tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65446172024-03-05T03:14:54.329-06:00small handsnobody ~ not even the rain ~ has such small handsChelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.comBlogger455125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-14221439684245170532011-05-19T00:36:00.001-05:002011-05-19T00:36:08.215-05:00The crafting never stopsJust because I'm a lousy knit-blogger these days, doesn't mean I'm not still knitting and such.<br /><br />Lately, it seems I'm only capable of knitting in a sagey medium green range. It's a good color for<br />me but the next sweater will be blue or purple. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://www.flickr.com/photos/26915247@N00/5735548003/'><img src='http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2339/5735548003_3feb7cbc3e_b.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />DONE: (Fried Green) Tomato<br />Stats will have to come later, but it's made from Manos cotton.<br /><br /><center><a href='http://www.flickr.com/photos/26915247@N00/5736098660/'><img src='http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3252/5736098660_86681f239d_b.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />WIP: Cassandra crocheted shawl<br />I'm using one skein of STR and one skein from a long past MDSW (will I ever get back to one? Will I get to hang with Lara, Carrie, AM, and Jenna EVER?! AGAIN?!)<br /><br />All the good stuff's happening over at the Enchilada these days, but haven't forgotten this place and I haven't forgotten my readers, both of you: ¡Besos!<br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-65282487928273739772010-09-15T11:28:00.001-05:002010-09-15T12:36:42.271-05:00Finished Object: Summery shell by Jo SharpWow. Only, what like... 5 years since this yarn and pattern went into the stash? Here she is, complete, and in the wild!<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4993533908/" title="Shelly by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Shelly" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/4993533908_9f0c57bdf9_m.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><em>Forgive the terrible work pics, it was too dark in my place last night.</em> <br />
<br />
<strong>Pattern</strong>: Jo Sharp <a href="http://www.k2tog.com.au/index.php?main_page=document_general_info&cPath=64_41_47&products_id=161">Chaise</a> from <a href="http://www.calyarn.com/jsbook3.htm">Holiday Island</a>. (<a href="http://ravel.me/chelsea/c1">Ravelry</a>)<br />
<strong>Yarn</strong>: Jo Sharp Soho Summer DK cotton in sage green, 6<br />
<strong>Size</strong>: to fit 37" bust<br />
<strong>Needles</strong>: US 6s & 4s<br />
<strong>Mods</strong>: None<br />
<br />
<strong>What I loved</strong><br />
Very little. This was sort of a labor of want from start to finish. While I look terrible in vests, I like how I look in tanks. My Jems and the cabled shell from years ago are way too big any more and I finally had a bust size that would fit into the largest size (clearly written with more positive ease than I need) so I wanted to make it. The cotton is tiring, the pattern is excruciatingly boring. But I do like the finished object. The finishing technique on the keyhole and armscyes seems to be sturdy enough that they won't sag, so I've mentally filed it away for later. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4993527000/" title="Shelly by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Shelly" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4109/4993527000_1a39e09557_m.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br />
<strong>What I would do differently</strong><br />
She only gives a single stitch count for picking up stitches on the neckline and armscyes for all sizes. There were not enough stitches, so I feel like the neck ruffle isn't quite ruffly enough (though it sags in the back). I added stitches to keep the arms from puckering. It's a bit short, but as I am into layering, this is ok. I will also lose 10 pounds before any more pictures are taken of me. Thanks, summer for being too hot to run in. Over all, I am pleased.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4993528212/" title="Shelly by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Shelly" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4104/4993528212_a5ae33042a_m.jpg" width="166" /></a></div><br />
<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=smallhands-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=193154316X&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-64923157096644787362010-09-07T14:56:00.000-05:002010-09-07T14:56:49.039-05:00one Versatile Little AccessoryI have a small group of test knitters working out the kinks in this one, and it should be available soon.<br />
<br />
Here is version one:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4967003504/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="VLA shorter sleeves by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="VLA shorter sleeves" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4086/4967003504_bf79972d89_m.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br />
<br />
The sleeves are shorter, as is the waist ribbing and the neck edging is one row narrower, giving a "saucy" silhouette.<br />
<br />
Version two: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4967006806/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="VLA longer sleeve wip2 by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="VLA longer sleeve wip2" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4150/4967006806_6864a6aa51_m.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Longer sleeves, and deeper ribbing all around makes this one more "office friendly." (Also, I will be cleaning that mirror very soon.)<br />
<br />
The VLA (which also stands for "Very Large Array"--the radio telescope that she's named after) is knit at a gauge of 3.5 stitches / inch. The first size medium was knit with three hanks of Colinette Skye, and the second, 6 balls of Rowan Kid Classic (held double). The pattern sizing will be XS - 2X. She's a top-down, try as you go, no-seaming number. Uses one or two cute buttons. <br />
<br />
Let me know what you think!<br />
<br />
In other news I finished my astronomy class, so the bus knitting has been renewed in earnest. Sock number one is almost done, and number two is done past the heel: <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4968103650/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Bus sock by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Bus sock" height="180" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4092/4968103650_3d36013f43_m.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-47717693515490362602010-08-24T00:11:00.000-05:002010-08-24T00:11:35.545-05:00coffeeshop knitting, and pattern writing is hardI just sent out a draft of the VLA to my test knitters. It took me all day to do all of the maths fifteen times to get it to work out. My fingers are crossed that my friends don't have too much trouble. I am still planning a little photo shoot, at which point I will post some teaser pics and start the pattern in Rav. Is it ridiculous that I am getting excited to have a pattern up there for sale?<br />
<br />
