It is, really.
It's 2 hott 2 spinn as well.
I sit, drenched in sweat, wearing only underpants as I write this.
Frightened, yet?
The air conditioner is on.
And it's still this hot.
When I walked into this room it felt cooler than the rooms around it. That's because it is. But it's still soooo hot that here I sit, sweating.
I plyed some yarn to day, but the idea of actually holding wool in my hands, while I move a treadle with my foot, scares me. It's why I can't function.
Help me.
I'm melting.
Monday, July 31, 2006
Friday, July 28, 2006
Big Mystery Pt. 2
So, what would I have done differently?
And how do I deal with my regret?
I don't hold on to my regret. I don't tresure it. I hate it. I never want to be old, and looking back, and filled with it, either.
I try to make sure that whatever I did, when faced with the same situation, I do differently the next time.
I figure that hey, I sucked the last time, if I suck this time, at least I tried something different.
I feel like I owed that little girl, the one who's 9 now, more.
I feel like I helped her mother down the path to self-destruction, by standing by and 'helping' when she fucked up.
It haunts me that years ago, I didn't look into her eyes, say
"You're killing yourself and I can't keep watching. Clean up or Get Out"
Instead, I looked into those big brown pools of manipulative pain, heard the suicide threats, and kept 'helping'.
I didn't want her to die.
I didn't want her to be mad, cut herself off from me, and fade into that large, black night.
I thought I could help save her.
My regrets are mixed with a weird sort of anger that I let myself be played. I let myself think that I could save someone who had absolutely no plans to save herself.
She worshipped at the altar of good looking corpses, and dead poets.
She lived for the feeling of not feeling at all.
Her demons were enormous, all encompassing, and something I cannot even imagine.
She had been degraded in horrible ways by the time she was 12. At 13 her mom and her did coke together. She was using herion and tricking by the time she was 15.
Her photos are still all over the internet. She has weird stalker-fans who want to know where she is.
I google her name to see if she's dead yet.
I wonder.
I wonder that had we not been such a soft landing, always there, always willing to give shelter both physically and emotionally...
Would she have hit a different bottom, earlier?
Would she have not lived in such a fucked up way, for so long? Would that have given her the strenght to save herself? Get some help?
Would she have checked herself into a psych ward that day I took her in, if I hadn't caved, and promised that we would take her to get help? I should have told the doctor that she was doing meth. I should have thought about the then 2 year old.
I shouldn't have blamed it on the people she was with.
I should have let her deal with the doctors. I should have insisted that she stay.
Would she know her own daughter now?
When she swore that she was cleaned up, and then I watched her do the line of coke, I should have walked away right then.
I should have thrown her out when she appeared, dirty and sad with a story about her boyfriend (really, her pimp) kicking her out. I begged her to get a job.
She didn't.
I begged her to get counsling.
Really, that was laughable at that point. She was such a host of problems at that point, where would have a doctor started? With her childhood? Her drug problem? Her prostitution? Her shattered marriage? (Her husband had taken her back at this point, 'for the baby' 5 times. Each time, the time together was shorter and shorter...the memories less good. The anger worse. He was still willing to take her back at this point. She was still young enough so that she had a good cover story for her lack of 'real' job experience. She was savable, I thought)
She said that she didn't need it.
Her husband finally threw down the gauntlet. Get help, -any- help, of -any- kind, just to show him that she knew there were problems. At the time, I bought that he was an asshole. In retrospect, he deserved my respect and support.
She flew to New York 3 days later, and stayed with her sister.
2 months later, she showed up on my doorstep, complaining that she had lost all her cash (junkies lose massive amounts of cash. I've never figured out if it's a cover for how much their habit costs, or if they are just so fucked up that they drop cash, don't notice people stealing...)and complaining that her planned overdose the night before didn't work. She was still alive.
I should have stood firm. I caved.
I wish I could have saved her. I regret not being able to. I wonder if anyone could have?
In the year that has passed since we last spoke, I think about her often. Because of another young, beautiful damaged woman.
A young woman who I think, really has a chance. A young woman who I can see a way out for. a young woman who desperately needs professional help. who I think, could lead a life that would not be a short, quick, road to hell.
