1. What is/are your favorite yarn/s to knit with? What fibers do you absolutely *not* like?
Fingering weight (indie yarn) in merino, cashmere, or blends; I don't like mohair or silk (my hands are too rough). I'm not a huge fan of alpaca, either. No cotton, please.
2. What do you use to store your needles/hooks in?
I have cases for my hooks; my knitting needles are in the packages they came in (I have far too many to put in a case).
3. How long have you been knitting & how did you learn? Would you consider your skill level to be beginner, intermediate or advanced?
48 years... I learned from my grandmother, mother, and aunt; advanced.
4. Do you have an Amazon or other online wish list?
No.
5. What's your favorite scent?
Lavender, sage, or patchouli.
6. Do you have a sweet tooth? Favorite candy?
No... I don't eat candy or other sweets.
7. What other crafts or Do-It-Yourself things do you like to do? Do you spin?
I've started spinning again on a limited basis after a 12-year hiatus. I do pretty much everything, but I only do one or two crafts at a time. I'm knitting right now and haven't really done much spinning - I don't have time.
8. What kind of music do you like? Can your computer/stereo play MP3s? (if your buddy wants to make you a CD)
Yes; classic rock.
9. What's your favorite color(s)? Any colors you just can't stand?
I love all colors with an affinity for orange and green; there are no colors which I hate.
10. What is your family situation? Do you have any pets?
Just me and my husband; we have a macaw.
11. Do you wear scarves, hats, mittens or ponchos?
No to all of those; it's not cold enough for any of them.
12. What is/are your favorite item/s to knit?
Socks and lace, preferably a lace sock.
13. What are you knitting right now?
A fairly complicated sock pattern.
14. Do you like to receive handmade gifts?
YES! They're my favorites!
15. Do you prefer straight or circular needles? Bamboo, aluminum, plastic?
Right now, DPN's from Golding Fiber Tools (http://www.goldingfibertools.com/) in sizes 1 and 2. I could use sizes 0 and 3.
16. Do you own a yarn winder and/or swift?
Yes; two yarn winders and one floor swift.
17. How old is your oldest UFO?
I don't have any.
18. What is your favorite holiday?
My birthday.
19. Is there anything that you collect?
Bags (knitting); indie teddy bears or ones from England (such as Merrythought).
20. Any books, yarns, needles or patterns out there you are dying to get your hands on? What knitting magazine subscriptions do you have?
I have all the books I need and subscribe to Interweave Knits, Vogue Knitting, Exotic Fibers, and Spin-Off. I don't know of any patterns I would want, I've already talked about the DPN's I like (I have all the circulars I'll ever use), and I use only indie yarns (usually off Etsy). The only thing I really want is something made just for me, whether it's a teddy bear, socks, or a bag.
21. Are there any new techniques you'd like to learn?
No; I'm doing the Master's Program for TKGA, so I've learned a lot from that (mainly new cast-ons and cast-offs).
22. Are you a sock knitter? What are your foot measurements?
That's all I've been knitting for quite a while, and I LOVE it! I wear a size 10; my foot is 10-1/2" long, ball of foot is 9", length from longest toe to back of ankle is 9", instep circumference is 10-3/4", and ankle circumference is 10-1/2".
23. When is your birthday?
June 23rd.
24. Are you on Ravelry? If so, what's your ID?
Yes; my name on Ravelry is pjyarngoddess.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Friday, May 30, 2008
Not Only a Post, But ...
You're not going to believe it. You not only get a post, but you also get three pictures of ...
We'll get to that in a few minutes.
I just don't know where the time has gone. It's shot by so fast that I can't keep up. Here it is, the end of May, and I don't even remember what happened to the spring. I wish things would slow down - at this rate, I'll be dead in a week.
Let's see... well, I didn't get to see my boys. The lovely fleabag we're staying in now isn't giving us wake-up calls. They say they will... they put us down in their logbook... but the phone doesn't ring. I woke up about three hours late, so there was no point in even going to the prison. If you're over a half-hour late, they cancel the class. I go a week from Monday, so I hope my boys aren't pissed off. We're bringing our own clock this time so I get up.
I've got lots of new vendors and updates in the shop and am adding more of them every night. There were a few nights where i couldn't work, but I'm doing fine now. Take a look! I'll be sending out my newsletter to those of you who are on the mailing list so you know exactly where to look. I still have to figure out something fun for the shop to do - maybe a sale or something. We'll see.
As you all know, Pixie knitted me a gorgeous shawl. Hubster took three pictures of it - one from the front, one from the back, and a detail shot. Don't laugh too hard - my head was cold, so I stuck on a hat, and I have on my jammies under the shawl.
Here are the pictures you've all been dying to see (cough):
Whew. That was a pain in the ass. I'll have to have Hubster take a look at Blogger and Flickr. They've changed their settings, so I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Five open windows later, I finally had pictures, even though they have a bunch of extraneous text under them. Just uh... ignore it.
I've yet to take pictures of my package from my Monkey Pal, but I'll do that this weekend. I'll let Hubster do all the uploading and posting of those. I'm a total computer 'tard. There's just no way I'll ever understand all this shit, so what do I do? I buy a laptop that's not a Mac. Hubster spent hours configuring it so I could use it. It's slick as hell - 17" widescreen, a swipe pad, separate numeric pad, blah blah blah - but what good does all that do if I can't actually use it? Sigh.
The dreaded birthday approaches, and I don't know what we're doing. The only thing I know for sure is that I'll be at the prison in the morning. Those guys had better make this worth my time, and I'm telling them that. I could sleep in, but no... I have to be there. Truth be told, there's no place else I'd rather spend it. Well... maybe Vegas.
On a more mundane front, I got the car smogged and my registration paid. The guy at the smog place said that my car cleans the environment when it's running. That just goes to show you how little it's been driven. I'm pulling off the hardtop after all these years of it being on and dropping the ragtop for some open-air driving this summer. I don't know where I'm going to drive, but it sounds like fun. It sounds like fun every year, and then I think it's going to be a pain in the ass to pull the hardtop, so I don't do it. Then I get to go to the dentist next week. Happy happy joy joy. I don't know what he's doing, but he's doing something horrid. I won't be getting the implants like I had hoped. It's just too much money, and my mom can't afford to loan it to me. Oh well - it was worth a shot.
