What I Love Coming Home To...

An ocean of water on my kitchen counters and floor.

Yay me.

that one in the hat, that's me

Oh, Christmas hat, you thwart me so. I managed to track down a tape measure, finish the hat with exactly enough yarn left to seam it, realize that the reason it looked so funny was that I had somehow forgotten to bind the damn thing off, undo a row, bind off, this time with not enough yarn left to seam it, find a reasonably close enough yarn to seam the side and top, weave in all the ends, make two tassles of contrasting yarn, finish the whole damn thing, stick it on my head and decide it is the dumbest hat ever.

Now, here is the thing:

From a knitting point of view, The Hat is a total success - it looks exactly like the picture in the book. Unfortunately, sometimes pictures lie. When you finally meet The Hat in person, it's a dorky hat. It just is. I am not sure what to do about it. This hat turned out exactly as my friend asked for, and maybe on her head it will take on some fabulous attractive qualities it just doesn't possess when it's on mine. Maybe it is my head that is less than perfect, and The Hat just needs a head more capable of pulling off it's daring charm. Maybe my friend realizes the full dorky qualities of the hat, but still wanted it regardless, since most winter hats are totally dorky - so why not go all the way? Maybe there will be some miracle in the blocking that will cause this abomination to dry into the perfect confection it is meant to be.

Or maybe it is just a really stupid hat.

So do I give her the stupid hat? What if she never wears it and I am hurt, causing a rift in our 28 year friendship? What if she thinks I think that this is the type of hat she deserves, that in effect I think she is a dork, worthy of only the stupidest of headgear? What if this causes a simmering resentment that will never be overcome? What if she really loves The Hat and yet it doesn't love her back and people point and laugh behind her back when she is wearing it? Am I contractually obliged to be seen in public with The Hat? What if she loves it so much she tells everyone I knit it for her and I get the rep as the girl who makes stupid hats? What is a girl to do?!

It Would Feel Really Decadent If I Weren't So Tired...

It is a Thursday afternoon, and I am here at home. The kidlet isn't feeling well, so I am with her, pretending to be productive but really aimlessly surfing the internet, between rounds of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" sung both very loudly and very badly. (That isn't entirely true -I was productive for a whole two hours once I forcibly removed myself from the room the computer is in. Funny that.) Can someone explain to me how a child who is by all accounts sick, still has so much energy?

I am almost done the first of the Christmas hats. In fact, I would know if I was done if I could find one of my 87 tape measures. They are probably off somewhere with all my pens and screwdrivers, getting drunk or something. There is no other reason why I can own so many tape measures in such a small apartment and never find any of them. Actually, there is another possible reason - which is my generally disorganized life - but this is the season for kindness, so no one point it out, thanks.

 

The day I let our love die
I stood by it until its last sigh
Then disappeared from the scene of the crime
Locked away to serve my time

Cause in a great divide
Where a line is drawn
Oh you must decide
Which half you're standing on
~ Hard Line, Jill Barber

I ran into an old friend today, and as I left our conversation and walked back to work I realized I was completely disconcerted. I keep running into people this week that want to talk about the split and (I am assuming in a effort to be supportive) tell me how much they didn't like my husband, anyways.

This has happened quite a bit in the last six months, and I still don't really know how I am supposed to feel about these revelations. I mean, I get it, I understand that people want to let me know that they are still my friend, or whatever, and maybe it's just that I'm not angry enough. Maybe if I were angrier, I would want to bitch about what an asshat my ex was, but really, it just makes me feel sad. Poor judgement or not, I loved this person, enough to marry them and expect to spend the rest of my life with them. That it didn't work out is just sad, for everyone involved. I don't mourn the death of our relationship in particular, since I am really glad I got out when I did, because it was coming down to me or it, and I chose to save me. But I do mourn the shiny, happy, idealistic version of me that died with it.

Sometimes things just don't go the way you planned, and laying blame isn't going to change what happened, or how it happened, or why. It just did, because sometimes that's just the way it goes. Tossing piles of blame at someone's feet isn't going to change the fact that the only person I can hold truly accountable in this world is myself - and that's okay, you know?