In other news, I am SO close on the Jo Sharp. I really want it off the needles already, there are many other things clamoring to get on them!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4921891267/" title="Knit noir: the Jo Sharp tank is almost there! by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Knit noir: the Jo Sharp tank is almost there!" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4096/4921891267_50a7d8fe62_m.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
<br />
Only about 2 inches of back to go, plus the ruffled neckline... This was taken at my Monday night knit in. It's at this excellent coffeeshop near my house. Sadly, there are still not any other knitters. On Monday nights, I really miss Austin.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-49977575728756112452010-08-22T00:20:00.000-05:002010-08-22T00:20:21.153-05:00On being a writer and some knitting, too<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgclcbV5ZyvH4C5h-geAjN0Jd4-YVLlXQnaOXUkrdE4j0_TXVl7FaeXFAqLDyYbtHk4C_IlFibzawkesGxBphxfuixkkCkRhHuuQP5xQwcobyPI9Hk4zmZeaaURLOUPyur31IP/s1600/vla2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgclcbV5ZyvH4C5h-geAjN0Jd4-YVLlXQnaOXUkrdE4j0_TXVl7FaeXFAqLDyYbtHk4C_IlFibzawkesGxBphxfuixkkCkRhHuuQP5xQwcobyPI9Hk4zmZeaaURLOUPyur31IP/s200/vla2.jpg" width="171" /></a></div>I'm doing a 365 project over on Transatlantic Enchilada, and so will be spending most of my time there, I imagine. But I am still knitting and working on my newest patterns. This one will hopefully be up for sale at Ravelry in the next month. Here's a hint:<br />
<br />
I have four test knitters so far, and will hopefully have a draft to them by next week.<br />
<br />
The sedimentary scarf is also progressing nicely. The Jo Sharp shell is stalled, but should get some love this weekend.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-82645538381739401102010-08-13T17:00:00.001-05:002010-08-13T17:31:06.417-05:00How badly do you want it?That's this week's mantra as I struggle with time management issues. <br />
<br />
I have some knitting and some pattern writing that I am pretty fired up to finish (anyone wanna test knit a boobalicious shrug? 16x22 gauge?), some essay writing that needs to be writ, the dread Statement of Purpose to draft, and a short story competition to get embroiled in. Add to that wanting to make up for my lack of running on account of EXTREME HEAT in the never ending oven that is the Phoenix summer and lack of yoga on account of brokeness, and I am feeling like there is too much to do in my little non-work time. <br />
<br />
The answer is getting up earlier than I do. I mean, not the answer to all of it, but that's where I can find at least one extra hour each day. So, how badly do I want these things? Badly enough to drag my dream lovin' lazy ass out of bed extra early each day, or not quite that much?<br />
<br />
I'll let you know next week.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-42954231789942488192010-08-10T17:27:00.000-05:002010-08-10T17:27:02.768-05:00My Newest Byline and a soon to be neckline...I have a piece up on McSweeney's!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://mcsweeneys.net/2010/8/10biondolillo.html">An Objective Look at My 7 Grad School Rejections</a><br />
<br />
In other news, I am starting the process for this year's apps.<br />
<br />
Knitwise I am rounding the bend on my Jo Sharp summer tank. I have a few inches of back and a ruffly neckline left.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4880633754/" title="Soho summer tank by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Soho summer tank" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4082/4880633754_df2e32f9d2_m.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
<br />
I was first inspired to knit this when I saw a floor sample at Knit Happens in Arlington, VA. It has only been a few years, but it feels like decades ago. My life was so different back then. And I miss hanging out with Rossana, Holly, and Erika...<br />
<br />
The pattern is Chaise from Jo Sharp's <a href="http://www.calyarn.com/jsbook3.htm">Holiday Island</a> collection. I'm using her Soho Summer dk cotton in a sagey green that everyone always says makes my eyes look great. Who doesn't love to hear such things?<br />
<br />
I was nearly done with the thing last summer when I found that the back shoulders did not in fact meet up with the fronts. One side was taller than the other. Turns out I had thrown in an extra short row half way down. Into the corner the whole thing went to wait out the winter and learn better behavior. I'm sort of rushing the ending because I really <b>really </b>want to make a Cece next.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-42934583925738959572010-08-07T22:03:00.000-05:002010-08-07T22:03:46.306-05:00Roadtrip knittingFirst, some housekeeping: I have had to turn on comment moderation after a bunch of crazy non-English comments. Sorry, y'all. Hopefully after awhile I will be off their radar and can turn it back off.<br />
<br />
I just got back from a 5 day roadtrip with JFC. We made a big AZ-NM loop and hit a couple of hotsprings and a couple of astronomy-related sites along the way (I am taking astronomy this semester--because I am insane).<br />
<br />
En route, I finished two knitting projects and today, I started one with some souvenir yarn. I know I haven't covered much knitting lately--surely why I am down to only two readers--but maybe this is a sign of more knitting to come!<br />
<br />
The first project I finished is a secret, as it is a pattern I made up that I hope to put up for sale on Ravelry in the next few weeks. If you are interested in test knitting a top down shrug (approx 375-500yds, heavy worsted gauge) let me know. Otherwise, stay tuned.<br />
<br />
The second project I finished was <a href="http://www.hollyandellaknits.com/shop/free-patterns/summerflies/">Summer Flies</a> shawlette by <a href="http://www.hollyandellaknits.com/">Holly and Ella Knits</a>. The little shawl/scarf got blocked last night, and here she is reclining by the pool:<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4870035717/" title="Summer flies -STR sandstone by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Summer flies -STR sandstone" height="180" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4143/4870035717_1f056b822b_m.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
I used Socks That Rock in Sandstone (which was chosen partly because of how well it would coordinate with my trip through the desert). It was a pretty quick knit (two days of riding), though the last 7 rows plus the picot bind off were a tiny bit demoralizing. They were worth it for the cute lil ruffle they made.<br />
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Here's the shawlette view:<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4870649938/" title="Summer flies -shawlette by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Summer flies -shawlette" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4075/4870649938_67bd4c5e96_m.jpg" width="160" /></a><br />
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And the way more likely way I will be wearing it view:<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4870036799/" title="Summer flies - scarf by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Summer flies - scarf" height="189" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4080/4870036799_9907e2f305.jpg" width="283" /></a><br />