I just got off the phone with her (I was trying to track down Hubster - he was going over there to see the kids THREE HOURS AGO), and she gave me some bad news. My grandma hasn't been able to walk for the past month, but we were all hoping that it was temporary. This has happened before, but she still isn't walking and has to scoot around in a wheelchair or on an office chair. She'll never walk again - she has no cartilage in her knees and really needs to have them replaced, but she's far too old (she'll be 90 this year) to have surgery. It's the beginning of the end, and I'm a lot more upset right now than I thought I would be. It's hard realizing that this is truly it. My mom says she'll live another ten years, but if she makes it another year, I'll be surprised. It's just one horrible thing after another.
And on that morbid note, I'm going to go sit in the Monster, curl up, and cry.
We'll get to that in a few minutes.
I just don't know where the time has gone. It's shot by so fast that I can't keep up. Here it is, the end of May, and I don't even remember what happened to the spring. I wish things would slow down - at this rate, I'll be dead in a week.
Let's see... well, I didn't get to see my boys. The lovely fleabag we're staying in now isn't giving us wake-up calls. They say they will... they put us down in their logbook... but the phone doesn't ring. I woke up about three hours late, so there was no point in even going to the prison. If you're over a half-hour late, they cancel the class. I go a week from Monday, so I hope my boys aren't pissed off. We're bringing our own clock this time so I get up.
I've got lots of new vendors and updates in the shop and am adding more of them every night. There were a few nights where i couldn't work, but I'm doing fine now. Take a look! I'll be sending out my newsletter to those of you who are on the mailing list so you know exactly where to look. I still have to figure out something fun for the shop to do - maybe a sale or something. We'll see.
As you all know, Pixie knitted me a gorgeous shawl. Hubster took three pictures of it - one from the front, one from the back, and a detail shot. Don't laugh too hard - my head was cold, so I stuck on a hat, and I have on my jammies under the shawl.
Here are the pictures you've all been dying to see (cough):
FRONT VIEW
BACK VIEW
PATTERN DETAIL
Whew. That was a pain in the ass. I'll have to have Hubster take a look at Blogger and Flickr. They've changed their settings, so I didn't know what the hell I was doing. Five open windows later, I finally had pictures, even though they have a bunch of extraneous text under them. Just uh... ignore it.
I've yet to take pictures of my package from my Monkey Pal, but I'll do that this weekend. I'll let Hubster do all the uploading and posting of those. I'm a total computer 'tard. There's just no way I'll ever understand all this shit, so what do I do? I buy a laptop that's not a Mac. Hubster spent hours configuring it so I could use it. It's slick as hell - 17" widescreen, a swipe pad, separate numeric pad, blah blah blah - but what good does all that do if I can't actually use it? Sigh.
The dreaded birthday approaches, and I don't know what we're doing. The only thing I know for sure is that I'll be at the prison in the morning. Those guys had better make this worth my time, and I'm telling them that. I could sleep in, but no... I have to be there. Truth be told, there's no place else I'd rather spend it. Well... maybe Vegas.
On a more mundane front, I got the car smogged and my registration paid. The guy at the smog place said that my car cleans the environment when it's running. That just goes to show you how little it's been driven. I'm pulling off the hardtop after all these years of it being on and dropping the ragtop for some open-air driving this summer. I don't know where I'm going to drive, but it sounds like fun. It sounds like fun every year, and then I think it's going to be a pain in the ass to pull the hardtop, so I don't do it. Then I get to go to the dentist next week. Happy happy joy joy. I don't know what he's doing, but he's doing something horrid. I won't be getting the implants like I had hoped. It's just too much money, and my mom can't afford to loan it to me. Oh well - it was worth a shot.
I just got off the phone with her (I was trying to track down Hubster - he was going over there to see the kids THREE HOURS AGO), and she gave me some bad news. My grandma hasn't been able to walk for the past month, but we were all hoping that it was temporary. This has happened before, but she still isn't walking and has to scoot around in a wheelchair or on an office chair. She'll never walk again - she has no cartilage in her knees and really needs to have them replaced, but she's far too old (she'll be 90 this year) to have surgery. It's the beginning of the end, and I'm a lot more upset right now than I thought I would be. It's hard realizing that this is truly it. My mom says she'll live another ten years, but if she makes it another year, I'll be surprised. It's just one horrible thing after another.
And on that morbid note, I'm going to go sit in the Monster, curl up, and cry.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Just a Quick Note
I'm off for my prison visit in about an hour. We're actually up and alive for a change, so we might get there before midnight for a change. I've just been knitting, so I'm sort of boring today. I did get a couple of amazing things in the mail, though, so I thought I'd share them.
First, I got my Monkey Sock Swap package from my new friend, Penny. She sent the most amazing package - everything inside was individually wrapped in tissue and ribbon with a tag carefully lettered and attached to each little package. The socks she made me are amazing - they have a gorgeous picot edge instead of the normal one and are made of Lorna's Laces in Tuscany. I won't spoil it by telling you all the goodies she put inside, but pictures will follow next week after we get home. It was a truly amazing package and renewed my faith in swaps. My last one didn't go too well, and I haven't heard from my pal in that one for quite a while. I also never got my socks from it, but I have continued hope that one day, I'll actually get them. With the ones I just received, that brings my grand total of handmade socks to two. Yes, you heard it right. Two. I got so jazzed because of that swap that I joined Secret Pal 12. I'm hoping that one will be fun, too.
The other thing which arrived and totally blew me out of the water was a shawl made just for me by my dear friend, Pixie, from Exeter, Great Britain. I had asked her if she would make me one after seeing the test shawls she was making for Anni (of Anni Designs - I sell her gorgeous patterns and yarn in the shop). Anyway, Anni dyed the yarn (laceweight cashmere) in a blue-green color - it's incredible - and Pixie knitted this shawl in a WEEK. I can barely cast on in a week. The shawl has the most beautiful pattern - sort of a leaf design all over it - and I found the perfect shawl pin from KaratStix (you'll see them appear next week in the shop). It's made of coconut shell and dyed in soft green, yellow, and pink with a copper leaf-topped, twisted fastener. I cried, I was so touched that Pixie did this for me. I'm putting together a nice gift for her and will show pictures of that next week, too (the shawl, not the gift). You'll actually get to see me modeling it (better sit down and put on sunglasses or something before you view it lest you go blind). Hubster put it on for me so I could see all the design work and how it looked on someone. I wanted a picture of that, but he sort of drew the line. I think you'll love the shawl - I'm taking it with me to Folsom since it gets chilly in the morning. I also have to hoof it in because of the holiday. At least they're not on lockdown this time.