I wish that things were simple. I wish that nobody ever would get hurt. I regret hurting people, through my supposed good actions. I regret working against a child's best interest because of my own, self-aggrandising, hope that she would, get help on her own time.
She only calls in the middle of the night. There is never a place where she lives. She chose that.
I regret the part I played in it.
I regret not being better.
I regret.
And how do I deal with my regret?
I don't hold on to my regret. I don't tresure it. I hate it. I never want to be old, and looking back, and filled with it, either.
I try to make sure that whatever I did, when faced with the same situation, I do differently the next time.
I figure that hey, I sucked the last time, if I suck this time, at least I tried something different.
I feel like I owed that little girl, the one who's 9 now, more.
I feel like I helped her mother down the path to self-destruction, by standing by and 'helping' when she fucked up.
It haunts me that years ago, I didn't look into her eyes, say
"You're killing yourself and I can't keep watching. Clean up or Get Out"
Instead, I looked into those big brown pools of manipulative pain, heard the suicide threats, and kept 'helping'.
I didn't want her to die.
I didn't want her to be mad, cut herself off from me, and fade into that large, black night.
I thought I could help save her.
My regrets are mixed with a weird sort of anger that I let myself be played. I let myself think that I could save someone who had absolutely no plans to save herself.
She worshipped at the altar of good looking corpses, and dead poets.
She lived for the feeling of not feeling at all.
Her demons were enormous, all encompassing, and something I cannot even imagine.
She had been degraded in horrible ways by the time she was 12. At 13 her mom and her did coke together. She was using herion and tricking by the time she was 15.
Her photos are still all over the internet. She has weird stalker-fans who want to know where she is.
I google her name to see if she's dead yet.
I wonder.
I wonder that had we not been such a soft landing, always there, always willing to give shelter both physically and emotionally...
Would she have hit a different bottom, earlier?
Would she have not lived in such a fucked up way, for so long? Would that have given her the strenght to save herself? Get some help?
Would she have checked herself into a psych ward that day I took her in, if I hadn't caved, and promised that we would take her to get help? I should have told the doctor that she was doing meth. I should have thought about the then 2 year old.
I shouldn't have blamed it on the people she was with.
I should have let her deal with the doctors. I should have insisted that she stay.
Would she know her own daughter now?
When she swore that she was cleaned up, and then I watched her do the line of coke, I should have walked away right then.
I should have thrown her out when she appeared, dirty and sad with a story about her boyfriend (really, her pimp) kicking her out. I begged her to get a job.
She didn't.
I begged her to get counsling.
Really, that was laughable at that point. She was such a host of problems at that point, where would have a doctor started? With her childhood? Her drug problem? Her prostitution? Her shattered marriage? (Her husband had taken her back at this point, 'for the baby' 5 times. Each time, the time together was shorter and shorter...the memories less good. The anger worse. He was still willing to take her back at this point. She was still young enough so that she had a good cover story for her lack of 'real' job experience. She was savable, I thought)
She said that she didn't need it.
Her husband finally threw down the gauntlet. Get help, -any- help, of -any- kind, just to show him that she knew there were problems. At the time, I bought that he was an asshole. In retrospect, he deserved my respect and support.
She flew to New York 3 days later, and stayed with her sister.
2 months later, she showed up on my doorstep, complaining that she had lost all her cash (junkies lose massive amounts of cash. I've never figured out if it's a cover for how much their habit costs, or if they are just so fucked up that they drop cash, don't notice people stealing...)and complaining that her planned overdose the night before didn't work. She was still alive.
I should have stood firm. I caved.
I wish I could have saved her. I regret not being able to. I wonder if anyone could have?
In the year that has passed since we last spoke, I think about her often. Because of another young, beautiful damaged woman.
A young woman who I think, really has a chance. A young woman who I can see a way out for. a young woman who desperately needs professional help. who I think, could lead a life that would not be a short, quick, road to hell.
I wish that things were simple. I wish that nobody ever would get hurt. I regret hurting people, through my supposed good actions. I regret working against a child's best interest because of my own, self-aggrandising, hope that she would, get help on her own time.
She only calls in the middle of the night. There is never a place where she lives. She chose that.
I regret the part I played in it.
I regret not being better.
I regret.
The Big Mysteries
I've been having a series of rather difficult conversations with a friend.
