I haven't been doing much knitting this summer so far, at least not compared to my usual output. There are various reasons, including a move that has left most of my stash still boxed up with nowhere to go. Also, there's just something kind of awful about working with cumbersome pieces of wool while its 90 degrees outside. The main reason, however, is pure and simple procrastination.
I have 3 or 4 big WIPs laying around that absolutely need to get finished. Like, yesterday. The most recent of these was started in February. This is embarassing, mostly because these projects were intended for other people. Its also shown me how quickly I lose interest in almost anything if it takes longer than about 2 days, which is also embarassing. So I won't allow myself to start any new projects (for me or anyone else) until I can get these done. Which is why I haven't really been knitting at all.
But all hope is not lost. B and I were up in VT last week, which means I got to visit my favorite LYS (which isn't particularly local to me regularly, but whatever), the adorably named What a Yarn in St. Albans. I ended up with a haul of Berroco Vintage and Cascade Heritage Silk that I'm dying to work with. That I can't. Because of all the unfinished mess of projects. But I did manage to grab a skein of the exact yarn I need to finish one of the sweaters thats languishing in a box in my closet.
Did I start working on the sweater? No, of course not. I have bigger fish to fry, so to speak. I started the Yggdrasil blanket last summer as a wedding gift for a good friend. It is definitely not finished yet, over a year later. There are oh so many borders on the damn thing. Also, because the project has been sort of a learning-as-I-go piece, there are parts that I wish I could do over. I did it in some kind of easy care acrylic blend from Michael's and I really really wish I had used a nicer (and darker colored) yarn. But onward I go, and it seems that it may be done in September. Then, all the other shit I have to get through (2 sweaters and a pair of socks).
Lastly, how does one block a very large white afghan in a small apartment with a black dog who sheds like it was his job? I seriously hadn't considered this until right now.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Friday, November 9, 2012
My clothing craft skills are rusty
So it's been over a year. I got distracted, and truthfully, kind of forgot this existed. However, instead of deleting my account, I will forge on with posts all of about 2 people will read. I'm not going to waste time with updates, I'm sure I'll get to that sometime soon in regular posts anyway.
Tonight I decided to "modify" a shirt my husband had given me. It's one of his old band's shirts, and its amazing. But it was also super plain and boxy, a boy t-shirt. I thought it needed reworking, but of course I had no plan in mind when I got the scissors in my hand. I thought better of it and actually put it on inside out and sort of measured it (using blue eyeliner as a marker, seriously that's the most that eyeliner has been used since I bought it). I cut the collar off, as well as some of the sleeves. I tried to make a kind of loose cap sleeve, but then I tried it on. I have what most polite people would call "swimmer's shoulders", and what I call "looks like a scarecrow, you know, with the huge stick across the back" shoulders. In short, I'm very wide in that area. These sleeves stuck out there tremendously, making me look all the wider. So off they went. So the shirt still looked like crap. I decided this was because I had just showered and still had the towel over my hair and absolutely no makeup on; of course it would look better if I was all done up properly. And there began the rest of the stress for this evening.
My hair is a nightmare. It's sort of blonde, but I dyed it up from red, so oh well. Also, I don't understand hair styling at all. I brush it after I get out of the shower, and just accept the shape it takes (which usually isn't great). I also wasn't planning on putting on makeup tonight after taking a shower, but, you know, the shirt. I figured I'll put as little on as possible, but best laid plans do go awry.
My eyebrows are the worst part of this makeup situation. They're super sparse and super light. When I had dark hair I would fill them in dark brown, but now that I'm blonde I was really excited for not having to use as much makeup. Not the case. Before if I didn't fill in my brows it looked like I was sick or something, now there's just something that looks weird about it if I don't. Like, even if they're visible, they don't at all match my hair color so I have to try and work with that, and by the end I look like I should be in Ru Paul's Drag Race. No matter how much makeup I have on otherwise, it always looks undone if I leave my brows alone. I know, this seems like a lot of thought to be putting into eyebrows. I have no excuse. Anyway, apart from the eyebrows, I kept piling stuff on, hoping it would "fit" with the "look" I was trying to go for. And this never ends well. I ended up with liquid eyeliner all over my hands, as well as my eyes. And the shirt only looked marginally better with the whole "look". Oh well.