So those were my two surprises. Things continue to arrive for the shop, and I continue to add new vendors and restock existing ones. I try to do a few each night, but there are some nights (and days) where all I can do is sleep. It's really strange - I literally can't open my eyes and just sleep for hours on end. This hasn't done much for my knitting, but it is what it is. I think it's the diabetes, but I won't find out about that for another month.
Next week, the T-Bird has to go in and get an oil change and a smog certificate. Oh boy. I LOVE doing car shit. A few weeks after that, I get to go to the DMV for a new picture and an eye test. I guess the state makes you do that when you turn 50. This birthday is giving me mixed feelings. It's really strange knowing that I've lived more than half my life. I'm hoping Hubster will do something really cool for it, but since we're trying to save money for a house, I don't know. The original plan was for a new Corvette or Harley and going to Vegas to get remarried by Elvis, but I don't know what he has up his sleeve. I suppose I should be grateful for having lived this long, but I want the big celebration, the well-wishes, the gifts, the cards, blah blah blah. I'll probably get shit. We'll see.
So now I'm off to pack my bags, get my flutes together, make sure I have everything I need, put my knitting in my bag and make sure I have all the crap I need for that, and hit the road. We'll be in heavy traffic on the way home - people tend to like going to where I used to live for boating or going to Reno/Tahoe, and the route we take is the same one they do. I think the drive home is going to suck. I'll probably sleep through it, but that doesn't make it any more bearable. It'll most likely take an hour more than it should. I had considered canceling it, but my boys are waiting for me...
I hope you all had a lovely holiday and are safe no matter what you're doing. We may actually get some rain - the wind has picked up and the sky is darkening - which would be delightful. We're now in a drought and have to conserve water, so any rain would be more than welcome. Our water company is just about ready to officially put limits on our water usage. It's bad this year; in fact, this is the worst it's been since 1970. I remember that one - it was really difficult. The good old slogan, "If it's yellow, let it mellow; if it's brown, flush it down" isn't that far from the truth around here. I think it's Santa Barbara which has a desalination plant, but we have no such thing up here. I can't even shower with Hubster - our shower isn't big enough. The only house we've lived in that had a shower where we could both go in at the same time was the first house we lived in when we moved back to California. That was - geez - 15 years ago. How time flies when you're having fun.
Or just sitting on your fat ass and drooling.
First, I got my Monkey Sock Swap package from my new friend, Penny. She sent the most amazing package - everything inside was individually wrapped in tissue and ribbon with a tag carefully lettered and attached to each little package. The socks she made me are amazing - they have a gorgeous picot edge instead of the normal one and are made of Lorna's Laces in Tuscany. I won't spoil it by telling you all the goodies she put inside, but pictures will follow next week after we get home. It was a truly amazing package and renewed my faith in swaps. My last one didn't go too well, and I haven't heard from my pal in that one for quite a while. I also never got my socks from it, but I have continued hope that one day, I'll actually get them. With the ones I just received, that brings my grand total of handmade socks to two. Yes, you heard it right. Two. I got so jazzed because of that swap that I joined Secret Pal 12. I'm hoping that one will be fun, too.
The other thing which arrived and totally blew me out of the water was a shawl made just for me by my dear friend, Pixie, from Exeter, Great Britain. I had asked her if she would make me one after seeing the test shawls she was making for Anni (of Anni Designs - I sell her gorgeous patterns and yarn in the shop). Anyway, Anni dyed the yarn (laceweight cashmere) in a blue-green color - it's incredible - and Pixie knitted this shawl in a WEEK. I can barely cast on in a week. The shawl has the most beautiful pattern - sort of a leaf design all over it - and I found the perfect shawl pin from KaratStix (you'll see them appear next week in the shop). It's made of coconut shell and dyed in soft green, yellow, and pink with a copper leaf-topped, twisted fastener. I cried, I was so touched that Pixie did this for me. I'm putting together a nice gift for her and will show pictures of that next week, too (the shawl, not the gift). You'll actually get to see me modeling it (better sit down and put on sunglasses or something before you view it lest you go blind). Hubster put it on for me so I could see all the design work and how it looked on someone. I wanted a picture of that, but he sort of drew the line. I think you'll love the shawl - I'm taking it with me to Folsom since it gets chilly in the morning. I also have to hoof it in because of the holiday. At least they're not on lockdown this time.
So those were my two surprises. Things continue to arrive for the shop, and I continue to add new vendors and restock existing ones. I try to do a few each night, but there are some nights (and days) where all I can do is sleep. It's really strange - I literally can't open my eyes and just sleep for hours on end. This hasn't done much for my knitting, but it is what it is. I think it's the diabetes, but I won't find out about that for another month.
Next week, the T-Bird has to go in and get an oil change and a smog certificate. Oh boy. I LOVE doing car shit. A few weeks after that, I get to go to the DMV for a new picture and an eye test. I guess the state makes you do that when you turn 50. This birthday is giving me mixed feelings. It's really strange knowing that I've lived more than half my life. I'm hoping Hubster will do something really cool for it, but since we're trying to save money for a house, I don't know. The original plan was for a new Corvette or Harley and going to Vegas to get remarried by Elvis, but I don't know what he has up his sleeve. I suppose I should be grateful for having lived this long, but I want the big celebration, the well-wishes, the gifts, the cards, blah blah blah. I'll probably get shit. We'll see.
So now I'm off to pack my bags, get my flutes together, make sure I have everything I need, put my knitting in my bag and make sure I have all the crap I need for that, and hit the road. We'll be in heavy traffic on the way home - people tend to like going to where I used to live for boating or going to Reno/Tahoe, and the route we take is the same one they do. I think the drive home is going to suck. I'll probably sleep through it, but that doesn't make it any more bearable. It'll most likely take an hour more than it should. I had considered canceling it, but my boys are waiting for me...
I hope you all had a lovely holiday and are safe no matter what you're doing. We may actually get some rain - the wind has picked up and the sky is darkening - which would be delightful. We're now in a drought and have to conserve water, so any rain would be more than welcome. Our water company is just about ready to officially put limits on our water usage. It's bad this year; in fact, this is the worst it's been since 1970. I remember that one - it was really difficult. The good old slogan, "If it's yellow, let it mellow; if it's brown, flush it down" isn't that far from the truth around here. I think it's Santa Barbara which has a desalination plant, but we have no such thing up here. I can't even shower with Hubster - our shower isn't big enough. The only house we've lived in that had a shower where we could both go in at the same time was the first house we lived in when we moved back to California. That was - geez - 15 years ago. How time flies when you're having fun.