<br />
While in Santa Fe, I stopped at the very first yarn shop I ever frequented, <a href="http://www.needleseyesantafe.com/">The Needle's Eye</a>. My friend Sarah Rae (who helped me figure out my knitting how-to book) and I used to refer to the proprietress and her staff as the "Mean Knitting Ladies," and I was always afraid to go in alone. They were the usual surly types that one finds (or presumes to find) in such little shops. But I am pleased to report that the woman working when I went in last week was very kind, helpful, and accommodating. Was this because I told her I first visited not even knowing how to knit and now I was a designer in two of the books on her shelves? Maybe. Maybe the economy or the years have just soften the folks in Santa Fe.<br />
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I wanted to find cotton/elastic sock yarn but they were almost completely sock-yarm-less. Instead, I picked up this unusual looking stuff that was in the sandstone/desert palette that I'd been traveling.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4869923443/" title="Filatura Fancy Tempo (3 x 114 yds) by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Filatura Fancy Tempo (3 x 114 yds)" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4074/4869923443_577f7e9b8e_m.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
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It is a cotton/poly blend that is spun with multicolored fluffs of different fibers--almost like a cottony version of that yarn from sari silk, in a finer gauge. As I have started to knit it up (no give to speak of, but lovely drape) it's showing some really nice subtle striping.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4869921335/" title="Sedimentary scarf in progress by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Sedimentary scarf in progress" height="160" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4139/4869921335_6b268d4290_m.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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The pattern is a repeat of yarn overs mixed with garter and stockinette. I wanted to show off the variegation in the fiber and play to its drape. I got three balls, if the scarf can be finished in two, I may try to pull off a floppy beanie with the last ball. I'll post the scarf pattern here once it's complete. <br />
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I have been slacking on my Amazon links, so here are some inspired by or experienced on, the trip:<br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=smallhands-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=0671695886&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe><br />
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<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=smallhands-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=B0011HF6GE&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-79872489284724814062010-07-16T13:28:00.000-05:002010-07-16T13:28:10.635-05:00Trout fishing all over the place"Finding is losing something else. I think about, perhaps even mourn, what I lost to find this." ~Richard Brautigan<br />
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I apologize if the nature of this blog is no longer knitterly enough--more than ever I feel that these notes are out into a void--but I am really liking this whole inspired-by-a-quote method of prompts. Also, over at Transatlantic Enchilada, I have posted a couple of new "losers" from last year.<br />
<br />
Speaking of last year, it really felt like I lost a lot while I was in it. I have to remember to include the factor of perception, since, in a grander scheme (even from just a <em>slightly</em> elevated viewpoint) I still had a roof over my head, a car to drive to my job, food to eat, and a very charming gentleman caller to take me out on dates. But I <em>did</em> lose my unemployment (and with it, the chance to keep going to school for another semester), my place in Austin, and ultimately my -first- chance at grad school. I also lost several writing competitions and lotteries. It seems like last January was a lifetime ago, while last July just a few months back.<br />
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I have been in Arizona almost exactly a year. And I have discovered a lot--about writing, about birds and stars, about being in love, about patience. I lost some material things, some of my optimism, and the certainty of my direction while I found new sources of inspiration, new gray hairs, and expressive paragraphs. I'd have to say that while it has been a difficult exchange, it would be wrong of me to call it unfair.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-4480650386185649352010-07-14T13:36:00.000-05:002010-07-14T13:36:08.845-05:00My over-developed wishbone"Never grow a wishbone, daughter, where your backbone ought to be." ~ Clementine Paddleford<br />
<br />
First and foremost, let us rejoice that such an amazing name exists to be rolled across one's tongue. Clementine! Paddleford! How could she possibly have been a boring woman? She couldn't, and wasn't. I wrote up a little post about her over at my day job: <span id="sample-permalink">http://wholefoodsmarket.com/storesbeta/scottsdale (it will be up on Friday).</span><br />
<br />
<span id="sample-permalink">In thinking about the quote above, though, it occurs to me that I have indeed grown a wildly scoliotic wishbone</span>. My wishes have twisted around my spine like kudzu, taking the place of muscle and nerve. And so these muscles these nerves, little used, atrophy. I wake up some days full of ideas yet go to bed scared and unaccomplished. Every small success seems to come with two failures these days, and I become terrified to try anything. <br />
<br />
There was a time when things were stressful and stretched in a different way; when at least the day to day expenses of living were taken care of, and it was only my mind that was wasting away. Now my mind, over alert, is wasted for four hours on the bus each day. Trying to read or knit amid the elbows and knees of the summer working classes becomes a battle of mind over nose. There are treatises and essays I'd like to write, if only my car would stop breaking and just ONE piece of real writing would make a buck, so I could take a day off to do it. <br />
<br />
Regardless. The writing continues. One of my older essays, after much brutal (though necessary) cropping, has been accepted by Sea Stories. I am totally stoked, as I tried to get into this journal over a year ago, just before they lost funding and went dark. They are back up, and I am among some really accomplished writers and artists. Check it out: <a href="http://seastories.org/category/overfalls/">http://seastories.org/category/overfalls/</a><br />
<br />
And for fun, I wrote up some drinks recipes with the help of a local bar over at Venuszine: <a href="http://venuszine.com/articles/create/drink/7318/Red_White_and_Blueberries">Red, White, and Blueberries</a> (it's not the 4th, but bloody marys are always in season). <br />