This whole post not withstanding, I'm probably going to be posting a lot more makeup stuff, as well as knitting stuff, soon. Those are the two things I really throw myself into when it starts to get cold and dark out, and I have about 6 unfinished projects still on the needles. Only one of those is a holiday present, which probably won't even get done until January. Best laid plans, and whatnot.
Anyway, I'll be updating more regularly, I hope.
Tonight I decided to "modify" a shirt my husband had given me. It's one of his old band's shirts, and its amazing. But it was also super plain and boxy, a boy t-shirt. I thought it needed reworking, but of course I had no plan in mind when I got the scissors in my hand. I thought better of it and actually put it on inside out and sort of measured it (using blue eyeliner as a marker, seriously that's the most that eyeliner has been used since I bought it). I cut the collar off, as well as some of the sleeves. I tried to make a kind of loose cap sleeve, but then I tried it on. I have what most polite people would call "swimmer's shoulders", and what I call "looks like a scarecrow, you know, with the huge stick across the back" shoulders. In short, I'm very wide in that area. These sleeves stuck out there tremendously, making me look all the wider. So off they went. So the shirt still looked like crap. I decided this was because I had just showered and still had the towel over my hair and absolutely no makeup on; of course it would look better if I was all done up properly. And there began the rest of the stress for this evening.
My hair is a nightmare. It's sort of blonde, but I dyed it up from red, so oh well. Also, I don't understand hair styling at all. I brush it after I get out of the shower, and just accept the shape it takes (which usually isn't great). I also wasn't planning on putting on makeup tonight after taking a shower, but, you know, the shirt. I figured I'll put as little on as possible, but best laid plans do go awry.
My eyebrows are the worst part of this makeup situation. They're super sparse and super light. When I had dark hair I would fill them in dark brown, but now that I'm blonde I was really excited for not having to use as much makeup. Not the case. Before if I didn't fill in my brows it looked like I was sick or something, now there's just something that looks weird about it if I don't. Like, even if they're visible, they don't at all match my hair color so I have to try and work with that, and by the end I look like I should be in Ru Paul's Drag Race. No matter how much makeup I have on otherwise, it always looks undone if I leave my brows alone. I know, this seems like a lot of thought to be putting into eyebrows. I have no excuse. Anyway, apart from the eyebrows, I kept piling stuff on, hoping it would "fit" with the "look" I was trying to go for. And this never ends well. I ended up with liquid eyeliner all over my hands, as well as my eyes. And the shirt only looked marginally better with the whole "look". Oh well.
This whole post not withstanding, I'm probably going to be posting a lot more makeup stuff, as well as knitting stuff, soon. Those are the two things I really throw myself into when it starts to get cold and dark out, and I have about 6 unfinished projects still on the needles. Only one of those is a holiday present, which probably won't even get done until January. Best laid plans, and whatnot.
Anyway, I'll be updating more regularly, I hope.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Long time, no write
Well, its been quite a while, and not much has happened. Husband and I had an awesome weekend with Pabst and Ladyface Cleverbrain buying many bookcases. Hopefully tomorrow I will put said bookcases in their rightful places. If I can muster the courage to face the overwhelming mess that is cleaning our house.
During this ordeal of fitting new furniture into our already cluttered apartment, I had the opportunity to go through a bunch of stuff that was hiding/not getting used. I put all our movies into one bookcase already, and it turns out that I didn't have as many as I thought we did - only about three shelves worth! Gone are the days of Savannah where I would buy a new shitty movie every other day because the video rental place (Home Run Video, if anyone is interested) was super creepy. But now with Locust Moon Comics and Netflix, I only have to buy the movies I actually enjoy. Which is still a lot. I do not have high standards. Hell yeah, Cobra!
I also got to dig through all our VHS movies. We have a real gold mine of tapes - such Oscar-worthy titles include: 976-Evil, The Dentist and the Dentist 2, Freddy vs. Jason, and Jason X. We unfortunately do not have a VCR with which to watch these awesome films. Our amazing friend A gave us a great surround sound DVD-VCR combo for our wedding, but the VCR doesn't seem to want to work. Even with the skilled mastery of Ladyface Cleverbrain we couldn't get anything but a reverse color picture on the screen. Which, admittedly, is pretty cool as well.