Or just sitting on your fat ass and drooling.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
A Break for Blogging
This has to be the longest time span between posts. It's been busy as hell around here, and I barely have time to read blogs let alone actually type on my own. But I've finished issuing invitations for Sockamania, have done a bit of knitting, and have worked on the shop for a while, so I think I'm justified in taking some time to let all of you know the fun and games which constitute my life.
Let's start with the prison, shall we? You all know that we've traded the outhouse which doubles as a motel for a real hotel (notice the change in the first letter of those words). This place is nice. It used to be the Holiday Inn (when I was driving across the country, I always tried to stay in those... they're clean, pretty safe, and all the same, so you know exactly what you're getting), but the La Quinta people have updated it. We have a balcony, a sitting area, a very comfy bed, and a shower with a head set high enough that Hubster can take a shower without whacking his face on it. I'd like to stay an extra day, but when I stop to think about it, why? I lived there for 14 years; I know everything that's in Sacramento. To be honest, there's nothing there which I want to see badly enough to fork over another night's cost. This time, however, we ran into a problem when we went to check in.
Hubster went to the desk, gave them his card, got our keys, and we went upstairs to flop in our room. We had gotten there late - it was well after midnight - so we were both spent. Then the phone rang. Huh? I answered it and found it was the front desk. There was a problem - our card had been declined. Did we have another credit card? Well no... we didn't. Hubster got all wound up and started yelling about my not bringing my purse. I never bring my purse. Why was he yelling? So he stomped downstairs and tried to pay with cash. Get this - THEY DON'T TAKE CASH. It's happened. We're living in a society where cash is obsolete. So he tried calling Wells Fargo. They told him that they didn't have anybody there who could help him, and that we'd have to call in the morning. It was looking like we'd have to spend the night in the truck, and I badly needed a shower. Hubster finally got the clerk to accept our card and forked over some buckolas. I couldn't believe it. Then last night, we went out to dinner and the card was declined. AGAIN. He's hot and on the phone with them right now. This is getting ridiculous. It's embarrassing. It's humiliating. It's a major pain in the ass.
By the time this soap opera had finished, it was about 1:00 a.m. I had so wanted to knit, but I was tired. Really tired. I wound up getting about three hours of sleep before I had to get up and take a shower. As usual, I was late getting there. But when I did, my boys were patrolling the yard waiting for me. We got into the chapel without incident.
This class was really terrific. We're starting on the jazz portion, and the guys are really excited to be working on it. From time to time, I give little speeches (I have no idea why - something takes over and my mouth begins flapping). We have a new guy in the group, and for some reason, I started talking about gangs, how stupid I thought they were, how there's a way to do good time vs. bad time, etc. I kept staring at him. After the class, he came up to talk to me and learn a bit about what we were doing. It turns out that he's a Crip. Oh geez. Open mouth, insert foot. My guys are trying to flip him to join the skins (as they call Indians). It's dangerous, so I expect some sort of fireworks in the next month. All I know is that I'd better keep my siren handy in case something bad happens.
The lovely thing about this time is that each man hugged me when I got there (we hug inside the chapel; they can't hug me outside) and told me how much they missed me. When we went to leave, they all hugged me and told me they loved me. It was a deeply touching moment. They've finally opened up all the way. One of them ran up to me, stuck some papers in my music book, and sat down. It turns out they were drawings he had done, and he wrote a little blurb on the back of each one. These guys don't open up very often and don't share the details of their crimes. But they're doing that with me; it's amazing.
Then there's the shop. I've been fighting with the post office and finally decided to just send out replacement packages. That having been done, now I'm free to work on the shop itself. Slowly but surely, I'm getting vendors listed (finally). One of them sold a skein of yarn within 15 minutes of having been listed. It looks like the ads I have running on Ravelry and Google are paying off. Things are looking good, I'm still adding vendors and getting some new ones, and should be completely caught up with adding vendors by the end of the week. I had some trouble with one vendor who is no longer with me, but that's okay. I don't fault her, nor do I fault myself. She was just expecting something different than what I could do. Shit happens.
We went over to my mom's house during the week for Mother's Day, and our daughter told me that she drove by our old house in Sacramento when she was there to visit a friend. Somebody has purchased it. I didn't know how to feel about it. Part of me was really sad; part of me was happy that someone was taking care of it the way it should be taken care of. I spoke to a dear friend of mine whom I met through my blog, and she had some really good things to say. It's sort of like a death, though. I'm grieving, and it hurts. But maybe it's the closure I needed. Maybe now I can move on. I don't know - time will tell. I do know that I'm crying at weird times during the day and keep thinking that a part of me had always hoped we could go home. Stupid and unreasonable, I know, but the heart is a strange thing. It hopes for things that the mind knows will never happen. So that's it. Our ties to Sacramento have been cut. We've asked our landlord to look for a house for us here. I'd like to try and buy something before the housing slump ends because, if it does, we're fucked. I always think that everything happens for a reason and that we'll end up where we're supposed to be, but it's hard to have faith when you had the American dream in your hands, thought you'd die in a certain house, and then it's ripped away from you. A part of me died when we left. It'll never come back, because that was truly my dream home. Sigh.
Then there's the diabetes. I have to have another blood test in about six weeks to see if I'll have to take the needle or can just control it by diet and exercise. Oh great. I don't eat veggies and can't exercise because of the joint degeneration. I tried swimming the other day during the heat wave; while the water was cold, I was able to swim a little. But I had to fight off yellow jackets and was afraid to lounge in my floatie because of them. I have to figure out a way to get rid of them by the pool. We have ivy growing like crazy by the deep end of the pool; it's coming from the neighbor's yard behind us. I'm buying several large containers of Roundup and killing every bit of it, including the plant it's coming from. I'll have to dump that shit on the plant at night when they're asleep so they don't see me do it. I know the little buggers hang out in the ivy, so maybe that will help cut down on the number of them.