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As does the knitting. I pulled my Jo Sharp tank back out of the corner. It was being punished for bad behavior, also known as "unintentional and random short-rowing". I pulled back two balls of yarn (and 10 inches!) and have gotten nearly back to where I started. Pictures? I am not that organized, still, in the new place--but some high speed internet I can't possibly afford will be up on Thursday, so hope abounds amid the crushing heat, broken auto parts, and leftovers AGAIN.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-52874469137499239232010-06-30T13:19:00.000-05:002010-06-30T13:19:43.435-05:00As the caterpillar said to Alice, "Whooooo Are Youuuuuu?"<blockquote>Often people attempt to live their lives backwards - they try to have more things, or more money, in order to do more of what they want so they will be happier.<br />
<br />
The way it actually works is the reverse.You must first be who you really are ...then do what you need to do in order to have what you want.</blockquote><br />
The above is a quote by Margaret Young, who was a dreamy-eyed flapper girl in the 20s, if her <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Margaret-Young/108575885833938">Facebook page</a> is any indication. She seems to be remembered only for this quote, and I can't find any context for her having said it. Was it in her liner notes? Did she pop off with it during her stand-up routine?<br />
<br />
I wonder how she felt about her own life in relation to her famous quote. She lived long, and stayed unmarried it seems, though I can't make any assumptions about the impact of that on her happiness. As an aside: I totally want to assume away, though. I am completely programmed to pity poor, old maid Maggie. When maybe she had dozens of lovers and was so happy she could hardly walk most days... I mean, who knows? Regardless, there doesn't appear to be any collected writings, so I'll likely never know.<br />
<br />
And-so, it's just a simple platitude. It's the sort of schmaltzy Hallmark sentiment that concludes the emails of many a grandmother, not to mention secretaries, massage therapists, and that aunt everyone refers to as a "free spirit" (not unlike Maggie, I bet). These sentiments are just fillers. We aren't meant to actually READ them, yet this one has stuck in my throat.<br />
<br />
I've been thinking a lot about what I want vs. what I think I deserve vs. what the universe will let me have. There was a time when I had access to credit that could buy me whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it--because my wants were Tshirts, CDs, an occasional trip, all the yarn I ever saw. Now, because of that folly, I have a mountain of debt and nothing to do but wait til my small contributions whittle it down. I have to want much less to keep from feeling deprived. I have to choose BETWEEN a bike lock and a curtain rod until my next check. Trying to take joy in a bike ride, when I could once order up a cruise, is hard.<br />
<br />
Not that it is pitiable, by ANY stretch. Talking about wanting stuff I can't have isn't a plea for donations or gentle pats on the shoulder. As J. Alfred's girl once said, "That's not what I meant at all." There are many people much worse off than me right now. I get that, and I get that this is good for me--I am just observing the phenomenon.<br />
<br />
And I am observing it, because there seem to be a lot of other people in this position of wanting, and the recent crumbling of the economy has taken away all the credit we used to use to satisfy those wants. It's not just about stuff, either. Food used to be something that some people could afford, and others couldn't. Rather than using credit to close the gap, we are using low quality food made from genetically modified corn and soy to provide cheaper and cheaper versions of the food that "everyone" eats so that the poor don't have to suffer as much through their poverty. I can buy an all-angus beef burger at a restaurant for $7 or more, or go to McDuds and pay 99 cents... for something that resembles beef, but has nowhere near the levels of protein (28g vs 12g) or iron (20% vs 15%).<br />
<br />
On a recent blog post where a writer wrote glowing praise of a factory pig farm (after being paid by the pork industry to do so) she justified factory farming by saying that not everyone can afford $12/lb pork that is raised humanely. A commenter replied, that if they can't afford it, maybe they shouldn't eat it. Her response? "People don't like being told what they can eat."<br />
<br />
If I understand this line of thinking, since I want bacon (and who in their right mind doesn't?!), the economy OWES me bacon I can afford. And if all I can pay is 99 cents a pound, then by God, jam those pigs in as tight as possible and pump them full of all the antibiotics you need to, and screw the ecology of towns in the midwest that are literally being <a href="http://www.connecttristates.com/news/story.aspx?id=456556">flooded</a> by pigshit. Because I deserve bacon. <br />
<br />
And I deserve fancy running shoes that correct my SLIGHT pronation and don't cost an arm and a leg, so get those kids who live in some country I can't even spell to stitching.<br />
<br />
And if anyone can have a big screen TV, then where the hell's mine? Send out another credit card, and figure out how to make it work. 'Cause I want it now.<br />
<br />
I don't have any answers, just a lot of different thoughts about wanting and the state of things and how much I contribute to or against the problem. I mean, is this the beginning of the end of this empire? When our individual wants have finally superceded the needs of everyone to such a degree that we destroy not just our financial systems, but our food supply, housing markets, and environment all to get it? It doesn't happen in one oil spill or one auto maker's bankruptcy, but in a million little decisions to have or have not that all of us are making every single day.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-67782247750121898902010-06-22T11:27:00.000-05:002010-06-22T11:27:59.684-05:00Hope Summers EternalWhat a difference a view makes. <br />
<br />
Granted, the view may still be more "boxy" than I'd like; I have a mountain of stuff I don't really need; and not having an internet connection at home for the first time in... 10 years? is a bit rough. <br />
<br />
But, I cook my own meals with my own food and I go for powerwalks with JFC and hit up the library and coffeeshop when necessary. There is even supposed to be a knitting meet up a few blocks away, but I am not sure if it is canceled for summer--I seem to keep missing the knitters. [Still need a buyer for my Lendrum, if you know of anyone local to Phoenix--I've posted to the local board on ravelry and a CL post is forthcoming.] <br />
<br />
I'm actually working on a new essay. And next year's applications are in the brainstorm pile. <br />
<br />
Also, the hush hush writing project from the Spring is finally in print: <a href="http://venuszine.com/articles/create/7179/BBQ_Basics_Charcoal_or_Gas_">Venuszine: Girl's Guide to BBQ</a> The print version is supposedly lovely, three pages with pics, but I haven't found a copy yet. If you see one, let me know how it looks!<br />
<br />