We could, of course, just buy a VCR from any thrift shop or flea market, because now they're only worth about $5. But I am wary, because the last cheap thrift store VCR I got came complete with a tape already in it, a tape called "Glory Holes 2", which amazingly I did not realize was a porn until after I had watched about a minute of it. Also, it broke after a month or so. A piece snapped off, which I didn't realize until I looked up the 15 year old manual and took the entire thing apart piece by piece.
Disenchantment with old technology not withstanding, Husband and I are determined to be able to watch 976-Evil whenever we damn well please. Maybe we'll build a VCR from scratch. Or maybe I'll remember to check the "insert tape" slot before I go and buy another cheap one. Only time will tell.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Black Thumb.
Spring has finally crept completely into the northeast. I look forward to this time every year, as it means there will be leaves on the trees. Theres something about bare trees thats unsettling to me, depressing even. The light seems so much warmer when it shines through bright green leaves. This is also the time of year, every year, that husband and I mistakenly assume we can garden.
Every year for the past 6 years we've bought plants or seeds, fully intending to have a lush herb garden or some pretty flowers around the house. Winter must have a mind-wipe effect or something, however, because we seem to forget we kill every plant we touch. This is embarassing, not only because gardening is an activity we both enjoy, but because I am the daughter of a master gardener. My mom tried to instill in me a love of gardening (which I have), as well as the proper skills to make plants flourish (do not have). Some of my best childhood memories are with my mom in her garden, playing with ladybugs and eating the berries that grew there. Now all I have to look at is withering disappointment.
It usually goes like this: Husband buys plants from his work. We totally intend to plant them, but we get too busy/forget to water them. They are okay for about a week, and then only when they start to dry up do we try and do something about it. Obviously, this is a complete loss. We end up with a bunch of sad, dead plants that we have to eventually compost or throw away.
The worst part is, even when we actually try, the plants still die. When we have a watering schedule that we both follow, when we keep the plants in the appropriate amount of sunlight and shade, when we actually keep close watch on them, they still die. We built an elaborate garden on our roof one year, having to lug gallons of water upstairs twice daily, and everything still died. I think we had maybe one basil plant to show for it. In other words, the plants are obviously not giving us much encouragement, and they really need to work on that.
As usual, we performed the same routine this year as many before it. Buy plants, don't plant them, freak out when they're almost dead, try to resurrect. The majority of our plants have bit the dust, including a lavander plant I was really looking forward to. We do have 2 that have survived us, however, a sweet potato vine and some sort of fuschia plant that is healthy but refuses to bloom. The secret is, we put these plants outside and haven't touched them since. So it would seem that even dumping plants outside is better for them then having husband and I care for them.
Luckily for both sides this killing-everything-we-touch rule does not extend to pets or children. We've even managed to keep a red eared slider turtle from the Italian market alive for almost a year, when I think their life expectancy for most is about a month. His name is Dale, and he's awesome.
Well, in the grand tradition, better luck next year, I guess.
Every year for the past 6 years we've bought plants or seeds, fully intending to have a lush herb garden or some pretty flowers around the house. Winter must have a mind-wipe effect or something, however, because we seem to forget we kill every plant we touch. This is embarassing, not only because gardening is an activity we both enjoy, but because I am the daughter of a master gardener. My mom tried to instill in me a love of gardening (which I have), as well as the proper skills to make plants flourish (do not have). Some of my best childhood memories are with my mom in her garden, playing with ladybugs and eating the berries that grew there. Now all I have to look at is withering disappointment.
It usually goes like this: Husband buys plants from his work. We totally intend to plant them, but we get too busy/forget to water them. They are okay for about a week, and then only when they start to dry up do we try and do something about it. Obviously, this is a complete loss. We end up with a bunch of sad, dead plants that we have to eventually compost or throw away.
The worst part is, even when we actually try, the plants still die. When we have a watering schedule that we both follow, when we keep the plants in the appropriate amount of sunlight and shade, when we actually keep close watch on them, they still die. We built an elaborate garden on our roof one year, having to lug gallons of water upstairs twice daily, and everything still died. I think we had maybe one basil plant to show for it. In other words, the plants are obviously not giving us much encouragement, and they really need to work on that.
As usual, we performed the same routine this year as many before it. Buy plants, don't plant them, freak out when they're almost dead, try to resurrect. The majority of our plants have bit the dust, including a lavander plant I was really looking forward to. We do have 2 that have survived us, however, a sweet potato vine and some sort of fuschia plant that is healthy but refuses to bloom. The secret is, we put these plants outside and haven't touched them since. So it would seem that even dumping plants outside is better for them then having husband and I care for them.