All in all, it's been a hectic week, but quiet at the same time. I haven't left the house; I've been chained to my chair and the computer. I told Hubster I want an English Bulldog for my birthday gift, but that's not going to happen. They're too expensive, and I kind of feel guilty buying another dog while Puppy is alive. But if he surprises me with one, I won't give it back. I'm secretly hoping for a trip to Vegas or Reno. I'd love to get away for a few days and just kick back. It is my 50th, after all, and I feel that this is a big birthday. We should do something to celebrate or mourn. We'll see what the old man comes up with; he's superb at coming up with surprises.
Time to go knit for a while before I get back to work on the shop. It's cooler out today, so I can start working on it earlier in the day than I have been. My "office" is the dining room table, and I sit right in front of a large picture window. Now that I have the laptop, I can sit in my chair and work on it, but I need to transfer all the pictures to it or some such thing. That's Hubster's department. Me, I just turn the thing on. I haven't had time to look at the tutorials (all online) to even see what software I have. Hubster has also partitioned the disk to put some other operating system on it, too. Don't ask me - I just type.
I bet I'll fall asleep and drool all over the damn thing, though.
Oh... one last thing. I want to say how pleased I am that the California Supreme Court came out with the decision to allow same sex partners to wed. It's about damn time. Love is love, no matter what sex you and your partner are. I've seen much more committed and long-term relationships in the gay community than I have in the straight community. Why shouldn't everybody be allowed to receive the benefits and protections offered to married couples? And think about this:
The vast majority of child molesters are straight people.
That kind of takes the air out of that argument, doesn't it?
You go, boy. Or girl. Or whomever.
Let's start with the prison, shall we? You all know that we've traded the outhouse which doubles as a motel for a real hotel (notice the change in the first letter of those words). This place is nice. It used to be the Holiday Inn (when I was driving across the country, I always tried to stay in those... they're clean, pretty safe, and all the same, so you know exactly what you're getting), but the La Quinta people have updated it. We have a balcony, a sitting area, a very comfy bed, and a shower with a head set high enough that Hubster can take a shower without whacking his face on it. I'd like to stay an extra day, but when I stop to think about it, why? I lived there for 14 years; I know everything that's in Sacramento. To be honest, there's nothing there which I want to see badly enough to fork over another night's cost. This time, however, we ran into a problem when we went to check in.
Hubster went to the desk, gave them his card, got our keys, and we went upstairs to flop in our room. We had gotten there late - it was well after midnight - so we were both spent. Then the phone rang. Huh? I answered it and found it was the front desk. There was a problem - our card had been declined. Did we have another credit card? Well no... we didn't. Hubster got all wound up and started yelling about my not bringing my purse. I never bring my purse. Why was he yelling? So he stomped downstairs and tried to pay with cash. Get this - THEY DON'T TAKE CASH. It's happened. We're living in a society where cash is obsolete. So he tried calling Wells Fargo. They told him that they didn't have anybody there who could help him, and that we'd have to call in the morning. It was looking like we'd have to spend the night in the truck, and I badly needed a shower. Hubster finally got the clerk to accept our card and forked over some buckolas. I couldn't believe it. Then last night, we went out to dinner and the card was declined. AGAIN. He's hot and on the phone with them right now. This is getting ridiculous. It's embarrassing. It's humiliating. It's a major pain in the ass.
By the time this soap opera had finished, it was about 1:00 a.m. I had so wanted to knit, but I was tired. Really tired. I wound up getting about three hours of sleep before I had to get up and take a shower. As usual, I was late getting there. But when I did, my boys were patrolling the yard waiting for me. We got into the chapel without incident.
This class was really terrific. We're starting on the jazz portion, and the guys are really excited to be working on it. From time to time, I give little speeches (I have no idea why - something takes over and my mouth begins flapping). We have a new guy in the group, and for some reason, I started talking about gangs, how stupid I thought they were, how there's a way to do good time vs. bad time, etc. I kept staring at him. After the class, he came up to talk to me and learn a bit about what we were doing. It turns out that he's a Crip. Oh geez. Open mouth, insert foot. My guys are trying to flip him to join the skins (as they call Indians). It's dangerous, so I expect some sort of fireworks in the next month. All I know is that I'd better keep my siren handy in case something bad happens.
The lovely thing about this time is that each man hugged me when I got there (we hug inside the chapel; they can't hug me outside) and told me how much they missed me. When we went to leave, they all hugged me and told me they loved me. It was a deeply touching moment. They've finally opened up all the way. One of them ran up to me, stuck some papers in my music book, and sat down. It turns out they were drawings he had done, and he wrote a little blurb on the back of each one. These guys don't open up very often and don't share the details of their crimes. But they're doing that with me; it's amazing.
Then there's the shop. I've been fighting with the post office and finally decided to just send out replacement packages. That having been done, now I'm free to work on the shop itself. Slowly but surely, I'm getting vendors listed (finally). One of them sold a skein of yarn within 15 minutes of having been listed. It looks like the ads I have running on Ravelry and Google are paying off. Things are looking good, I'm still adding vendors and getting some new ones, and should be completely caught up with adding vendors by the end of the week. I had some trouble with one vendor who is no longer with me, but that's okay. I don't fault her, nor do I fault myself. She was just expecting something different than what I could do. Shit happens.
We went over to my mom's house during the week for Mother's Day, and our daughter told me that she drove by our old house in Sacramento when she was there to visit a friend. Somebody has purchased it. I didn't know how to feel about it. Part of me was really sad; part of me was happy that someone was taking care of it the way it should be taken care of. I spoke to a dear friend of mine whom I met through my blog, and she had some really good things to say. It's sort of like a death, though. I'm grieving, and it hurts. But maybe it's the closure I needed. Maybe now I can move on. I don't know - time will tell. I do know that I'm crying at weird times during the day and keep thinking that a part of me had always hoped we could go home. Stupid and unreasonable, I know, but the heart is a strange thing. It hopes for things that the mind knows will never happen. So that's it. Our ties to Sacramento have been cut. We've asked our landlord to look for a house for us here. I'd like to try and buy something before the housing slump ends because, if it does, we're fucked. I always think that everything happens for a reason and that we'll end up where we're supposed to be, but it's hard to have faith when you had the American dream in your hands, thought you'd die in a certain house, and then it's ripped away from you. A part of me died when we left. It'll never come back, because that was truly my dream home. Sigh.