The mood, as they say, has shifted (with the sun). Here are a couple of pictures from yesterday's solstice at the Central Library. The top floor was designed specifically for solar noon on the summer solstice: the side walls light up and the candlestick columns get direct light from above, causing them to glow (like candles).<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1407/4721471169_2bfca0e813_m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1407/4721471169_2bfca0e813_m.jpg" /></a></div>Quote from the architect "This isn't Indiana Jones, there's no light<br />
hitting a crystal to open a door, just the subtle beauty of light<br />
moving through a space."Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-52912981692891811242010-06-09T15:57:00.000-05:002010-06-09T15:57:29.443-05:00A. Just barelyQ. How does a 17' truck fit into a 550 sq ft space? <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4685602811/" title="It's a mess, and still largely unpacked. But it's mine. by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="It's a mess, and still largely unpacked. But it's mine." height="240" src="http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1290/4685602811_445957bd62_m.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
<br />
There will be purging. (Any wannabe spinners out there?) In the meantime, there is cooking and reading and (hopefully soon) writing and no TV and it's mine.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-42812455335504913722010-05-25T11:20:00.000-05:002010-05-25T11:20:32.299-05:00As I watch my car being towed away... It occurs to me that, clearly, I am doing this wrong. I am supposed to be glad that it overheated when I had some money to throw at it, glad that it happened before I moved out and had a million little things like dustpans and coffee filters and a bathroom rug to worry about. I am supposed to be thinking positive, that maybe its just the water pump and not the head gasket.<br />
<br />
But I'm not. All I can think about is that the goddamn money was supposed to get me out of this house. It's almost my 37th birthday, and I can't go somewhere nice for the night. All I can think about is how the universe already HAS my good job and my house and my optimism and one of my cats, why does it need my car and freedom, too? The editors finally all write back, "no;" my clothes don't fit; the lousy cat I have left is going completely crazy in house where he's not welcome.<br />
<br />
What do I need to do? I know I have flaws; I have done some crummy things in my 36.999 years on this Earth. I'm selfish and I hold on to resentment (obv). But I have tried to be generous with what I have. I always thought that I had potential to do great things.I just had to get past "this one obstacle." <br />
<br />
Whether it was finishing a degree, getting out of a bad marriage, or relationship, moving across the country, changing from a crappy job--there was always something to deal with first. Now it it starts to become clear: there is no way out. Like the dream hallway that stretches on and on no matter how fast you dream-run. Just as I see some light, another stone is dropped into the gap. There will always be obstacles and I can either spend my life clawing for air or doing something else. Am I supposed to love this empty hallway? Love the stones and forget what I wanted on the other side? Maybe I am meant to work in a grocery store and live with my parents forever. I always thought that everything works out. Maybe it did, and this is as good as it gets for me.<br />
<br />
It's just that I can't see how can that possibly be enlightenment.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3378/4638775297_6f9f64193c_m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3378/4638775297_6f9f64193c_m.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-52445648497691651712010-05-21T09:52:00.000-05:002010-05-21T09:52:33.012-05:00The thing isI can't write. There are ideas in my head, but when I sit down to the laptop, they freeze up. Whole monologues rage through my head all day, while I am organizing Earth shoes by size on the sales floor, or sitting in traffic for hours with quite possibly the shittiest, nastiest, most dangerous drivers I have ever encountered. During the walk from the busstop, I rework a paragraph that I have reworked every walk home from the busstop. I get home. I go to my room--with it's piles of clothes on clothes on books on shoes, with the three small pieces of floor that allow me only to stand in front of the bed, in front of the dresser, in front of the door, the only place to sit, the bed, and through the vents, the TV downstairs is blasting American Idol or Survivor or Amazing Race. And then everything just retracts. Like a turtle into a shell, all of the words are gone. There is no escaping the loud, jangly, awful noise of the television in this house. The frigid blast of the AC. There is nowhere quiet to go and gather one's thoughts. I sit dumbly in front of the keyboard or the notebook and before the tears come (AGAIN) I just give in and go turn another TV on. Sometimes I pack it all up and go somewhere else to write. The closest coffeeshop is 8 miles away, and is occasionally quiet. The library, near the freeway, is rarely quiet, but I've tried there. It is quiet right now in the house, the only time until 10 at night. <br />
<br />
For two months every single dollar I could spare has gone to pay off my car so I could try to get an apartment. (It won't stop all of the anxiety attacks, but at least I will be able to have them without having to (not) tell my mother what the matter is every time. How do you say, thank you so much for your hospitality but it is killing me slowly?) I still had about two months of payments, and I was trying to breathe through that tightness. I am so thankful for this roof over my head. I am so thankful for this roof over my head. <br />
<br />
All that was left was to figure out the damage on my taxes. She helped me figure out 2008--I had always been too afraid, what with the huge severance, cashing in the 401k, untaxed unemployment... It was this monolith in the back of my mind, and I was sure there were stories and poems and essays behind it. We put it all in the computer... And it spit out a refund. Enough to pay off the car. I still don't belive it, and won't until the deposit shows up in my account. But, the letting up of the tightness. I stayed up until 2 am doing 2009, afraid it would eat up the windfall. It didn't. The small wavering flicker of hope!<br />
<br />
I called an apartment I had talked to that had been just slightly more than my budget would allow. Everything available right now is either way too sketchy or too expensive. I toured the place--it was old (and not in a good way) but there was a pool, two treadmills and a weight machine. The manager seemed nice. It had a gas stove, it was near Bikram and a knitting meetup and a coffee shop I like (and, most importantly, much closer to someone I would like to be much closer to). Without a car payment, I could do it. It would be a snug fit, but I could cook, do yoga, take bubble baths again. It would be so worth it. I dropped a deposit and then allowed myself some optimism. I planned a writing, studying, and workout schedule. I rearranged the furniture in my mind.<br />
<br />