Last night, I realised that sometimes it might seem like I think I have all the answers. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I simply seem to have all the questions.
We were discussing a problem to which there are no right answers, and the concept of regret. My friend has very few regrets, but those he has, haunt him.
I've always been one to live in the present,
judge people by what they do,
try and do right, despite, not because of what others do.
That could pretty much be my credo.
What do I regret?
I regret not saying the truth when I knew it. I regret getting played. I regret things I didn't do more than things I've done.
When a friend was caught in the most awful downward spiral, I thought that to support her insanity and self-destruction was, in the long run, the right thing to do. I never told her the truth. That she was the only one hurting herself.
Years later, one night, she came to my house.
Her hands were covered in mild chemical burns. She hadn't slept in days, and a beautiful woman (who was always exceedingly vain) sat on my porch smelling like shit, with dirty/stained clothing on.
"I'm trying to burn off my fingerprints, so that nobody can find me"
We washed her clothes.
"I'm just going to run out for a minute"
She left, in little more than a bathrobe to go buy more crack.
"I just need to fix my hair"
She smoked the crack in my bathroom.
I understand when deception becomes the norm. I understand when someone has manipulated everyone, and can no longer even be honest with themselves. I understand when you go along with the manipulation (Hey, at least I -know- when I'm getting taken for a ride, right?) just to make the other person feel better.
When she told me -anything- I had doubt, but it was easier to beleive than fight about the little lies, right?
I'm big on personal responsibility. I really think it's key. However, this person was never held responsible for her own actions in my eyes. I just figured that someone who had basically been raised by wolves on the mean streets of Chicago, living off her good looks, and the kindness/perversion of strangers, didn't have that in her.
Her daughter will be 9 this year.
Luka won't remember her mommy holding her in her arms, looking up at me with absolute wonder and saying, "I just feel at peace when I hold her in my arms. I love her sooooooo much".
I thought that having a child would save her. That she'd pick up the peices of her life, make that kid her first priority, and live for her kid.
She hasn't.
The look in her eyes when she held Luka, that look said, "I'll do anything for my baby." I believed that look, completely.
I got taken.
I got taken for over ten years. I got taken in by the little lies and the big ones.
I called her pimp at one point and begged him to buy her a ticket to Denver, so that she could see her kid, and clean up. I figured that she couldn't buy drugs with no money and no car.
She said that it was what she needed to do. That it was the only way.
She was back in Chicago in three days, sucking strangers dicks for drug money, surfing couch to couch, with a crack pipe wrapped in plastic wrap shoved up her vagina, and stories about how her former husband didn't want her anymore.
That was a lie. Matt always talked about how much he loved her. He has never found another woman. Sure, he dates, but I think this whole life has been haunted by this beautiful, fucked-up wraith.
She felt regret at how things had worked out, but she never acted on it.
She never made the small steps needed to get him to trust her. She said it was insulting, demeaning even.
She was/is demanding. She would show up on our doorstep, saying how much she missed us. I sometimes wonder if she ever ment it. Her eyes said she did, but was that only an act?
She disappeared one night, amid shame, paranoia, and a general sense that she would burn us, just to save herself. I think that was the truth. I think that it was all the truth.
I think she ment everything. I think she ment nothing.
She calls late at night, always. Never a number to call her back on, just a payphone, or some stranger's home. I'm sure they're passed out in the bedroom, while she who never sleeps combs their house and hides things.
She steals.
She cries.
Once, I answered the phone. I knew instantly it was her. The timing was right.
I asked her if she was clean.
"Kind of"
I told her that wasn't good enough. I wished her luck. Told her I would see her later, when she was clean.
I hung up.
I cried.
I still never told her the truth.
Last night, I realised that sometimes it might seem like I think I have all the answers. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I simply seem to have all the questions.
We were discussing a problem to which there are no right answers, and the concept of regret. My friend has very few regrets, but those he has, haunt him.
I've always been one to live in the present,
judge people by what they do,
try and do right, despite, not because of what others do.
That could pretty much be my credo.
What do I regret?
I regret not saying the truth when I knew it. I regret getting played. I regret things I didn't do more than things I've done.
When a friend was caught in the most awful downward spiral, I thought that to support her insanity and self-destruction was, in the long run, the right thing to do. I never told her the truth. That she was the only one hurting herself.