Then there's the diabetes. I have to have another blood test in about six weeks to see if I'll have to take the needle or can just control it by diet and exercise. Oh great. I don't eat veggies and can't exercise because of the joint degeneration. I tried swimming the other day during the heat wave; while the water was cold, I was able to swim a little. But I had to fight off yellow jackets and was afraid to lounge in my floatie because of them. I have to figure out a way to get rid of them by the pool. We have ivy growing like crazy by the deep end of the pool; it's coming from the neighbor's yard behind us. I'm buying several large containers of Roundup and killing every bit of it, including the plant it's coming from. I'll have to dump that shit on the plant at night when they're asleep so they don't see me do it. I know the little buggers hang out in the ivy, so maybe that will help cut down on the number of them.
All in all, it's been a hectic week, but quiet at the same time. I haven't left the house; I've been chained to my chair and the computer. I told Hubster I want an English Bulldog for my birthday gift, but that's not going to happen. They're too expensive, and I kind of feel guilty buying another dog while Puppy is alive. But if he surprises me with one, I won't give it back. I'm secretly hoping for a trip to Vegas or Reno. I'd love to get away for a few days and just kick back. It is my 50th, after all, and I feel that this is a big birthday. We should do something to celebrate or mourn. We'll see what the old man comes up with; he's superb at coming up with surprises.
Time to go knit for a while before I get back to work on the shop. It's cooler out today, so I can start working on it earlier in the day than I have been. My "office" is the dining room table, and I sit right in front of a large picture window. Now that I have the laptop, I can sit in my chair and work on it, but I need to transfer all the pictures to it or some such thing. That's Hubster's department. Me, I just turn the thing on. I haven't had time to look at the tutorials (all online) to even see what software I have. Hubster has also partitioned the disk to put some other operating system on it, too. Don't ask me - I just type.
I bet I'll fall asleep and drool all over the damn thing, though.
Oh... one last thing. I want to say how pleased I am that the California Supreme Court came out with the decision to allow same sex partners to wed. It's about damn time. Love is love, no matter what sex you and your partner are. I've seen much more committed and long-term relationships in the gay community than I have in the straight community. Why shouldn't everybody be allowed to receive the benefits and protections offered to married couples? And think about this:
The vast majority of child molesters are straight people.
That kind of takes the air out of that argument, doesn't it?
You go, boy. Or girl. Or whomever.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
One Step Forward, Back in the Dentist's Chair
Would somebody just shoot me now, please?
I had finally gotten over my horror at being a diabetic - no small feat, I must tell you - and then I went to the dentist on Monday. Before I go any further with this tale of woe, I want to thank all of you who left comments and/or wrote me privately. You really, really helped me get through this. I was ready to crawl into a hole and enter that depression mode I'm prone to enter. You all saved me, and I love each and every one of you. :) Back to the dentist.
I wasn't thrilled with this, you understand - I have a deep-seated fear of the dentist, especially when the words "root canal" are even hinted at - but go I had to, because I finally had to have a real set of dentures made. The last time I went (thinking I was just going to have a mold made for the real set of dentures), the dentist (a new one, because I hadn't found one in this area until now) took pictures of my two remaining molars and told me that there was considerable decay UNDER the crowns. Oh happy happy joy joy. This guy (who is the nicest dentist I've ever been to) takes actual pictures of your teeth in addition to X-rays. That was all fine and well - it didn't hurt at all - until he showed them to me. OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD. I wanted to die. I wanted to crawl out of the chair and out the door. And then he said it: "I'm going to have to remove both of the crowns and see if you're going to need root canals." Note the plural there. Root canal(S). Oh shit. This was two weeks ago. The actual day of horror was Monday.
I've been trying to get new vendors listed in the shop for over a week now and keep getting sidetracked. If it's not one thing, it's another. I thought I finally had my mind wrapped around it and was going to be able to sit down when I got home from the dentist, get everybody listed, and be a hero. I must have been out of my freakin' mind, is what I was. I think I was in deep denial, but I truly thought that I would be fine, that I could push past the pain, that it would be okay. After all, the pictures are taken and in the computer, and all I have to do now is actually list them. They're even all put into my ledger. No problem, right? Big problem.
When I got there, I sat down in the chair, was given the headphones and remote control for the TV which is mounted on the ceiling and pointing right down at you so you can watch it while you're being tortured uh worked on (Judge Joe Brown was on), and he explained to me what he was going to do. It began with copious amounts of novocaine just around the tooth so my jaw, cheek, and lips wouldn't get numb. No problemo, I thought. This would be a piece of cake. Then he was going to CUT OFF THE CROWN. Uh oh. I was beginning to become unhappy. In actuality, once he began, it wasn't bad at all. There was no pain - just a lot of pressure when he had gotten the cut made and began levering the damn thing off. Once that was done, he began drilling off all the bad parts. Then he said, "I'm going to have to use the laser to remove all the flesh which has grown into the holes in your tooth left by the decay before I can drill any further." Huh? What flesh? What do you mean exactly when you say that you have to laser off FLESH WHICH HAS GROWN INTO THE HOLES IN MY TOOTH? Oh, HELL no. NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOO.
It turned out that that wasn't painful, either. He finished the job and then uttered the magic words: "You don't need a root canal." That made it worthwhile. Then, since he had scheduled two hours for the appointment, he moved to the other side and began numbing me up for the other molar. I thought this one would go as smoothly as the first one. That was like thinking since one of your kids is an angel, the other one is going to be the same way. Not.
He got the tooth numbed up and began to cut the crown. That's when the trouble started. It hurt. A lot. I waved my hand (our pre-arranged signal for pain), and he shot me up with more joy juice (not the white, sticky kind, Marin). He cut a little more. I waved more vigorously. He shot me up again and cut. More waving. More joy juice. Then he decided that this tooth wasn't going to respond to being numbed. He took that enormous needle (those dental needles and syringes are HUGE) and inserted it right into the gum below the tooth. OW OW OW OW OW OW OW. Then he inserted it right into the flesh at the hinge of the jaw. OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW. A few minutes went by. He tried again. No pain. Good.
He got the crown off and began to drill. No problem. Whew. Then I shot straight out of the chair and smacked my face into the TV.
He had drilled right into the live nerve.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.