Luckily for both sides this killing-everything-we-touch rule does not extend to pets or children. We've even managed to keep a red eared slider turtle from the Italian market alive for almost a year, when I think their life expectancy for most is about a month. His name is Dale, and he's awesome.
Well, in the grand tradition, better luck next year, I guess.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
The Grand Tale of the Hookah
I have been a smoker for most of the past 6 years, and sometime about 2 years ago husband and I leveled up and bought a hookah. We'd wanted one for quite some time, but we'd been putting it off because of the cost and whatnot. But life intervened and decided we got to be lucky for the first and only time ever.
A small smoke shop opened up half a block away from our house, where an old dry cleaners used to be. Up until that point it has simply been known as the building where the alarm goes off every other day, but now it was labeled "Tobacco". Over the few months it was there, the sign gradually lost letters to the point where it just said "To c o", but you'd get the idea if you were walking by. I had gone in there for cigarettes one day, and was fascinated and disappointed. I had assumed a giant sign proclaiming "Tobacco" would actually sell tobacco. Not really the case here.
The store is small. Even if you go into the awesome restaurant it is now, you can see its really really small. When I walked in, it was a small counter with two glass display cases on the opposite wall. It was, as you'd expect, a bunch of pipes for smoking whatever you may want to smoke (the sign says "tobacco smoking devices". ha!), but I just wanted a pack of cigarettes. Now, you'd kind of expect a store simply called "Tobacco" to have, ya know, cigarettes. This was not the case. This place was as bare bones as possible, therefore the only smokes they actually had was 1 carton of Marlboros and 1 carton of Marlboro menthols. Only 2 cartons, just chillin behind the counter. I was doubly disappointed in that a) they didn't have any of the regulars, and b) I hate Marlboros. Now, the guys who ran the place were super nice and helpful, but they just didn't have what I was looking for. So I went elsewhere.
Two days later, husband comes home with the most amazing hookah I've ever seen.
Its green (my favorite color). It has a naked lady made of metal holding up the bowl where you put the charcoal. And, the best part of anything ever, the two tubes for smoking are cobra heads. The significance of the cobra will be explained in a later post, but even without personal stuff thats pretty freakin awesome.
After about 5 minutes of staring in awe, I bothered to ask how much it cost. Because its not a totally necessary purchase and all. Husband explained to me the guy at the "Tobacco" shop knocked it down to half price, I guess (unfortunately) because the place wasn't doing that well and they needed a sale. (On a side note, if you are going to open a smoke shop like this one, do it near the frats, rather than near 2 grade schools, you'll make a lot more money). He even threw in coals, tinfoil, and tobacco (actual tobacco! mango flavored!) to go with it. So that night we sat down and smoked mango flavor out of a naked lady with 2 cobra heads attached to her.
We used this thing a ton. Theres even some burn marks in our carpet as proof. Unfortunately it started getting clogged, and was difficult to smoke through. Also, even with like 10 people its hard to finish a whole glob of tobacco like that, at least for us. We tried cleaning it, to no avail. It works a little better, but things just aren't the same. So it has been sitting as a book end (or a DVD end, because thats what its actually holding up) for months. Every time I sit on the couch I can see it, and its as if the naked lady is staring at me all disappointed for not smoking out of her. And then I feel bad, because you never want to make a naked woman disappointed.
I have also pretty much quit smoking (eehhh... mostly), so theres even less of a chance our metal naked lady will be satisfied. On another sad (but wholly expected) note, the "Tobacco" store went under in less than a few months, which was probably for the best. It has since been replace by an amazing takeout Indian place, which is a way more useful purpose for our money than hookahs.
And who knows, maybe one day soon the naked metal lady will make a grand reappearance. But for right now, she's covered in dust and holding up DVDs, and some cookbooks fell on her. The moral of the stupid story is it is way more crucial to spend money on delicious Indian food than hookahs. So there.
A small smoke shop opened up half a block away from our house, where an old dry cleaners used to be. Up until that point it has simply been known as the building where the alarm goes off every other day, but now it was labeled "Tobacco". Over the few months it was there, the sign gradually lost letters to the point where it just said "To c o", but you'd get the idea if you were walking by. I had gone in there for cigarettes one day, and was fascinated and disappointed. I had assumed a giant sign proclaiming "Tobacco" would actually sell tobacco. Not really the case here.
