.

Last week, I was out running errands and I caught a glimpse of the ex who lives closest to me going somewhere with some female. My initial reaction was to duck away so that I'd not be seen and race home as quickly as possible. Safely at home, the ironic brain tried to entertain me with thoughts like well, he's her problem now.

Afterwards, I felt awful. Not because I still love him or anything (as my parents I think still hope. They weren't happy at all when I told them it was over. My mother even went so far as to blame me personally for all the ills.), far from it. It's just that seeing him again made me acutely aware of how much of a failure that relationship makes me feel like. He used to tell me he loved me, but the truth of the matter was, he didn't like me. I don't think he respected me much, either. Why did I spend five years in a relationship with someone like that? Why, oh why did I waste some of the better years of my life in what felt for so long like a sinking ship?

I'm not a girl who's ever believed in fairy tales; never saw myself being whisked off my feet and down the aisle. I'd seen too much go wrong in my mother's life and in the lives of my friends' mothers back in the day to be able to seriously consider giving up half my goods and all my heart to a man. I'd been in relationships before, but not for any longer than a few months maybe, and I always tried to keep the guy at arm's length. Why did I stay with this one for four years longer than the normal expiration date and two years after I gave up on being happy with him? Hope maybe?

Hope that there'd be some sort of miracle breakthrough? Hope that he'd some day see how the wall he kept between us was killing the relationship and making me sick? Hope that the reality of our so-called life together might someday catch up to the image of the 'perfect couple' people around us thought we were?

I remember one day early on in our courting when he told me that he was a 'nice guy,' and that nice guys always finished last. My response was that, based on what I'd seen in the dating world, the difference between a 'nice guy' and a 'bad boy' was that, whereas a bad boy was aggressive aggressive, the nice guy was passive aggressive. He kind of chuckled and said that that made sense. How true that ended up being in our case. He never hit me, but he certainly could be nasty. Emotionally, I certainly didn't feel that I could trust him with many of my secrets, deep, dark or otherwise.

Physically, I also knew that I didn't trust him with my life, either.

Why did I let this go on?

At the end of things, and I remember it pretty clearly, I said that I couldn't continue with the relationship in the state it was in, as it was making me sick. His response was something like ... but he loved me ... if things were bad and if he reacted badly it was because I made him that way ... besides, I was emotionally unfaithful and he had a right to be angry about all that. My 'emotional unfaithfulness' stemmed from the fact that I couldn't talk to him when I needed to. I'd say things to his face and get no response. I'd telephone and never hear back from him. I looked to my friends for more support as a result. He answered back that I should have tried harder. At that point, I broke down. How many times would I need to bang my head against this wall before he considered it okay to stop? Once? One hundred times? Was I to keep it up indefinitely?

That was the end. Periodically, I'd get a call from him sounding all weirdly chipper as though nothing had happened. Usually it was the morning or afternoon of some event he was asking me to. Always last minute and always on his terms. If he left a message and I tried to call back, I'd not hear from him. Sometimes mutual friends would get phantom phone messages from him as well.

Last year, around his 40th birthday, I got a call inviting me to some art exhibit. I couldn't go, but I did want to do something for his birthday. Surprisingly he called back; maybe because I offered to take him out. We had brunch. At the end, he casually mentioned that his mother was sick. I asked if I could help with anything because I was very fond of her. I liked his family. I still wanted to try to be friends with him. Never heard back.

***

This past December, a good friend of mine (and neighbor of his) moved south. She got a great job in her discipline in the DC area and I was helping her organize and stay motivated. It's hard leaving a place, even if you're not happy with it, after 20 years. While coming back from a trash run, we ran into the ex's mother. She was walking very slowly and with a cane. I caught up with her to say hello. How was she doing? What was going on? She gave me the news from the past six months: all the illnesses, all of the accidents, all of the hospital stays. Finally let loose the fact that she'd been living with him for the past six months, as it was so much more convenient than staying out west.

Six months? I asked Six months?? Why didn't she give me a call? I'd have helped with groceries, I'd have taken walks with her, whatever. She just smiled and said that she didn't think of it. Asked me in to have a muffin and some coffee with her. I told her I couldn't just then, but I'd be around all weekend.

Ten minutes later, He came home. Put on his fake cheery voice, but it was obvious that he was unpleasantly shocked to run into my friend and me. "How are you?" he asked? "Much better than your mom, from what I gather," was my response. After my asking why no one said anything to me when I lived around the corner and everyone knew how much I liked his mother, he just answered that he was busy and forgot. That was that.

"Was it me?" I asked my friend (a shrink. I have a few shrink friends; comes with working in Human Services, I guess). "It wasn't was it?" She assured me that it wasn't me, I was fine. It might be a good idea if I were to start figuring out why I was choosing relationships with socially awkward or antisocial men and maybe consider breaking that habit.

I can't do anything for them. I tried and failed miserably. Seeing him made me remember this. I feel so awful. I don't want to keep making this same mistake.

Two Unfinished, One Finished (For Now, Anyway)

The Frenchie's colleague had a little boy just about two years ago for whom I made a little cap. As it turns out, poor thing's allergic to wool, so I'm working on something for him in cotton.



