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knitroglycerine

a different kind of string theory

Tag Archives: The Babyhead

Last night, my wonderful in-laws picked up The Babyhead and whisked her away to a magical land filled with air mattresses and On Demand so that L. and I could go out with a dear friend who is visiting for a couple of days. We went to Landmark and listened to a lot of bongos (the alternative was rockabilly at Audie’s, which I admit I rather like, but L. and S. were vehemently anti-rockabilly) and drank some Stellas. It was a low-key night, which was great, because I got a chance to be with S. and I will snap up every minute I can with her.

But it was also a relief to not bump into anybody, because I’d had a Complete and Total Inner Freakout while trying to get dressed to go. What?

As I tried on outfit after outfit, I just looked like I was going to teach a class. I gave up trying to look like a cool kid long ago, really long ago, like, in high school, so I wasn’t trying to achieve the impossible. But I felt like the Teacher of a Cool Kid, or perhaps even the Mom of a Cool Kid, and no amount of smokey eyes or low cut tops was going to change that. This is where the Inner Freakout occurred, and after debating for a full twenty minutes between white Chucks and black mary-janes, and asking L., who really could not have cared less, the freakout suddenly stopped because I had a realization. I fit a demographic.

You see, it was recently pointed out to me that I am married, have a kid, and have a job. The person who was doing the pointing out did not realize that the last one was actually not very true anymore (and it has been pointed out to me that I was probably not actually supposed to consider myself the subject of the pigeonholing), but the pigeonholing was irksome all the same. At the time, my feelings were hurt because I felt like a demographic instead of a friend. I still kind of feel like that, but after last night, I’ve realized that what really hurt was that I’ve fit that demographic my whole life– even before the husband and the kid and the “job.” And who likes being pigeonholed, even if it fits? It is like being reduced to a stock character, and then being told exactly which stock character you are. There is an injustice there, in fiction and in life, because stock characters have a hollow clank to them whether they’re in a book or the recipient of an off-handed text.

I need to get out more, and let The Babyhead get whisked away to the in-laws more, and get clothes to wear outside the house and that I don’t teach in, because I’m more than just a snapshot.

While I seem to fit the trifecta of husband-kid-job, I don’t. Not really (further explanation is for journaling, not blogging). I also tend to get pigeonholed into nice and quiet, and I’m not always. Whenever I feel my psyche slipping into a fake acceptance of my stock character, I remember an incident that happened in a poetry class a really long time ago. I’ve forgotten whose poem we were critiquing– it might have been mine– and I made a quiet remark about being a simple creature. And my professor laughed at me, God bless him. Even if nobody else, not even I, thinks I am complicated, I was perceived as such for a moment.

Pretty colors, superb quality-- but very unTARDISlike in that it is smaller on the inside!

In crafting news, my felt and roving came in, and I’m in the process of felting designs so that I can embroider upon them. Woot! I’m trying to keep the felting simple, since I’m such a beginner. I expect to be done with my first wave of finished projects by the end of next week, and then Etsy or bust!

In writing news, while I was at a show with my mom and listening to the seventh song that sounded the same, I went into a trancelike state and had an epiphany. Well, epiphany sounds like a positive realization, and this one, though the effect might be positive, makes me a little depressed. I need to do a major revamp of a plotline in what I’ve been working on, and I might need to scrap the last two or three chapters in order to do it. I need to reread and see how much, exactly, I have to excise. To put it succinctly: Oh, crap.

And so that I end in a better mood, some prettiness.

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It is astonishing what a little St. John’s Wort, a rainy day, and a brand spanking new coffeemaker can do to improve one’s mood. A little Black Moth Super Rainbow and Lulu Rouge doesn’t hurt, either.

I got this:

I don't think I'll caress it, but don't judge me if I do.

My old Krups finally bit the dust this weekend, when I tried to get the coffeepot out and the little spring that holds the coffeepot in and directs the coffee stream came unsprung like a overworked Slinky. Also, the coffee had been tasting old even when it was fresh. Once I started making coffee with this new creature, the coffee didn’t have to be nuked after adding milk– which means my poor Krups had been declining slowly and I hadn’t even noticed. It lived a nice long life– almost a decade. I think I got it about the same time I got L. or a little after.

This coffeepot has survived three major friendships, and at first I wasn’t sure what to do with its carcass. It’s kind of like dealing with a dead animal when you live in an apartment. I mean, what do you do with it? I can’t bury my Caffee Duomo in the backyard, that would just be weird. I can’t sell it at next weekend’s yard sale, because it’s broken and the heating element is shot. So, I’ve set it next to the garbage cans, but not exactly in a garbage can. Even thinking about it has made me a little maudlin, which is ridiculous, but there it is.

I am knee-deep in Chapter Six and am all excited about the trouble I’ve put my characters in, for once. I tend to avoid drama in real life, so putting my characters in jeopardy is always a toughie for me.

I made lavender honey cookies the other day and ate them all. Not good when you’re trying to lose five pounds.

I’m still waiting for my felt and roving to arrive. Yesterday, The Babyhead and I were out in the front yard– she was hunting down fallen leaves with her fairy contingent– and a UPS van (not a truck– did you know they had minivans, too?) rolled up. The guy was checking an address or something, because he waved at us, then drove on. What a tease. The Babyhead gave him a frown of colossal proportions. Even she knows I’m waiting for something.

And here is what I’ve been listening to.

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