Years later, one night, she came to my house.
Her hands were covered in mild chemical burns. She hadn't slept in days, and a beautiful woman (who was always exceedingly vain) sat on my porch smelling like shit, with dirty/stained clothing on.
"I'm trying to burn off my fingerprints, so that nobody can find me"
We washed her clothes.
"I'm just going to run out for a minute"
She left, in little more than a bathrobe to go buy more crack.
"I just need to fix my hair"
She smoked the crack in my bathroom.
I understand when deception becomes the norm. I understand when someone has manipulated everyone, and can no longer even be honest with themselves. I understand when you go along with the manipulation (Hey, at least I -know- when I'm getting taken for a ride, right?) just to make the other person feel better.
When she told me -anything- I had doubt, but it was easier to beleive than fight about the little lies, right?
I'm big on personal responsibility. I really think it's key. However, this person was never held responsible for her own actions in my eyes. I just figured that someone who had basically been raised by wolves on the mean streets of Chicago, living off her good looks, and the kindness/perversion of strangers, didn't have that in her.
Her daughter will be 9 this year.
Luka won't remember her mommy holding her in her arms, looking up at me with absolute wonder and saying, "I just feel at peace when I hold her in my arms. I love her sooooooo much".
I thought that having a child would save her. That she'd pick up the peices of her life, make that kid her first priority, and live for her kid.
She hasn't.
The look in her eyes when she held Luka, that look said, "I'll do anything for my baby." I believed that look, completely.
I got taken.
I got taken for over ten years. I got taken in by the little lies and the big ones.
I called her pimp at one point and begged him to buy her a ticket to Denver, so that she could see her kid, and clean up. I figured that she couldn't buy drugs with no money and no car.
She said that it was what she needed to do. That it was the only way.
She was back in Chicago in three days, sucking strangers dicks for drug money, surfing couch to couch, with a crack pipe wrapped in plastic wrap shoved up her vagina, and stories about how her former husband didn't want her anymore.
That was a lie. Matt always talked about how much he loved her. He has never found another woman. Sure, he dates, but I think this whole life has been haunted by this beautiful, fucked-up wraith.
She felt regret at how things had worked out, but she never acted on it.
She never made the small steps needed to get him to trust her. She said it was insulting, demeaning even.
She was/is demanding. She would show up on our doorstep, saying how much she missed us. I sometimes wonder if she ever ment it. Her eyes said she did, but was that only an act?
She disappeared one night, amid shame, paranoia, and a general sense that she would burn us, just to save herself. I think that was the truth. I think that it was all the truth.
I think she ment everything. I think she ment nothing.
She calls late at night, always. Never a number to call her back on, just a payphone, or some stranger's home. I'm sure they're passed out in the bedroom, while she who never sleeps combs their house and hides things.
She steals.
She cries.
Once, I answered the phone. I knew instantly it was her. The timing was right.
I asked her if she was clean.
"Kind of"
I told her that wasn't good enough. I wished her luck. Told her I would see her later, when she was clean.
I hung up.
I cried.
I still never told her the truth.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Drumcarder of my dreams.
Oh, and one last thing.
This http://susansfibershop.com/pat_green.htm
I lust over the 'deb's delicate deluxe', but would be happy with the 'Deluxe'...fur drum, of course.
Send all your money to the Professor.
This http://susansfibershop.com/pat_green.htm
I lust over the 'deb's delicate deluxe', but would be happy with the 'Deluxe'...fur drum, of course.
Send all your money to the Professor.
Uh, How 'bout August?
I find myself saying that this summer. Seemingly, in August, I will have tons of social obligations that will be mucho fun. The ACS happens next week. I'm actually looking forward to it, because, on Sunday and Monday, we will go to many fun wine producers, and we will drink:)
In August, however....
Let's see:
Dan and Telina will arrive (yeah, I'm thrilled...I can't wait)
Dan and Telina have a friend in town from Napa who's going to stay with us and go to Lalapalooza...fun.
Marrissa will be in town for Lalapalooza.
Stitches West is in August (Stiches West is like a nationwide conference for kitters. They have classes and stuff. They also have fiber and spinning tools.)
There is a fiber fair in Michigan that I would love to go to.