When it came time to get a background check and sign the lease, the son of the manager and I joked around. We swapped nightmare tenant stories. He told me about why there was a clause stating "no windows shall be covered by foil or anyother reflective materials." I told him about the guy with a million animals in my old house. And then he handed me the lease. The rent was over $100 more than what I had been told. I stammered, I explained. The son freaked out, called his dad, who said he never would have told me the wrong price. This tightness in my stomach, started to implode upon itself, getting tighter and harder, pulling my guts into it. There was no way I could afford the new rent, and for it, I have seen much better so far. He said to call if my economic situtation changed, and I said the same to him. The tightness floated up to my throat and started to expand, a supernova and I raced to my car, shut the door and just bawled. Big, ugly barking sobs. I tried to choke out the tightness, cry through it. Please-dont-let-anyone-see-me-and-want-to-help sobs. I sat there for several minutes before heading back to my parents. To my room. Where the editors don't return my emails, the journals send no-thank-yous, and where I have absolutely no idea what the fuck I'm doing anymore.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-2419143063075760352010-05-19T21:03:00.001-05:002010-05-19T21:03:16.525-05:00Psyche!The universe was just kidding. I'm still stuck where I am in every possible way.<br /><br /><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-19775974965782530372010-05-18T03:07:00.001-05:002010-05-18T03:07:14.179-05:00BonesKarma seems to have come through. I just put a deposit down on an apartment... I may be moving in for my birthday. Hopefully this isn't a big old jinx, but it seemed important to set a goal:<br /><br />Thirteen months of deep breathing, hard writing, and no whining. <br /><br /><center><a href='http://www.flickr.com/photos/26915247@N00/4618274714/'><img src='http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4061/4618274714_2051fa39cf_m.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-48138630186674205602010-05-12T10:24:00.001-05:002010-05-12T10:24:09.445-05:00Countdown to everything else continuesI just wrote a big crybaby rant about my home life. Then I accidentally deleted it and decided that I'm a bit too "older than 15" to rewrite it. <br /><br />I am trying. I really am. It wouldn't kill you, karma, to throw me a goddamn bone.<br /><br /><center><a href='http://www.flickr.com/photos/26915247@N00/4601641212/'><img src='http://farm2.static.flickr.com/1428/4601641212_bc27cdbfd0_m.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br />Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-67793607635619746892010-05-01T14:58:00.000-05:002010-05-01T14:58:34.032-05:00OK, it's an ad... but an ad for me at leastI am just starting to do some Demand Studios freelance work, and my first piece is up! <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.ehow.com/how_6390431_beginning-story-writer.html">How to Get a Beginning as a Story Writer</a><br />
<br />
I have other eHow articles up, but the new Demand platform includes copyeditors, styleguides, and strict standards. Hopefully this will vastly improve the quality of writing on eHow and other "answer" sites.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I get paid if folks read the article, so take a look and pass it along to anyone who might find it useful. (And let me know what you think, natch.)Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-89784209735545268012010-04-28T20:29:00.001-05:002010-04-28T20:29:58.080-05:00All over but for buttonsStill might be the ugliest ever...<br /><br /><center><a href='http://www.flickr.com/photos/26915247@N00/4562134082/'><img src='http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3294/4562134082_b7c68a5d7c_m.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /><br /><br /><center><a href='http://www.flickr.com/photos/26915247@N00/4561504579/'><img src='http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4047/4561504579_fd7078f034_m.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br /> <br /><br /><center><a href='http://www.flickr.com/photos/26915247@N00/4561505321/'><img src='http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3083/4561505321_65f4982560_m.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone<br />Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-71223427587382528532010-04-16T10:55:00.000-05:002010-04-16T10:55:44.579-05:00Bus riding zenFirst, a confession: I don't really know what <em>zen</em> is. What I imagine of zen leads me to believe that I am about as un-zen as a methamphetamine pill or a mountain of unnecessary paperwork or even, just an unmade bed.<br />
<br />
There is a part of me that longs for what I imagine zen to be: calm, clarity, focus. I crave this thing, not because I have had a taste and want more, but because the descriptions of its flavor make my mouth water. My mind bounces around, unfocused and frantic. This helps me to learn quickly, take in whole personalities in a few exchanged words, grok "big pictures" from just a few glimpses at parts, but it never lets me rest. I know content only in the few moments between sleep and waking--and I try to make that moment last hours by waking up in the most begrudging of ways. At least that is the only contentedness that I will discuss here (she smirked, knowingly). <br />
<br />
However, not knowing doesn't preclude trying. Intellectually I understand some of the principles of centering and focusing the mind. One of the few ways that I have ever been able to successfully meditate is in Bikram yoga class: the 90 minute, open-eyed meditation. My fluttering chatter brain has to concentrate during every minute (except the blissful, wandery 2 minutes of savasana, between the standing and back bending series). Between the balancing and the exertion and the breath, I don't have time to think about how I really should have a better handle on my finances, or why do I eat junk food so predictably when I am stressed out, and what is it that scares me about really, deeply connecting to other people. These things and more start swirling around whenever I try to sit and clear my mind.<br />
<br />
Knitting is nowhere near the meditation that Bikram is, but thanks to my ever bountiful stash (do not be ashamed of your stashes! you are saving for a rainy day or year or era) it is much more free than Bikram. <br />
<br />
I just finished two really wonderful books, which I plan on reviewing over on goodreads soon. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0156032112?ie=UTF8&tag=smallhands-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0156032112">The People of Paper</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=smallhands-20&l=as2&o=1&a=0156032112" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" /> followed very closely behind <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1592405614?ie=UTF8&tag=smallhands-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1592405614">I Don't Care About Your Band: What I Learned from Indie Rockers, Trust Funders, Pornographers, Felons, Faux-Sensitive Hipsters, and Other Guys I've Dated</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=smallhands-20&l=as2&o=1&a=1592405614" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0px;" width="1" />. The stack of books I want to read is very tall, and my tendency is to try to devour it like one of those epic Cheesecake Factory slices of creamy goodness. But that isn't enjoyment. Books should be nibbled at and savored like a fancy cheese plate shared with friends. So I am taking a break for a couple of days. I will still read, but will hold off on diving headfirst into another book.<br />