That wasn't even the real pain. He took that enormous needle which was attached to a syringe filled to the brim with novocaine and INSERTED IT DIRECTLY INTO THE NERVE. Oh god. I thought I was going to die. My fingers dug so far into the chair rests that I think I ripped the vinyl. The tears began to flow down my face. I whimpered. I screamed as best I could with a giant needle stuck in my tooth. I wished I were under a tractor with those blades being dragged behind it to cut me to ribbons after being crushed by the tractor. I wished I were anywhere other than that chair. And then the novocaine kicked in, and I didn't feel a thing. Whew. Time for the Steve Wilkos show. I changed the channel and settled back in the chair, confident that I wouldn't feel a thing from that point on. I could watch TV in comfort and not have to worry about any pain. He had used six syringes full of that shit on me, and that should have done the trick. Right?
Wrong.
I never did see the show. All I did for the next 45 minutes was cry because it hurt so bad. No matter how many syringes of that shit he pumped into me, it still hurt. He finally got it all drilled out and told me that I didn't need a root canal on that one, either. Thank god. If I had needed a root canal on that tooth, I think I would have shot myself in the head with a hollow point bullet. It would have felt better and would have numbed the tooth. Permanently.
The job was finally done, the temporary crowns were inserted, and Hubster came walking in. He usually sits with me through all my dental torture sessions and holds my hand, but this was a long session. I had told him to go do his work (he brought his computer to work in the truck), so he didn't come in until the end. At that point, I was drained and exhausted. The dentist left today for a month-long vacation, so it will be that long before I go back for the work on the bottom front teeth (they also need to be drilled) and the first stage of the new denture fitting. I have a month to talk my mom into lending us the money for the procedure to drill holes in the roof of my mouth for that metal bar and implants so I can have a partial which I just lock into place. I can buy a car for what it's going to cost, but it will look natural, will never loosen up, and I won't have to deal with not tasting food because my palate is covered up. I'm not looking forward to any of this.
In any event, to those of you who are wondering if I'm a flake or what, I'm not. This has just been a horrible week or two which I never anticipated. I can't thank you all enough for waiting. I thought that today, I could sit here for a marathon session of working on the shop, but I can barely balance on my chair. My hands and feet are frozen to the point where I can't feel them, and I guess that's a bad thing. So it's back to the Monster to try and knit for a while before I fall asleep again. Hubster has been loading me up with oxycontin so I can stand the pain. It shouldn't last more another day, so I should be able to work tomorrow. And boy... do I ever have a lot of work to do. It's not just the shop - it's also the email which has stacked up. Sigh. I need a secretary.
And another five oxys.
I had finally gotten over my horror at being a diabetic - no small feat, I must tell you - and then I went to the dentist on Monday. Before I go any further with this tale of woe, I want to thank all of you who left comments and/or wrote me privately. You really, really helped me get through this. I was ready to crawl into a hole and enter that depression mode I'm prone to enter. You all saved me, and I love each and every one of you. :) Back to the dentist.
I wasn't thrilled with this, you understand - I have a deep-seated fear of the dentist, especially when the words "root canal" are even hinted at - but go I had to, because I finally had to have a real set of dentures made. The last time I went (thinking I was just going to have a mold made for the real set of dentures), the dentist (a new one, because I hadn't found one in this area until now) took pictures of my two remaining molars and told me that there was considerable decay UNDER the crowns. Oh happy happy joy joy. This guy (who is the nicest dentist I've ever been to) takes actual pictures of your teeth in addition to X-rays. That was all fine and well - it didn't hurt at all - until he showed them to me. OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD. I wanted to die. I wanted to crawl out of the chair and out the door. And then he said it: "I'm going to have to remove both of the crowns and see if you're going to need root canals." Note the plural there. Root canal(S). Oh shit. This was two weeks ago. The actual day of horror was Monday.
I've been trying to get new vendors listed in the shop for over a week now and keep getting sidetracked. If it's not one thing, it's another. I thought I finally had my mind wrapped around it and was going to be able to sit down when I got home from the dentist, get everybody listed, and be a hero. I must have been out of my freakin' mind, is what I was. I think I was in deep denial, but I truly thought that I would be fine, that I could push past the pain, that it would be okay. After all, the pictures are taken and in the computer, and all I have to do now is actually list them. They're even all put into my ledger. No problem, right? Big problem.
When I got there, I sat down in the chair, was given the headphones and remote control for the TV which is mounted on the ceiling and pointing right down at you so you can watch it while you're being tortured uh worked on (Judge Joe Brown was on), and he explained to me what he was going to do. It began with copious amounts of novocaine just around the tooth so my jaw, cheek, and lips wouldn't get numb. No problemo, I thought. This would be a piece of cake. Then he was going to CUT OFF THE CROWN. Uh oh. I was beginning to become unhappy. In actuality, once he began, it wasn't bad at all. There was no pain - just a lot of pressure when he had gotten the cut made and began levering the damn thing off. Once that was done, he began drilling off all the bad parts. Then he said, "I'm going to have to use the laser to remove all the flesh which has grown into the holes in your tooth left by the decay before I can drill any further." Huh? What flesh? What do you mean exactly when you say that you have to laser off FLESH WHICH HAS GROWN INTO THE HOLES IN MY TOOTH? Oh, HELL no. NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOO.
It turned out that that wasn't painful, either. He finished the job and then uttered the magic words: "You don't need a root canal." That made it worthwhile. Then, since he had scheduled two hours for the appointment, he moved to the other side and began numbing me up for the other molar. I thought this one would go as smoothly as the first one. That was like thinking since one of your kids is an angel, the other one is going to be the same way. Not.
He got the tooth numbed up and began to cut the crown. That's when the trouble started. It hurt. A lot. I waved my hand (our pre-arranged signal for pain), and he shot me up with more joy juice (not the white, sticky kind, Marin). He cut a little more. I waved more vigorously. He shot me up again and cut. More waving. More joy juice. Then he decided that this tooth wasn't going to respond to being numbed. He took that enormous needle (those dental needles and syringes are HUGE) and inserted it right into the gum below the tooth. OW OW OW OW OW OW OW. Then he inserted it right into the flesh at the hinge of the jaw. OW OW OW OW OW OW OW OW. A few minutes went by. He tried again. No pain. Good.
He got the crown off and began to drill. No problem. Whew. Then I shot straight out of the chair and smacked my face into the TV.
He had drilled right into the live nerve.
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.