My intention is to end up with a little henley sweater kind of like the one I found in an old copy of Family Circle knitting, but we'll see what happens. I seem to have a terminal problem following patterns. Already the stitch pattern's been changed (should have been an alternating 6-stitch cable).

I haven't bought myself any new spring clothes in a while now (penury sucks), so decided to both make myself a new top and get rid of my stash with this. So far so good, as it's a nice little mindless thing I can work on while reading or being read to.



The last time I had to have flesh cut out of a sensitive place, I promised myself a little trip to the nearest local yarn store for an expensive (for me, anyway, I'd budgeted myself $20) treat as a reward for showing up*. I found that $20 isn't a lot, but it can get a nice double skein of recycled sari silk.

Long story short, the yarn ended up in the stash until a coworker's wife's birthday when I decided to give it some action. During the course of knitting, I found myself growing more and more attached to what I was making. In the end I remembered that I did after all get the yarn for me, so shouldn't it stand to reason that I get to keep the finished product? Ended up giving the intended recipient something else and keeping the scarf for myself.



When I knit and I know who I'm knitting for, it's hard for me not to think good thoughts, to be happy imagining the intended wearing/using what I've made. It's probably good that I have these prayers knitted into the sari scarf, as the treatment for what's been ailing me isn't working and I need to get it kicked up a notch. Next week, I go in and get another chunk cut out of that sensitive spot again, and then on to another specialist.

* I'm much braver than I used to be. The old me would have ignored it and let it bloom into something worse. The new me gets poked and probed and prescribed all sorts of things. Heck, my gyno even bargained me up to bimonthly breast self-exams.

8 Count

from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.
one flies
off.
then
another.
one is left,
then
it too
is gone.
my typewriter is
tombstone
still.
and I am
reduced to bird
watching.
just thought I'd
let you
know,
fucker.

-Charles Bukowski

***

Poetry Month this year started off as a sort of hymn to Spring. Now, it appears to be turning more towards depression (specifically mine).

My shrinks have always suggested that I keep a journal of sorts. I was never able to, though, as thinking about and trying to communicate in words how I felt would put me in a rotten(er) mood. I always worried, too, about sounding like the paradoxalist in Notes from Underground.

In this format, things seem to be different. Letting other people speak for me helps. Maybe the rhythm of the arranged words helps soothe me. There's also the thought that I'm not alone in this that helps as well. Don't know. Anyway, for the moment, it's flowing well.

It can't be a good thing when the Doctor personally calls a patient at work, can it?

Hmm, not feeling myself today. I could really use a few days off from work. I think I'm burning out again.

Was a little out of sorts yesterday. This was due in part to the weather, I think. Also, I did overindulge a bit the night before.

I think the TV goes on in my house maybe once every couple weeks if there's something good on PBS, and even then, it's for no more than a couple hours. Saturday night, though, was the movie motherlode, and I ended up watching all three in succession.

The first was The Apartment - possibly my favorite Billy Wilder film (if I had to choose. Don't force me to, though). The last time I saw this was in France years ago at a Billy Wilder festival. They called it La Garconniere, or the Bachelor Pad (maybe a more apt title). What struck me was how much I'd misremembered and mixed up with another favorite, Breakfast at Tiffany's.

The second was another Wilder film I'd never heard of: One-Two-Three, starring James Cagney as a Coca-Cola company man in Germany. This one had us howling, it was so hysterical (kind of iffy when it's late and there are sleeping babies in the house). The humor and aesthetic were very Dr. Strangelove meets His Girl Friday in a stage play, if that makes any sense. Would love to see this one again.

The last was a sweet little film about some Russians whose submarine runs aground offshore from a small New England town. Pablo mentioned that Alan Arkin had a pretty good Russian accent (much better than John Cleese's in A Fish Called Wanda, anyway). I found it surprising that, what with all the stars involved (Eva Marie Saint, Carl Reiner, Brian Keith, to name a few) and all the academy award nominations that this garnered that this film isn't shown more often. Is the aesthetic too dated? Are the politics outmoded? Don't know (shrugs). Also could've sworn that the credits were a Saul Bass creation, but I guess not.



What a cute little promotion! Wonder how much was improvised.

Rarely if ever is there this much good stuff on the TV, even on PBS.

Yesterday was such an awful day. Had a headache most of the day, couldn't think straight. Needed to eat, but couldn't as I felt sick to my stomach. It's always like this when a low pressure system blows through.

Today, much better. Granted it's gray, chilly and wet out, but my mind is much clearer and I'm not in nearly as much pain as yesterday. Also was woken up for the first time this year by an early mockingbird. (3:45 am, the b@stard.)

What's on the today's plate:

-Lots and lots of schoolwork. I'm kind of (very) behind and really need to get my behind in gear in order to make a respectable showing by mid-May.
-Lunch with Pablo (birthday treat).
-Maybe bread baking in between writing assignments.

That's probably just enough to keep me off the streets.

The night panics came back, of course at a time when I really need to hold it together. Gosh, I really hate this.

Be's Best Known Pet Peeve:

The term "most well-known." Drives me to distraction. I'll actually stop reading an article/blog post/whatever if I hit upon that term, it angers me so.