For the Record...

For the record, I had no idea that the New York Times published an article in today's Arts section about the very same Post Secret blog I wrote about this morning. I have been reading Post Secret every week for about 2 months now, and was so blown away by this week's posts.

Just so you know.

Secrets

Has anyone seen this site? I check it about once a week, and its just fascinating.

Note: I was going to write that I don't know if there are things that I could only say to strangers and not to the people closest to me. But then I remembered that I am writing on this blog and only my M. knows...

I left my glasses at home today. So, I'm basically useless at work, and the more I try, the bigger my headache will be. Perhaps I'll try to patch my left eye. Hmm, maybe not. Its still a conservative office, non-profit or not. I guess I'll just have to do nothing today. And that would be different because...

I still haven't heard from The Big Fucking Suck My Cock H. I expect to not hear until after June 15th, even though they swear up and down that TODAY is the day that everyone will know by. Yeah, right. I WILL NOT be holding my breath for that. If they tell me by June 15th, and if they accept my application (and by extension, me), I will only really have to work at this place for another 6 weeks or so beyond that point. That makes me happy. And if they don't accept me, then I have a lot of thinking to do. I can't believe I am still so obsessed with this that its all I talk about. Perhaps I should rename this blog from Scrambled Eggs (Eggs is an old nick-name, by the way) to "Hunter University Has The Shittiest Application Processs I Have Ever Encountered And I Despise It Dearly." And, may I remind you, all of this agony is to get an MSW. Um, that's a Masters in Social Work. Perhaps the most poorly paid professional profession. I will likely make more money in my lifetime if I trained to be a bus driver. No offense meant to any bus drivers, but the skill levels are vastly different and the respect level is mostly the same. What am I thinking? I should call The Big Fucking H Assholes and tell them to shove it, and then call the MTA and beg for mercy. Eh?

Ok. Now that's out of the way. And perhaps out of my system for at least the next 30 minutes or so. Until I start obsessing about going to the dentist today at 5:00 for a filling. Ick.

Disconnected

Life is a bit more tolerable today. Less desperate, more forgiving. Thank you, kind commenters, for your words of support. I appreciate your gentleness and reassurances. Truly, thank you.

Today I can't see. I went to the eye doctor for a checkup, and to be honest, because of my health paranoia. Let me 'splain. When I was 9, I was treated (and corrected) for amblyopia. Lazy eye. My left eye, is for all intents and purposes, useless. My brain doesn't quite use it, but it is a viable eye. It also happens to be SUPER DUPER farsighted, which makes for lots of trouble. Suffice to say that reading without my glasses is quite a challenge, given that my right eye is just fine v. the farsighted one, and depth perception on my left side is almost nonexistant. So, naturally, instead of understanding and owning what I just wrote, I constantly think i'm going blind in my left eye. Which I'm not. Dr. Young even said that the overall vision in the left eye is better than when he saw me last year. So there. But, i see floaters. Lots of floaters. All the time. And of course, what do I think as a result? That I am suffering from a torn or detached retina and that I'm going to lose the sight I do have in my left eye. Ha, left eye. Like that gal from TLC. Oh wait. Didn't she die? I can be so insensitive.

Moving right along, I'm fine. The floaters are to be ignored. I know this because he dilated my pupils and peeked in there with a series of magnifiers and bright bright lights. No retinal damage. Great. Good. Perfect. He did offer an interesting solution to my sight problems - I could get one contact lens for the left eye (ha, left eye. I can't help it). This would help me see more steadily all of the time, and probably help with the other stuff, too. Its pricey, though. But I am going to consider it.

So, that's why I can't see. My eyes don't quite focus. And Doc Y said that since I'm fair-skinned and have light eyes, the dilation should take longer to wear off than usual. Wonderful. Now I'm stuck in the house unsure of what to do but itching to leave as the upstairs assholes are playing basketball indoors again and the downstairs pot-smoking hippies are blaring their drum ciricle music. I'm stuck in the middle, sensitive to light, and obviously to sound, too! i'm uncertain about leaving, though. Getting home from the city was quite a comedy - me, darting from shady space to shady space, cringing and covering my eyes in the sunlight like some kind of pale, frizzy haired vampire. On the way home I bought myself a pair of cute shoes to make up for my pain. Yay for cute shoes. I know that M. will be thrilled - he is always, um, encouraging me to buy more shoes.