That wasn't even the real pain. He took that enormous needle which was attached to a syringe filled to the brim with novocaine and INSERTED IT DIRECTLY INTO THE NERVE. Oh god. I thought I was going to die. My fingers dug so far into the chair rests that I think I ripped the vinyl. The tears began to flow down my face. I whimpered. I screamed as best I could with a giant needle stuck in my tooth. I wished I were under a tractor with those blades being dragged behind it to cut me to ribbons after being crushed by the tractor. I wished I were anywhere other than that chair. And then the novocaine kicked in, and I didn't feel a thing. Whew. Time for the Steve Wilkos show. I changed the channel and settled back in the chair, confident that I wouldn't feel a thing from that point on. I could watch TV in comfort and not have to worry about any pain. He had used six syringes full of that shit on me, and that should have done the trick. Right?
Wrong.
I never did see the show. All I did for the next 45 minutes was cry because it hurt so bad. No matter how many syringes of that shit he pumped into me, it still hurt. He finally got it all drilled out and told me that I didn't need a root canal on that one, either. Thank god. If I had needed a root canal on that tooth, I think I would have shot myself in the head with a hollow point bullet. It would have felt better and would have numbed the tooth. Permanently.
The job was finally done, the temporary crowns were inserted, and Hubster came walking in. He usually sits with me through all my dental torture sessions and holds my hand, but this was a long session. I had told him to go do his work (he brought his computer to work in the truck), so he didn't come in until the end. At that point, I was drained and exhausted. The dentist left today for a month-long vacation, so it will be that long before I go back for the work on the bottom front teeth (they also need to be drilled) and the first stage of the new denture fitting. I have a month to talk my mom into lending us the money for the procedure to drill holes in the roof of my mouth for that metal bar and implants so I can have a partial which I just lock into place. I can buy a car for what it's going to cost, but it will look natural, will never loosen up, and I won't have to deal with not tasting food because my palate is covered up. I'm not looking forward to any of this.
In any event, to those of you who are wondering if I'm a flake or what, I'm not. This has just been a horrible week or two which I never anticipated. I can't thank you all enough for waiting. I thought that today, I could sit here for a marathon session of working on the shop, but I can barely balance on my chair. My hands and feet are frozen to the point where I can't feel them, and I guess that's a bad thing. So it's back to the Monster to try and knit for a while before I fall asleep again. Hubster has been loading me up with oxycontin so I can stand the pain. It shouldn't last more another day, so I should be able to work tomorrow. And boy... do I ever have a lot of work to do. It's not just the shop - it's also the email which has stacked up. Sigh. I need a secretary.
And another five oxys.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Bad News
Since I barf out my life on this blog and don't care who sees it, I received some news today that has had me in a tizzy all evening. I've done nothing but sit, stare, cry, read blogs, write emails, and not much else. I've had Hubster call my mother; otherwise, nobody knows yet. But now you will.
You all know that I had my blood tested yesterday. The results came in today, and my doctor's office called this afternoon.
The mundane news is that my thyroid meds are way too low and need to be adjusted. That would account for the weight gain.
Then there was the other news.
(deep breath)
I am a diabetic.
There.
I've said it and haven't dropped dead.
Just in time for my 50th birthday, too. I can just imagine what my boys will do when they hear this tidbit of happiness.
I'm not at the insulin stage, but I'm teetering on the Type I/Type II fence. Exercise more, she said. Eat less and lose weight, she said. Do this, do that, stand on your head and flash the world, she said.
The only way I can exercise is to swim. We all know that where I live, it doesn't get hot enough to swim unless the pool is heated, and mine isn't.
I live on sandwiches as it is. If I ate any less, I would die. I realize that the less you eat, the more your body thinks it's starving and the slower your metabolism gets in order to conserve energy. But there's also that little problem of having a dead thyroid, so my weight isn't merely a function of what I eat or don't eat - it's a function of how accurate my meds are. And since they're insufficient, I could swim the English Channel right now and all I'd get from it are titsicles.
Speaking of tits, I also have to go for my yearly mammo torture. I've got a large lump in one breast which they've been watching. The minute it changes size, shape, or mass, they'll make me walk down the hall in one of those stupid gowns that are designed for stick women, lay on my tummy on this table with a hole in it for your boobles to hang down through, stick a large needle full of anesthetic right in the tumor, and do a biopsy. I won't know the results for about a week, and then they'll send me a letter saying that I have to come back. That's if it's bad news. I've already received one of those letters, and it was one of the longest three weeks I've had to live through.
I've been reading posts from women who are about to turn 40 and how they're dreading it. Rightly so. I was afraid of my 40th, and birthdays have never bothered me before. I was actually excited about my 50th. In my culture, I will now be an elder, a position which is venerated and powerful.
But I don't feel powerful right now.
I feel very, very scared.
You all know that I had my blood tested yesterday. The results came in today, and my doctor's office called this afternoon.
The mundane news is that my thyroid meds are way too low and need to be adjusted. That would account for the weight gain.
Then there was the other news.
(deep breath)
I am a diabetic.
There.
I've said it and haven't dropped dead.
Just in time for my 50th birthday, too. I can just imagine what my boys will do when they hear this tidbit of happiness.
I'm not at the insulin stage, but I'm teetering on the Type I/Type II fence. Exercise more, she said. Eat less and lose weight, she said. Do this, do that, stand on your head and flash the world, she said.
The only way I can exercise is to swim. We all know that where I live, it doesn't get hot enough to swim unless the pool is heated, and mine isn't.
I live on sandwiches as it is. If I ate any less, I would die. I realize that the less you eat, the more your body thinks it's starving and the slower your metabolism gets in order to conserve energy. But there's also that little problem of having a dead thyroid, so my weight isn't merely a function of what I eat or don't eat - it's a function of how accurate my meds are. And since they're insufficient, I could swim the English Channel right now and all I'd get from it are titsicles.
Speaking of tits, I also have to go for my yearly mammo torture. I've got a large lump in one breast which they've been watching. The minute it changes size, shape, or mass, they'll make me walk down the hall in one of those stupid gowns that are designed for stick women, lay on my tummy on this table with a hole in it for your boobles to hang down through, stick a large needle full of anesthetic right in the tumor, and do a biopsy. I won't know the results for about a week, and then they'll send me a letter saying that I have to come back. That's if it's bad news. I've already received one of those letters, and it was one of the longest three weeks I've had to live through.
I've been reading posts from women who are about to turn 40 and how they're dreading it. Rightly so. I was afraid of my 40th, and birthdays have never bothered me before. I was actually excited about my 50th. In my culture, I will now be an elder, a position which is venerated and powerful.
But I don't feel powerful right now.
I feel very, very scared.
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