Off to Russia, no time to post!
See you in 9 days!
Off to Russia, no time to post!
See you in 9 days!
What’s unfortunate about these linguistic implications is that I have been feeling lately like I’m starting to get the hang of this whole “wife” thing. I think I’m getting pretty good at it, particularly for one whose family model is far from ideal. But to say “I think I’m a good wife” feels demeaning, and that is deeply irritating to me, for reasons I don’t think I can even define for myself, let alone anyone else.
As promised, pr0n! This is the skein of yarny goodness I picked up today to accompany me on the flight to Russia. It is lovely, sproingy, mottled Colinette Jitterbug yarn in colourway Jay, and it will become a Jaywalker scarf. I picked up some bamboo dpns to use. Two will hide in my hair to get through security, and the rest will sit in my purse in a glasses case. Hopefully the needles won’t be a problem, but if so, my crazy hair will hide them nicely.
Our car is all better! As you may recall from my last post, our brakes were shot. The pad on one rear brake was nearly gone, and the other was entirely missing: worn right through. Through some smart shopping on the part of mum and her bf, Mr. Microscope, we were able to get new brakes for a very good deal, and thanks to Mr. Microscope’s friend, Handsome Dan, they were installed at no cost. As they were working on the brakes, the utter destruction of the tires became apparent. It would seem we had worn all the way through the tread in spots on the rear tires, exposing the radial. Yeah, bad news. The good news was that – again, thanks to mum and the bf – a fabulous tire deal was found, and Dave Next Door agreed to install them for next to nothing. Buying the man a 24 of Heineken would have cost us more. So now we are braking and gripping and very happy with the general safety of our car.
And a response to Bezzie’s question in her comment on the August 23rd post: “Can you feel your seizures coming on? I’ve got two friends that are epileptics, one can feel them coming on, one can’t. “
In a way, yes. Most of my seizures have been at night, so I have been asleep as they began. But now, having gone essentially without any seizure activity for over a decade, I can feel when things aren’t right. The last time I went off the meds after having a clean EEG, I began having absence seizures. Very strange, but also a little interesting (sort of a “stoned” feeling). The best way I can think to describe it is that I find things start to seem almost cute when my medication levels are low or non-existent. It’s hard to put into words, but there is definitely something off, and it starts days or even weeks – off and on – before the glassy eyes and staring blankly starts. Which is good. It’s nice to have some warning.
I, honestly, feel a little strange writing about my condition. There’s this bizarre stigma surrounding epilepsy, due largely to the almost entire lack of understanding and education people have about the condition. It is so varied and, in many ways, so random, that it is a difficult thing for the lay person to conceive. And generations of misunderstanding harking back as far as Judeo-Christian scripture (all that bit about fits and the exorcising of demons? often epilepsy) and have continued to the present day. Even now, epilepsy awareness and support groups caution people to be wary when sharing details of their condition with employers, as many people have experienced discriminatory hiring and employment practices as a result. All that said, though, the only way to destroy the stigma is to speak openly. So I do my best!
Had some fairly nummy nachos last night with the dance ladies. It was a welcome distraction, and in total cost me less than $10 for a night out. Both good things.
After several weeks of horrendous sounds coming from our back brakes, we had my mum’s bf take a look at them. Turns out we’ve worn all the way through the pads. It’s essentially undriveable until they’re fixed, though DH debates this fact. Hmph.
I have so greatly appreciated the kind words I’ve received in light of this crappy development with Jon’s work. It truly has been a help to me, and I am feeling so much less insane about the whole thing, it’s rather remarkable. I’ll do my best to repay you by posting something picture-like in the next day or so.
Finally, some baby vibes for my friend BananaPink. She is now four days overdue with her third child. As of just a little while ago, she was still very much pregnant. So the baby vibes must be two-fold: first, that she have the baby as soon as possible, BUT also that she NOT have the baby until Sunday. Her BIL, her husband MadStix’ younger brother, is being married tomorrow and she would really really like to be there.
Happy Friday to you all!
I have had a MedicAlert bracelet before. I got one when I was first diagnosed epileptic at 15, and then replaced it at 17 when I “mysteriously” developed an anaphylactic allergy to almonds (Please, parents: do not allow your children to eat copious amounts of fundraising candy laced with nuts, particularly if the children have pre-existing allergies. And by “let” I mean fail to lock up the chocolate in a high cupboard, because, really, a 17 year old girl with hopes of a performing career really should know better, both from a nutrition stand point, as well as the “I don’t wanna be a fatty” standpoint). I haven’t had one in a while though; my last one broke, or irritated my wrist, or I lost it because I refused to wear it and carried it in a purse…I can’t recall.