The store is small. Even if you go into the awesome restaurant it is now, you can see its really really small. When I walked in, it was a small counter with two glass display cases on the opposite wall. It was, as you'd expect, a bunch of pipes for smoking whatever you may want to smoke (the sign says "tobacco smoking devices". ha!), but I just wanted a pack of cigarettes. Now, you'd kind of expect a store simply called "Tobacco" to have, ya know, cigarettes. This was not the case. This place was as bare bones as possible, therefore the only smokes they actually had was 1 carton of Marlboros and 1 carton of Marlboro menthols. Only 2 cartons, just chillin behind the counter. I was doubly disappointed in that a) they didn't have any of the regulars, and b) I hate Marlboros. Now, the guys who ran the place were super nice and helpful, but they just didn't have what I was looking for. So I went elsewhere.
Two days later, husband comes home with the most amazing hookah I've ever seen.
Its green (my favorite color). It has a naked lady made of metal holding up the bowl where you put the charcoal. And, the best part of anything ever, the two tubes for smoking are cobra heads. The significance of the cobra will be explained in a later post, but even without personal stuff thats pretty freakin awesome.
After about 5 minutes of staring in awe, I bothered to ask how much it cost. Because its not a totally necessary purchase and all. Husband explained to me the guy at the "Tobacco" shop knocked it down to half price, I guess (unfortunately) because the place wasn't doing that well and they needed a sale. (On a side note, if you are going to open a smoke shop like this one, do it near the frats, rather than near 2 grade schools, you'll make a lot more money). He even threw in coals, tinfoil, and tobacco (actual tobacco! mango flavored!) to go with it. So that night we sat down and smoked mango flavor out of a naked lady with 2 cobra heads attached to her.
We used this thing a ton. Theres even some burn marks in our carpet as proof. Unfortunately it started getting clogged, and was difficult to smoke through. Also, even with like 10 people its hard to finish a whole glob of tobacco like that, at least for us. We tried cleaning it, to no avail. It works a little better, but things just aren't the same. So it has been sitting as a book end (or a DVD end, because thats what its actually holding up) for months. Every time I sit on the couch I can see it, and its as if the naked lady is staring at me all disappointed for not smoking out of her. And then I feel bad, because you never want to make a naked woman disappointed.
I have also pretty much quit smoking (eehhh... mostly), so theres even less of a chance our metal naked lady will be satisfied. On another sad (but wholly expected) note, the "Tobacco" store went under in less than a few months, which was probably for the best. It has since been replace by an amazing takeout Indian place, which is a way more useful purpose for our money than hookahs.
And who knows, maybe one day soon the naked metal lady will make a grand reappearance. But for right now, she's covered in dust and holding up DVDs, and some cookbooks fell on her. The moral of the stupid story is it is way more crucial to spend money on delicious Indian food than hookahs. So there.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Food!
So husband has been away for about 4 days, and it is not going well. For me, at least. I had a whole plan of starting to be a better human while he was away: go to bed early and wake up at a reasonable hour. Exercise. Eat healthy. Get all pretty looking for him when he comes back. It has been almost 5 days and I have done none of these things.
Thats not exactly true, as I've been eating a little bit better. Husband is super into fitness and eating right/ethically and all that, and thats totally awesome. But the little 13 year old rebellious girl in me won't stand for it. If he tells me I should be doing something, with the best intentions, even if I know it will benefit me completely, I won't do it because someone else is telling me to do it. I can see the situation completely logically - you want to lose weight, you want to be healthier, husband is trying to make this easier for you - but my body does the complete opposite. If he's eating a salad, I want a big nasty sandwich. Something with the sodium content that I should be getting in a month in one sitting. I will glare at him, eating my artery-clogging meal, in my mind yelling "thats right, I'm doing it." By the way, my mind only listens to Papa Roach and Limp Bizkit. I kind of hate that guy.
Anyway, I've been cooking for myself more lately. And anyone who knows me even a little bit knows I CANNOT cook. There are some people who burn everything, but I can actually cook something so that it looks like food. But I can't seem to put flavors together in a way that makes any kind of sense at all. There are some people who can do this and have it come out awesomely - I am not one of them.
