It only felt like it for a few days.
Yesterday I paid the price for taking Max to sell coupon books – fierce pain across my shoulders. He pulls so much, when he wants to go somewhere I can’t hold him back. So we worked with the Halti and I think we made some progress. I hope so , anyway.
Is not much fun
I really don’t do sick well
I’m just a crying whining pile of hurt
Doctor tomorrow.
He’ll probably tell me it’s something that only affects one out of a gazillion people and has no cure. Or the cure will make me grow a mustache. On my butt.
Sigh
Got up at 7 am. I don’t know how people do that every day – it’s a killer. I got a nap, but not long enough – because my uncle called and he’s 91 and hey, he’s more important than a nap. Then it was the chiro, and she beat me up – but I needed that. And before long, Keeno was here, and he and Max were playing and by the time he left, it was time to make supper.
I’m tired. I should go to bed. I’m 90% sure I have a UTI so I’ll be calling the doctor tomorrow. It’s not the black death after all.
We went out and ran our errands, went to the bank and the post office. I didn’t feel like going home, so we went cruising down the road and ended up stopping at the beer distributor. It seemed like I needed a reason to go for a drive, and now I won’t have to go there tomorrow. Came home the back way, and decided “what the heck” so we kept going and stopped for gas.
I’m trying really hard to ignore weather reports. They’re downplaying things, saying it’s gonna be a “nuisance.” But that nuisance will be when I have to drive. I keep telling myself that worry won’t change it. It’s not working. Okay, maybe it’s working a little.
I don’t have to be anywhere till 9:30 tomorrow morning. So there’s no need to worry till then. Perhaps some quilting will ease my mind.
Is to blog every day for as long as I can. Today, it’s hard to get motivated. I’m not a morning person, and I had to be up at 7. To teach a class – which hopefully will be a good one, since one of my colleagues is taking it. That’s a strange sort of thing – I feel sort of like I have to be on my best behavior and make sure everything is perfect. That could be a good thing, though. It might keep the crabby pants away!
So today’s post is a little bit of not much, but it’s a post! So it counts
I finished one block last night. Progress! I’ve got three done, out of 81. And I must say, it looks pretty darned good. I’m happy with it.
It’s been a journey, one that isn’t over. Lots of memories, lots of “stuff” has been found. Memories of quilting with my mother, of the way she did things. Memories of the times we sat at the dining room table and cut blocks, and took turns at the sewing machine, and taking stitches in fabric – stitches that held us together and held our memories.
I’ve found actual stuff – blocks that I cut, blocks that my mother cut and sewed. I think it’s time to finish them. It’s time to let go. Not totally – just turning those blocks into a quilt will allow me to keep them, but to see them as part of my now in a different way. Part of the past, transformed, and part of my present.
There are some bad memories in there too. I’m hoping this will give them less power.
Somewhere along the way to here, I became a drama queen. I don’t honestly know when it happened. I get a pain and immediately I think I’m dying. I seriously start planning for what will happen to Max, where I want stuff to go, how sad everyone will be when I’m gone. I beg for signs from the universe, and when they come, I rejoice – until I realize that I’m most likely fooling myself and I really am going to die from whatever random pain I just had.
I think I have a UTI. I’ve put off calling the doctor, because I don’t want confirmation that it’s really the only documented case of black death in this century And I don’t particularly like my doctor either.
I often say that the internet has caused an increase in drama. Facebook is my daily dose of “who’s fighting with whom?” It’s very amusing to watch, most days.
Internet forums – another wonderful source of drama. Even the food you feed your dog can be wrong, and you can be made to feel like the scum of the earth for even thinking of choosing such crap.
I don’t know. Maybe it was all the stuff with the sisters after Mother died, the only way they would listen was if I screamed. Maybe it’s students, who are so distracted that I have to put on a show to get and keep their attention.
It’s not fun to be a drama queen. It’s much more fun to be a silly princess.
Oh, the stress of taking that first stitch! I started. I pulled it out. I started again. I didn’t like it. I think I’m going to change my normal quilting pattern – because I realized that I really don’t enjoy stitching in the ditch. However. Now I have to find a pen that will show on dark fabric, and disappear in a day or so.
I’m not planning on spending any more money. We’ve been spending money like drunken sailors for the past few months and that’s just got to stop. I’ve been A.C. Moore free for three weeks, using up 5 balls of yarn without replacing them.
And sewing is taking over. I’m remembering how much I love to sew. How much fun it is to take little pieces of fabric and turn them into something.
I wish …………for nothing, really. It would be nice to stay home all the time and do crafts all day. But in the end, I love our home, and I don’t mind the time spent keeping it nice. I love my life.
I really seriously hate Mondays. And apparently they feel the same about me.
A phone call with no results.
A phone call that was a fishing expedition – and I was the fish
a dog who won’t listen
who keeps bringing shit home from the field
and seems to feel that he has to bark at every squirrel
Bear goes to work and I’m alone
I finished laying out the quilt tonight. That brought a whole set of emotions to the surface. Oh, Mother, I miss you.
My husband, for some reason totally unclear to me, likes to watch comedians on HBO. Usually he chooses young Black guys, sometimes women, but normally guys. They all seem to have a love for the word “motherf****r.” This is funny? I guess I’m old, or a prude, but I don’t find some person who is seemingly very angry at the world, and using this word constantly, as amusing. And yet there are people in the audience screaming with laughter.
Maybe it’s just me. Sigh
Suziecreamcheese Sings the Blues 