There might be time to camp/visit friends in Wisconsin, which means that I could go to Freene Creek Farm, and Susan's Fiber Shop, and fondle fiber, and look at a drum carder.
It's my birthday in August. August 23, to be exact.
I have said to more people than I can count,
"We'll do it in August"
We're going to go back to work on the house in August.
Um, I think I'm busy.
In August, however....
Let's see:
Dan and Telina will arrive (yeah, I'm thrilled...I can't wait)
Dan and Telina have a friend in town from Napa who's going to stay with us and go to Lalapalooza...fun.
Marrissa will be in town for Lalapalooza.
Stitches West is in August (Stiches West is like a nationwide conference for kitters. They have classes and stuff. They also have fiber and spinning tools.)
There is a fiber fair in Michigan that I would love to go to.
There might be time to camp/visit friends in Wisconsin, which means that I could go to Freene Creek Farm, and Susan's Fiber Shop, and fondle fiber, and look at a drum carder.
It's my birthday in August. August 23, to be exact.
I have said to more people than I can count,
"We'll do it in August"
We're going to go back to work on the house in August.
Um, I think I'm busy.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Baby Lucifer
Well, on from my most recent spate a health issues.
I'm fine. A shot of antibiotics, an ultrasound, and a couple of other things later, it's been proven that I will not die.
On to some of the cool things that I wish I could take pictures of:
yesterday, when we came home, there was a Cardinal and two goldfinches eating the sunflowers in the backyard.
I just finished the 'Morell Family Yarn'. I turned it into a cool super-coil, two ply that is curly and soft.
I dyed. A lot. Some great tencel and merino that looks like silk.
I still can't spin silk worth dog crap, but it's getting there.
I want, no, need, no, desire a drum carder.
The professor's fiber languishes in a cupboard. I have not started spinning for his sweater. I sort of think that I should finish his first sweater, what do you think? Yeah, that's what I thought.
The standstill on the house continues. I am lazy, and the good doctor is busy...up to his eyeballs in classes. Soon, they will be over. I'm voting for the back of the house to be 'finished', cause it looks like trash. However, when there is no work on the house, there is no stress over the work. Neat.
I go to Portland, to the ACS, soon. Wish me luck! I am only taking a sock to knit on the plane. That's it. No more. Why? Well, because Portland has an amazing yarn shop, that sells fiber. And wheels.
Is it wrong? Sure it is.
That's why I like it.
I'm fine. A shot of antibiotics, an ultrasound, and a couple of other things later, it's been proven that I will not die.
On to some of the cool things that I wish I could take pictures of:
yesterday, when we came home, there was a Cardinal and two goldfinches eating the sunflowers in the backyard.
I just finished the 'Morell Family Yarn'. I turned it into a cool super-coil, two ply that is curly and soft.
I dyed. A lot. Some great tencel and merino that looks like silk.
I still can't spin silk worth dog crap, but it's getting there.
I want, no, need, no, desire a drum carder.
The professor's fiber languishes in a cupboard. I have not started spinning for his sweater. I sort of think that I should finish his first sweater, what do you think? Yeah, that's what I thought.
The standstill on the house continues. I am lazy, and the good doctor is busy...up to his eyeballs in classes. Soon, they will be over. I'm voting for the back of the house to be 'finished', cause it looks like trash. However, when there is no work on the house, there is no stress over the work. Neat.
I go to Portland, to the ACS, soon. Wish me luck! I am only taking a sock to knit on the plane. That's it. No more. Why? Well, because Portland has an amazing yarn shop, that sells fiber. And wheels.
Is it wrong? Sure it is.
That's why I like it.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Happy Birthday, Shane
Well,
One of the people in my life has had a birthday, and since I can't be there with him to cut some cake and tell him how glad I am that he's in my life, this post is dedicated to you, baby.
Over the course of your life you've:
traveled
lived
loved
made some horrible mistakes
Over the course of your adulthood you've:
made some kick-ass art
made some kick-ass kids
met some really cool people
During the time that I've known you, you've:
Dressed up like a clown and threatened bar customers with a chainsaw.
Caused me great concern when your back was injured.
Had some big health scares
Pissed me off (remember the poker game?)
Fathered the most amazing child I've ever known.
During the last year you've:
Moved. Far away. Damnit.
