i just feel crazy like the good old days
Very strange week. The Boy & I reached a turning point on Wednesday, probably because three full therapy sessions equals some invisible tipping point. This was good timing, as I was pretty sure that if the "keeping his distance" trend hadn't ended, I would have gone round the bend. I could actually feel my nerves that day stretched almost to the snapping point. (I probably didn't help the situation by wearing one of my least-teacherly outfits: one of Stacy's black babydoll dresses, my new-old motorcycle jacket, and the Boots. Why does this matter? Because when I'm dressed like a teacher I can focus more clearly on being a teacher. When I'm dressed like myself, I tend to dwell on my personal problems.)
Wednesday evening was also the last of the Summer Knitting Nights; Mason will be starting pre-natal classes with his wife next week, and without someone to herd me out the door I can't be trusted to go home at a reasonable hour. So we both spent almost the whole of the night wrapped in a thick melancholy coating (which for me, surrounded a chewy nougat centre of anxiety about my marriage). How can I best convey my mind-state that night? How about: on the way home I listened to "Slow Hands" by Interpol 6 times in a row.
But that story has a happy ending. Not to worry.
The next night I headed down to the city again for a clandestine knitting brainstorming party. I had originally meant to drop Mason at the bottom of Spadina, but I got so distracted by our conversation that I ended up driving him to the Annex, and then being in the unlovely position of squeezing my way across the city in the middle of rush hour. I felt like a bit of food in Elvis' digestive system in the last part of his life. Ugh.
I was a full hour late for the party, and had to be emotionally propped up by Michelle's offer of butter tarts and herbal tea. But the party was good, and my go to hell attitude actually unfettered my imagination thus my suggestions were perhaps more creative than they might have been otherwise, and there was lovely swag, and then there were rather excellent burgers afterward with Michelle and the redoubtable Rachel H. So that was wonderful.
Going home and trying to kill myself marking two sets of tests when I wanted to be asleep? Not Wonderful. Hearing the next morning that one of the next tests has been put off? Lovely. Having those fucking tests sitting in my bag upstairs at this moment STILL UNMARKED? Not Lovely. But my problem entirely.
Now I'm off to prepare for the weekend's events. I've already been involved in a large-scale pie-making operation, and the next 24 hours promise knitting! Dancing! Art! And a charity walk in my club clothes!! Because I am HardCore. Dig it.
P.S. There's still time to donate. If you like the thought of me with a walloping art hangover walking 10K in the Boots and knitting at the same time…well, maybe you want to drop a few dollars in the plate. There will be pictures. Just saying.
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