Right-o. Tonight I'm seeing my friend MZ in my old neighborhood. And I'm working on Saturday and Sunday at the store. Let's all pray together that I don't buy anything. But M. asked me out on a date for Saturday after work, and I'm so super excited to spend some tme with him. Its funny - we live together and I see him every single day, but I haven't really had any time with him all week. Monday was a bust, Tuesday was nice together, Wednesday I had my sewing class and last night we went to a Yankees game with his work people. I think that having some alone time, some romance time tomorrow is going to be really good for us. I miss him terribly.

Everything's Changing

I don't think I like myself anymore. I'm becoming a person that I can't stand to be around, one that I almost detest. I'm not fun to hang out with. I don't smile or laugh like I used to. I'm less interesting, as I only talk about one thing (two if you count my health paranoia, a by-product of the first thing). I can't fall asleep easily and I'm exhausted upon waking. I'm back to the fucked up dreams I had when my father first died, the bloody ones that make me shiver throughout the day and shut my eyes against them, until I realize that they are in my head. I can't focus at my job and haven't returned phone calls in a few days. I want to have sex but I can barely focus when I get home, much less feel excited about being in my disgusting body (read: anxious mind). And today is the first day I've worn my hair curly since Saturday. I just can't be bothered with life right now.

I'm not excited by my opportunities, because I don't feel like I have any. All this waiting has dampened any sense of joy about my future. I can see that I'm applying the problem with one fucking university to my entire life, and I cannot stop it, nor do I even want to. Maybe if I let it permeate everything that I am and I know, I'll just be able to ride with it, instead of fight it every step of the way. If I am accepted, I expect to feel no joy from it. Relief, yes. Relief from the cessation of being dicked around for the last month and a half. But no joy. I'm not excited about it. I care so much that I barely care anymore. Instead of relishing the program and the experiences, I see it as a means to an end. If I go there, I bet you infinity zillion dollars that I'll be biting my tongue and biding my time to get through it rather than be in it. I cannot win.

And so I ask myself, is all this worth it? Is anything worth it? And if I don't get in, or if I just never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever find out either way, what the hell else am I going to do? I barely have interests any more. And the ones I do have (knitting and sewing, thank you very much) can't support me. Maybe I just become marginally employed. Underemployed. Be somebody's dumb assistant and just take what comes. Who cares? I feel worthless at this point. I'll work my part-time job on the weekends and then just find another part-time job and be one of those brilliant 26-year olds (I just had to stop and think, how old am I? Today I feel like I'm 87) who wound up wasting away their capacity. Yup, that'll be me. Wallowing in my self-pity and self-anger and fucking self-righteousness.

Again, I say to the world, fuck you, Hunter. You can kiss my heartbroken ass.

So I Don't Forget

I make a lot of lists. Many of them I lose and then wonder where they are, so that I can refer to the oh-so-important material they contain. Many of these lists are books I'd like to read. I figure, why not sport them here, as well? At least there'll be a record of them!

1. Michael Cunningham. He has a new novel out that is getting great reviews, Specimen Days.
2. Mary Gordon. I read Spending and it blew me away. I would like to read more.
   
3. Some books my therapist recommends, which I can never remember. May this item serve to remind me about asking her again.
4. Sue Monk Kidd's new book.
5. My regular interest in memoirs of anorexia and mental illness.
6. The last of the Joyce Carol Oates novels I haven't read yet.
   

My Interview

I requested to be "interviewed" by a fellow blogger, and just got my questions today. I was intrigued by this - I wanted to do something different than yammering on about myself, so I chose to have someone else define the yammering. This should be interesting.

1. Where would you live if you could choose anywhere in the world and bring everyone you love with you?

This is tough - I love New York and my family and all the people I love are already here with me. But I adore Paris (please excuse the cliche) as well as Aix-en-Provence in the south of France. The quality of the sunlight there is incredible, and I just felt so at peace during my time there. It helped to have copious amounts of good cheese and bread, and the produce was extraordinary. Since the interview questions didn't say anything about substitutions, I would stay in Brooklyn (though in a fully renovated brownstone instead our apartment) but also have a home in Aix, one big enough for my whole crew.

2. Hardest lesson you've learned in life?

How to let go. Yesterday marked the 7-year anniversary of my father's death. I have worked really hard learning how to put down some of my baggage surrounding this, and it is a challenge for me each day. Its about me knowing that I can be a real, whole person without my daddy physically in my life, and how to give up the anger and disappointment and struggle surrouding his illness and awful death. It has gotten easier, but I know I am miles from settled with this. And it will likely be a lesson that I continue to learn with each decision I make.