This is continuing from when I was very young, making my dad "soup" which was basically just cold water with every spice my mom had in the kitchen haphazardly thrown in. He would pretend to choke it down as I looked up at him expectantly, which I love him all the more for. Then there was the apple pie my dad and I tried to make, where the only things we had were pie crust and apples. For those of you that don't know, those are not nearly all the ingredients to apple pie. It was a massive burnt, gross failure, so we made crumb cake instead. Which actually ended up being pretty good. Maybe because we actually used a recipe on that one.
The few things I can cook are pretty good. I can make bangin' vegan italian food, because I grew up eating italian. I know what its supposed to taste like. Anything else is kind of a complete guessing game, one which I consistently lose.
I'm posting this tonight because I successfully made cornbread, one of the easiest things in the world to make. This was a huge deal to me, as I didn't burn it or make it taste terrible. I'm going to post more consistently about food than anything else, mostly because it is something I love greatly and want to get more well acquainted with making. And there will hopefully be pictures next time. Mmmm, food porn.
Thats not exactly true, as I've been eating a little bit better. Husband is super into fitness and eating right/ethically and all that, and thats totally awesome. But the little 13 year old rebellious girl in me won't stand for it. If he tells me I should be doing something, with the best intentions, even if I know it will benefit me completely, I won't do it because someone else is telling me to do it. I can see the situation completely logically - you want to lose weight, you want to be healthier, husband is trying to make this easier for you - but my body does the complete opposite. If he's eating a salad, I want a big nasty sandwich. Something with the sodium content that I should be getting in a month in one sitting. I will glare at him, eating my artery-clogging meal, in my mind yelling "thats right, I'm doing it." By the way, my mind only listens to Papa Roach and Limp Bizkit. I kind of hate that guy.
Anyway, I've been cooking for myself more lately. And anyone who knows me even a little bit knows I CANNOT cook. There are some people who burn everything, but I can actually cook something so that it looks like food. But I can't seem to put flavors together in a way that makes any kind of sense at all. There are some people who can do this and have it come out awesomely - I am not one of them.
This is continuing from when I was very young, making my dad "soup" which was basically just cold water with every spice my mom had in the kitchen haphazardly thrown in. He would pretend to choke it down as I looked up at him expectantly, which I love him all the more for. Then there was the apple pie my dad and I tried to make, where the only things we had were pie crust and apples. For those of you that don't know, those are not nearly all the ingredients to apple pie. It was a massive burnt, gross failure, so we made crumb cake instead. Which actually ended up being pretty good. Maybe because we actually used a recipe on that one.
The few things I can cook are pretty good. I can make bangin' vegan italian food, because I grew up eating italian. I know what its supposed to taste like. Anything else is kind of a complete guessing game, one which I consistently lose.
I'm posting this tonight because I successfully made cornbread, one of the easiest things in the world to make. This was a huge deal to me, as I didn't burn it or make it taste terrible. I'm going to post more consistently about food than anything else, mostly because it is something I love greatly and want to get more well acquainted with making. And there will hopefully be pictures next time. Mmmm, food porn.
Monday, April 4, 2011
My Brain is Falling Apart
So husband is going on tour this weekend, starting Saturday, for ten days. At first, I was excited about the extended alone time (so many uninterrupted craft hours!), but a few days later it started to dawn on me that I haven't been in this situation in a very long time. I seem to have forgotten the horror that is me when I am alone for several days.
I have pretty severe anxiety issues, compounded by trying to quit smoking, and due to this my brain seems to be on permanent misfire. When I start to freak out, husband is always there to give me a tight hug and sweetly tell me to "man up". I go to sleep at night comforted by the fact that he will probably wake up and get us to safety if the house decides to spontaneously combust, which I am just certain it will. Even with him gone, however, I think I will be able to get through all that on my own. I also have fairly extreme manic episodes too, though, and that's where things take a turn for the crazy.
Thinking back on it, the last real alone time I had was sometime back in my freshman year of college. I was already all off kilter because of moving several states away and not knowing anyone. I did finally start to settle in at about two months, and that's when my roommate decided to visit home for a few days. I had the whole dorm room to myself (which was fairly large, they were all converted hotel rooms), and I started to get super psyched about all the things I could do. I mean, I could just pretend I was actually an adult and living in my own apartment (as an aside, I don't know why anyone would fantasize about that - being an adult sucks, and your apartment is probably going to be a falling down piece of shit). Things were pretty great (having ALL the soda in the fridge be mine for a weekend!), until I tried to go to sleep.