<br />
Knitting is my break, and today on the bus, I started orange sock number two.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4526088018/" title="Beginning of the bus ride by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="Beginning of the bus ride" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4011/4526088018_cef82a374a_m.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
I cast on at the bus stop, and had this by the time I sat down.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/devakali/4526090278/" title="End of bus ride! by deva_sarasvati, on Flickr"><img alt="End of bus ride!" height="240" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4055/4526090278_8c7306380e_m.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
Almost finished the toe by the time I got to work.<br />
<br />
Knitting focuses me, I dive into the stitches like they are prose. I feel a sense of accomplishment and of competency when knitting, that to be honest, is eluding me nearly everywhere else in my life these days. That may be miles from zen, but at least I can see the tip of zen's tower from here.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-82628243483482798062010-04-15T09:38:00.001-05:002010-04-15T09:38:15.116-05:00An exercise from a book about break upsI miss my old job. I miss being able to work a schedule of my choosing, and being able to define how my time is spent. I miss working so close to my house. I miss traveling and being able to afford yoga or running group. I miss having some time to do the things I love.<br /><br /><center><a href='http://www.flickr.com/photos/26915247@N00/4522871353/'><img src='http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2736/4522871353_70393a0eb1_m.jpg' border='0' width='210' height='281' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />I do not miss my old job. I am glad I don't have to sit through three hours of teleconferences everyday. I don't miss the culture of CYA that pervades IT departments. I do not miss working for hypocrites and feeling stuck in a job that gives me no personal satisfaction. I don't miss being so wiped out from a week of work that I only have the mental energy to get drunk and sleep in by the time the weekend rolls around.<br /><br />It is important to try to remember the whole truth.<br /><br />In knitting news, I am almost done with the knitting on my maybe ugly sweater! Only 50 rows to go.<br /><br /><center><a href='http://www.flickr.com/photos/26915247@N00/4523505934/'><img src='http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4022/4523505934_1367771f42_m.jpg' border='0' width='281' height='210' style='margin:5px'></a></center><br />-- Post From My iPhone<br />Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-18621954518357014832010-04-14T11:37:00.000-05:002010-04-14T11:37:24.448-05:00connectingHow to connect? to space, place, people, plans.<br />
<br />
These are things I am thinking about lately. I have very little discipline or satisfaction in my life--I don't think the two are unrelated phenomena. The things that bring me the most happiness are reaching goals that I have set for myself, and yet I let many goals go unset or if set, unmet. Why this commitment to dissatisfaction and unhappiness? Do I think it is more interesting to be unfulfilled?Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-45427546199368394672010-04-13T10:38:00.000-05:002010-04-13T10:38:38.953-05:00some days are just title freeI have been doing a bit more cooking in the last week or so. I made a great pasta salad, and cooked dinner for JFC last night (salmon and spinach and couscous, oh my!) and it really makes me want my own space. <br />
<br />
But, I am not sure I can afford to take a class at ASU in the fall <strong><em>and</em></strong> move out on my own. <br />
<br />
Already, I am stressing out about applications for next year. There is only one professor that I feel comfortable asking for a second time. And every source says there should definitely be two college professors in one's recommendation stack. Last year I asked a woman who didn't know me that well as a result. I can't believe that it's not more important for it to be people familiar with my work and communication habits... How can I get professors to vouch for me if I can't afford to go to school?<br />
<br />
If I stay at my parents for much longer, it might just strain too many relationships too much. But, then am I risking another year of rejection if I don't get into a good class at ASU?<br />
<br />
Some writing work has been happening. I managed to talk my employer into letting me blog for part of one shift each week. You can read me here: <a href="http://wholefoodsmarket.com/storeblogs/scottsdale">Whole Foods Market: Scottsdale store blog</a>. The other one is still going to stay under wraps until it feels a bit less jinxable.<br />
<br />
Also, knitting! Actual knitting has occurred. I am nearly done with the knitting on my <a href="http://twistcollective.com/collection/index.php/component/content/article/75-fall-2009-patterns/396-vine-yoke-cardigan-by-ysolda-teague">vine yoke cardigan</a>. It just might be the ugliest sweater ever* but we'll see!<br />
<br />
*My version, I mean. Ysolda's is lovely!Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6544617.post-45463484910216626192010-04-09T15:14:00.001-05:002010-04-09T16:13:00.528-05:00Hitting and how it feelsI have been reading <a href="http://www.mcsweeneys.net/">McSweeney's Internet Tendency</a> regularly for the last month or so. (In my top 10 favorite apps, for sure.) There are regular columns mixed in with random occurrances. One of the regulars is called <a href="http://www.mcsweeneys.net/links/bitchslap/">Bitchslap: a column about women and fighting</a>. The author, Susan Schorn, teaches martial arts in Austin, TX (wish I'd known about her when I lived there).<br />
<br />
Her latest column talks about pacifism and violence and in it, she talks about the intoxication that comes from getting what you want using violence. Almost at the end, she says <br />
<blockquote>"If you want something to be afraid of, forget about anthrax, snipers, and people with bombs in their underwear. Hit somebody when you're mad at them, and see how you feel. That'll keep you up nights."</blockquote>I did once, and it did.<br />
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I graduated college in May of 1995. I was 22 and had been living with my boyfriend for about 6 months. We bickered constantly. He was a cook and would stay after hours at the restaurant and drive home drunk--I would yell about his irresponsibility. During those last few years at school I started what would become a lifelong habit of crying for no comprehensible reason, sometimes for a day or two at a time--and this infuriated him, he would storm out and I would cry all the harder. Since things were going so well, we decided to get married two months later. <br />
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Things are always more clear in the rearview. What you called "worrisome" in the moment becomes "practically hilarious in its obvious portentiousness of DOOM" fifteen years later. This is the curse of maturity, that everything fun you did as a kid becomes a dumb thing you are lucky didn't kill you. <br />