Made some big, hard choices. I have to say, I admire you. I'm sure it's not easy, but you have found new strength this last year.
Gone in a new direction with your art. Bravo. Old dogs can learn new tricks.
Happy Birthday, Shane. We all love you, and miss you.
One of the people in my life has had a birthday, and since I can't be there with him to cut some cake and tell him how glad I am that he's in my life, this post is dedicated to you, baby.
Over the course of your life you've:
traveled
lived
loved
made some horrible mistakes
Over the course of your adulthood you've:
made some kick-ass art
made some kick-ass kids
met some really cool people
During the time that I've known you, you've:
Dressed up like a clown and threatened bar customers with a chainsaw.
Caused me great concern when your back was injured.
Had some big health scares
Pissed me off (remember the poker game?)
Fathered the most amazing child I've ever known.
During the last year you've:
Moved. Far away. Damnit.
Made some big, hard choices. I have to say, I admire you. I'm sure it's not easy, but you have found new strength this last year.
Gone in a new direction with your art. Bravo. Old dogs can learn new tricks.
Happy Birthday, Shane. We all love you, and miss you.
Friday, July 07, 2006
What is it exactly?
Well, since I broke the digital camera, I'm back to good, ol' fashioned no-photo blogging for a while.
I haven't spun a darn bit since I returned from vacation. Part of it was I was burned out, part of it is that it was too darned hot, and part of it was just that I'm a lazy bum who got sick and just didn't feel good.
I'm looking at my wheel right now, and wondering
"Could I make enough money off spinning to quit my job?"
Not just spinning, mind you. Dyeing too, and maybe even using a drum carder to blend fibers into custom batts.
Frankly, I'm going to buy these spinning toys anyway. 'Cause it's like an obsession, and, I, like, love it, so what's to be lost by putting up an Etsy page, and making a commitment that this fall I'll do as many craft shows as I possibly can?
I'm not talking about quitting wine, god no. I'm just talking about not having to go to the hospitality mines every week. I would have to set up an online shop, and I would have to get wholesale orders from yarnshops. That's a jump from hobby spinning.
However, I look at all the stuff that's for sale, both uber-novelty, and not, and I think..."I can do that"
It's something that I've been playing with, in my mind over the past couple of weeks.
There's no other way but to try. I think that right this minute there is a significant demand for handspun...there has been a knitting revolution out there, so if I decided to go ahead and get a wholesale tax number, and started ordering wholesale undyed fiber, instead of paying retail, decided to link this blog up to a couple of rings, decided to really, really commit to the idea of the craft fair thing this fall (fall/late summer is a great time to sell yarn to knitters...they smell the oncomming cold, and they want to prepare.) If I decided to buy more raw fleece and process it myself, there might be a profit margin.
It's an interesting question I'm pondering.
I haven't spun a darn bit since I returned from vacation. Part of it was I was burned out, part of it is that it was too darned hot, and part of it was just that I'm a lazy bum who got sick and just didn't feel good.
I'm looking at my wheel right now, and wondering
"Could I make enough money off spinning to quit my job?"
Not just spinning, mind you. Dyeing too, and maybe even using a drum carder to blend fibers into custom batts.
Frankly, I'm going to buy these spinning toys anyway. 'Cause it's like an obsession, and, I, like, love it, so what's to be lost by putting up an Etsy page, and making a commitment that this fall I'll do as many craft shows as I possibly can?
I'm not talking about quitting wine, god no. I'm just talking about not having to go to the hospitality mines every week. I would have to set up an online shop, and I would have to get wholesale orders from yarnshops. That's a jump from hobby spinning.
However, I look at all the stuff that's for sale, both uber-novelty, and not, and I think..."I can do that"
It's something that I've been playing with, in my mind over the past couple of weeks.
There's no other way but to try. I think that right this minute there is a significant demand for handspun...there has been a knitting revolution out there, so if I decided to go ahead and get a wholesale tax number, and started ordering wholesale undyed fiber, instead of paying retail, decided to link this blog up to a couple of rings, decided to really, really commit to the idea of the craft fair thing this fall (fall/late summer is a great time to sell yarn to knitters...they smell the oncomming cold, and they want to prepare.) If I decided to buy more raw fleece and process it myself, there might be a profit margin.
It's an interesting question I'm pondering.
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