So. I should get a new one. And I can get one for as little as $9.95 USD. Fab. But…I don’t really like it. I would much prefer not to wear jewelry made of the same material as my cutlery. Still, for someone whose husband was LAID OFF unexpectedly yesterday, perhaps cheap is the order of the day. I could get a teeny tiny bracelet. Am I too old to get away with a coloured emblem? Maybe teal or pink? Or I could just blow a bunch of our money and get this one!
Yes, The Man was laid off. I almost don’t want to talk about it, I am so utterly pissed off. There are various reasons for the rage. For one thing, his contract has been up for several months and his boss was dragging her heels on renegotiating. I think she knew months back she was going to have to let him go and didn’t want to either come clean, or give him a brief raise. This is the same boss who never bothered to give him benefits. The money wasn’t nearly good enough to justify having neither dental or optical. But what is also toasting me is that apparently there had been issues at work for a few months, and he failed to mention it to me. Now that the shock of all this is wearing off, I’m getting a little angry about it.
No pics today, I’m afraid. The lace scarf looks the same, but about 3 times as long. It seems to knit so quickly, about 5 minutes a row, but doesn’t seem to grow very quickly, despite that speed. Huh.
**Having never had a daytime convulsive seizure, the likelihood of that ever happening is very slight, but I like to prepare for the worst. And a creative mind is a terrible thing to waste by not using massive, hyperbolic language.
The first I watched was The Devil Wears Prada. I had heard that it was great, and I think the hype ruined it a little for me. I was a little disappointed. That said, I did enjoy it, and I thought that Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci were incredibly enjoyable. And the girl who plays Emily, while a horrible character, did a fantastic job. And I think watching so many lovely garments marching across the screen for an hour and a half has had an effect on me. I made a point of actually drying my hair this morning and wearing good shoes, rather than the little – granted, adorable – leather ballet flats that I have been absolutely living in for the past three months.
The third movie was an independant British pic, called 24 Hour Party People. It was a past-tense documentary-style film about Factory records and the rise of the Manchester music scene in the very late ’70’s and through the ’80’s and ’90’s beginning with Joy Division and on through Happy Mondays and the birth of rave culture. It was very well done, quite tongue-in-cheek and thoroughly enjoyable. And totally littered with obscenities, as it should be.
The shoulder shrug is almost done. I’m so close!!! I was able to try it on yesterday, and it looks pretty good. I’m hoping some funnyness will block out. It’s really teeny! I think it’ll be sweet with a tank or a little dress, though. Hopefully, it works out. And my lace scarf needs tinking. There are 16 stitches in every pattern repeat, and currently one of those repeats is sporting only 15. Where did the other one go? Who knows; I don’t. So there will be tinking at lunch. And yes, I do have lifelines, so if it comes to that, we’ll be alright.
Not the best pr0n shots today, I’m afraid. I had plans to get up early, take some nice macro shots of my Rowan tweed shoulder shrug, but, uh, the lure of sleep was a little too great. I’m supervising a series of dance shows this week on Parliament Hill, and while I’m not doing the dancing, I think I’m moderately exhausted by the whole ordeal! I had no idea how stressful it is to stand and watch and wait and hope it all goes to plan. There was some knuckle-biting last night as I watched. Seriously.
So, all preamble aside, the pr0n-y details: Swiss-made Aarlan cotton yarn in a lovely periwinkle. It has some nice sheen to it, very pretty, and…I haven’t knit a stitch so I have no clue how it knits up. I’m hoping it’s lovely. Even so, I got it for next to nothing at a local yarn shop which has been owned and operated since its opening 53 years ago by the same woman. She and her son have operated it together for over forty years, and he has decided to retire, about a year after his mother’s stroke left her unable to run the store with him. While it’s very sad about his mother, I’m very happy for him that he is retiring while he is young and healthy enough to enjoy his retirement. He seemed thrilled to be closing and moving on, though he certainly loves fibre and knitting and was quite enthusiastic about finding things for the few people wandering through the nearly-empty shop on its final day.
Finally, I can always judge the appeal of a post by the comments, or lack thereof. The last post was rather self-pitying and spleeny, and I apologise. Best to get such thoughts out, though, rather than penning them up and allowing them to fester. I want to be fester free! (Two points if you can name the Whedon show, episode and character who delivered that line. What you can’t? I can. Yes, I am a freak. No, you should not aspire to be like me.)