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It is easy to say now, how dumb it was, but at the time, we were madly in love. We clung to each other as though clinging might save us (apologies to Galway Kinnell). We had plans--romantic visions of travel and adventure. We decided to move to New Orleans, where I would learn to bellydance and sell my paintings on the sidewalk until a gallery snatched me up and he would pick up fencing and work for one of the best chefs in the country. How could such a perfect plan possibly fail? <br />
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My first job was at a Tower Records. I made $4.85 an hour, which meant some weeks, having to spend my silver dollar collection in the bus fare-box. But sifting up through the misery of being beyond broke was New Orleans! We ate po'boys and fended off roaches of legendary size and cunning. We learned about the amazing thing that happens in the middle of summer, in a hot crowded club, when the brass band marches in and up on the stage. Me, the oh-so-white girl from practically the SUBURBS of what must be in the top ten whitest towns in the US, learned how to shake it til I almost broke it.<br />
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And yet, in New Orleans, it is OK to be a drunk. And my husband, though still a novice, was well on his way to levelling up. The first time he stayed out all night, I woke up at 7:30 am in a panic. I immediately burst into tears after a search of the house and yard failed to produce his body. (He had passed out on the porch once, and once on the kitchen floor, so a thourough search was always needed.) I paced. Smoked. Then called my mom. I asked her what I was supposed to do. Call the hospital? The 3rd floor at Mercy (where the city often stashed destitute nutcases)? Wait more?<br />
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He finally called around 9 am, having passed out on a coworker's living room floor after forgetting to get off the (last) streetcar at his stop.<br />
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The second time he never came home, I didn't call my mom or anyone else. I was so humiliated that my marriage was in such shambles. There were nights where if someone had called looking for him, I'd have no idea what to tell them.<br />
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We were young. Lots of kids drink all the time. When we met, I drank all the time, too--except, not with the same passion and commitment that he brought to the venture. There are many embarrassing stories from those years in New Orleans. He would laugh recounting the various places that he had passed out. And I would get angrier and angrier through my complicit grin. <br />
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The thing is, he always said he was coming straight home. Every night, he would call around 10 and say something along the lines of, 'I'll be off in 30, I am going to have one beer and then head home.' Then, once I learned to sleep through his lack of appearance, I would be awakened sometime between 2 and 5 am by his stumbling mumbling figure ricocheting off of the living room furniture in the front room. Every night, I would plead that he really come home this time. Really. Please. And every time he didn't I would be more and more pissed.<br />
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Oh that damned rearview. But I didn't know how else to stop it, but to plead and reason and cajole and then punish when he didn't change. Maybe I pretended that I could feel the wall I was hitting my head against cracking. Once, during a particularly long fight about how his drinking sucked and my being mad all the time sucked, he said, "Well, maybe if there was something worth coming home to, I would."<br />
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I will <em>never</em> forget how that made me feel. People have said many hurtful things to me over the years, and I have said things in the hopes that they cut to the core in the worst way. But when your only friend for thousands of miles tells you that your company isn't worth sharing... It kills something in a permanent sort of way. And it wasn't too long after that that I hit him.<br />
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He had come home late, as was the routine, and I was screaming about his inconsiderate and apathetic spousal behavior. He rolled his eyes, threw himself along the length of the couch, arm over his eyes and said, "Look, why don't you just tell me when you're done so I can get some rest?" I raced to the couch, my intention to move his arm so that he would have to look me in the eye if he wanted to be so dismissive. But once I crossed the room, he moved his arm and eyes wide, flinched hard. In half a second I thought something along the lines of 'did you think I would hit you? because you know you deserve to get your ass kicked for being such a jerk? god I wish <em>some</em>one would kick your ass, you jerk.' And I pulled my fist back and punched him in the arm. <br />
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I was never beaten by my parents or by bullies. I have never been in a fist fight. I have no muscle memory for how to give or take a beating. My punch failed to really make its target, my fist sort of slid off of him, into the cushion. There was no bruise, but we both knew I had wanted there to be one. We both knew that I wanted to punch him into a pulp. I wanted him to cower and be afraid of me. I wanted to have enough power to make him do what I wanted. I wanted him to <em>want</em> to come home (to me). I backed away, arms up. Terrified at how badly I wanted to keep hitting him. I began to blubber tearful apologies. <br />
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Even drunk, he knew the upper hand when it punched him in the arm. He didn't accept my apology. He told me I should calm the hell down and just go to bed. I was so freaked out that I hung my head and slunk off to bed, like the violent abuser I had suddenly become deserved. <br />
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It made me sick and, in my sickness, afraid to confront to his selfishness and irresponsibility. He would occassionally bring it up, because he knew I would have a retort for exactly anything else but that. He knew I would be scared out of whatever argument we were in. And it worked. I started objecting less to his drunk driving, his late nights with no call. I started caring less too, and within a couple of years I cared so little that one night, I told him I was done bothering with him at all. That night, I just walked out of the house, didn't say where I was going and didn't come back til the next day. He wanted to ask, but didn't dare. We split up with little fanfare a week later and I mailed him divorce papers from Texas a few months after that. <br />
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I would like to think that I acquired a fear of how hitting feels that night: through all the jerks of varying levels I have dated, not a one has ever even raised a hand, and neither have I. But, I've stayed unmarried too, just in case.Chelseahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14979614050697222375noreply@blogger.com0