My body was not having any of it. I was so damn wired I could barely close my eyes. It was like a little kid on Christmas eve, except all that was waiting in the morning was a stupid project I didn't want to finish. After about 3 hours of this, I decided to just get up. It was two in the morning. This was the beginning of my epic not-sleeping-for-three-days thing.
I could not sleep. I couldn't calm down at all, for that matter. I have never done cocaine, but I think I understand what it feels like just from that weekend, as my body seemed to be producing it on its own. I worked out a ton, both trying to make myself tired and making sure I used ALL the extra room I had (I was king!). I walked to the gas station a few blocks away at four in the morning, even though it was Savannah and the dorm was pretty much in the projects. I made endless amounts of the worst art, clothing, and jewelry ever which I thought was ABSOLUTELY AWESOME at the time. Granted, I seemed to think that about everything at that time. I was a workhorse ball of energy ready to punch the world into submission.
At about the middle of the third day, I started to finally relax. Which meant I lost all track of time, looked like a massive junkie from lack of sleep, and was incredibly sore from constantly moving. When my roommate came back, I was sure I eloquently asked her how her weekend was, how her family was, and if her drive was okay. To her, I'm sure it just sounded like a bunch of random words tenuously strung together before I passed out in a pile of glitter and magazine clippings on the floor.
Obviously, because I'm in my 20s I'm sure I've matured past that stage (just as I'm sure I know pretty much everything there is to know about anything), but it should be interesting to see how this goes. And if it ends poorly, at least you guys can look forward to many, many pictures of cat and dog dressed up in the awful clothes that I will be producing endlessly.
I have pretty severe anxiety issues, compounded by trying to quit smoking, and due to this my brain seems to be on permanent misfire. When I start to freak out, husband is always there to give me a tight hug and sweetly tell me to "man up". I go to sleep at night comforted by the fact that he will probably wake up and get us to safety if the house decides to spontaneously combust, which I am just certain it will. Even with him gone, however, I think I will be able to get through all that on my own. I also have fairly extreme manic episodes too, though, and that's where things take a turn for the crazy.
Thinking back on it, the last real alone time I had was sometime back in my freshman year of college. I was already all off kilter because of moving several states away and not knowing anyone. I did finally start to settle in at about two months, and that's when my roommate decided to visit home for a few days. I had the whole dorm room to myself (which was fairly large, they were all converted hotel rooms), and I started to get super psyched about all the things I could do. I mean, I could just pretend I was actually an adult and living in my own apartment (as an aside, I don't know why anyone would fantasize about that - being an adult sucks, and your apartment is probably going to be a falling down piece of shit). Things were pretty great (having ALL the soda in the fridge be mine for a weekend!), until I tried to go to sleep.
My body was not having any of it. I was so damn wired I could barely close my eyes. It was like a little kid on Christmas eve, except all that was waiting in the morning was a stupid project I didn't want to finish. After about 3 hours of this, I decided to just get up. It was two in the morning. This was the beginning of my epic not-sleeping-for-three-days thing.
I could not sleep. I couldn't calm down at all, for that matter. I have never done cocaine, but I think I understand what it feels like just from that weekend, as my body seemed to be producing it on its own. I worked out a ton, both trying to make myself tired and making sure I used ALL the extra room I had (I was king!). I walked to the gas station a few blocks away at four in the morning, even though it was Savannah and the dorm was pretty much in the projects. I made endless amounts of the worst art, clothing, and jewelry ever which I thought was ABSOLUTELY AWESOME at the time. Granted, I seemed to think that about everything at that time. I was a workhorse ball of energy ready to punch the world into submission.
At about the middle of the third day, I started to finally relax. Which meant I lost all track of time, looked like a massive junkie from lack of sleep, and was incredibly sore from constantly moving. When my roommate came back, I was sure I eloquently asked her how her weekend was, how her family was, and if her drive was okay. To her, I'm sure it just sounded like a bunch of random words tenuously strung together before I passed out in a pile of glitter and magazine clippings on the floor.
Obviously, because I'm in my 20s I'm sure I've matured past that stage (just as I'm sure I know pretty much everything there is to know about anything), but it should be interesting to see how this goes. And if it ends poorly, at least you guys can look forward to many, many pictures of cat and dog dressed up in the awful clothes that I will be producing endlessly.
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