3. If you could wake up tomorrow with infinite knowledge on one subject, what subject would that be?

Definitely science. In the broadest sense. Biology, physics, chemistry... all of it. I would like to understand how the world works, how my brain works, and my muscles. How time works. Not so that I could apply it to any real thing that I would do, but just to know. I think that knowing that kind of information fosters a deeper connection to life, or what we perceive as life. Science is way cool.

4. Rather live in a mansion and have it rain every day or a shack and have beautiful weather?

I am all for the shack-and-beautiful-weather. 100%. I am not limited by space. I have lived in small rooms and small apartments. And yes, for those who know me, I was equally unorganized in each space. What is important to me is quality of life - and that means the fullness of your life inside and outside the home. It means cool green grass under your bare feet while the sun warms your skin, as you sit with your true love in the park. It means feeling fresh air wash over you while taking a contemplative walk. It also means less frizzy hair.

5. Most embarrassing moment?

Geez, this is a tough one. I think lots of things are embarrassing but not traumatic enough that they stick with me. I don't have one of those I-was-in-sixth-grade moments that most people do. Mostly, I am embarassed by my failures. I am embarrassed by my inability to control my emotions in public situations. I am embarrassed when I have to explain to someone as I am running out the door that I have panic attacks and that they are very difficult for me to deal with and that I justneedtogetoutofhererightnow. I am not ashamed of these things, but I am embarrassed in the sense of the word's meaning - Webster online defines embarrass as to cause to experience a state of self-conscious distress. I think that many parts of my life are lived in self-conscious distress. The panic, the therapy, the introspection... but most embarrassing of all would be to not overcome this self-consciousness and just live my life.

Want to participate? Here's the dealio:
1. If you want to be interviewed, leave a comment below saying "interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions - each person's will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Not Right Now

So thoroughly bored and tired. Not much to say.

Thinking about:

• making a budget
• tracking daily spending to see where the heck it all goes (Tasti D Lite, I'm sure)
• tracking daily eating to see where the heck it all goes (Tasti D Lite, I'm sure)
• getting my ass off the couch again
  

Oh, and my sweetie, who is so super sweet...

Waiting, Again.

After a particularly hard therapy session last night, I called The Big H this morning to see what the fuck their problem is. Except I asked a little bit nicer than that, but only by much. They still couldn't tell me anything except that they are sending letters out as they go and that all letters should be out by the end of this month, and that my letter hasn't been sent yet.

At least they didn't say they expect to let everyone know by August. That's kind of what I've been thinking, anyway. Fuckers.

Back to therapy - we talked about Waiting. Waiting has a particularly rocky past with me. Its not just that I tend to be impatient (yes, both with myself and with others), its that I've learned what waiting means. To me. For others, waiting for something important can be exciting, or fun or just normal or not anything. Because of my past experiences, waiting for something important means something bad is coming that you don't understand and can't do anything about and that will ruin everything. I have a hard time letting that go. And an even harder time accepting that its a problem for me.

So, my father died 7 years ago, as of this coming Monday, May 23rd. And its been the cause of lots of difficulties for me, emotionally and physically. And I hate to play that game (yes, I think its a game) where I blame all my problems on my father dying while both of us were at a young age, relatively speaking. But sometimes, even I can see the connections. And here's one of them. Waiting. I spent three of my teenage years waiting for something to happen. Waiting with my dad at his chemo appointments. Waiting at traffic lights on the way home while he puked into a cardboard bucket with the hospital logo on it. Waiting for my mom to tell me what the doctors had said this time. Waiting for some test result or another. Waiting to see which clinical trial he'd be booted from this time.

And then, I spent nine days in the hospital waiting for him to die. And after that, waiting go home. Waiting to wake up from my stupor. Waiting to see whether or not my mom would kill herself. Waiting to see if I would. Waiting for the panic attacks to stop. Waiting for my throat to unclench so that I could eat something, after losing so much weight that my best friend got scared. Waiting for the tranquilizers to kick in. Waiting to wake up so the nightmares would stop. Waiting to fall asleep, even with the nightmares, so that the panic would stop.

To me, waiting equals uncertainty, death and trouble. I can't shake it. And I need to learn how, just as I learned how to make the panic stop and the nightmares stop and life begin again. So, waiting, you just wait.

And once again, fuck you, The Big H, for making it worse. For taking this particular time of year to fuck with me, when goodness knows, now is NOT the time.

When Is Too Much Enough?

I bought jeans this weekend. Expensive jeans. Two pairs. Expensive enough that I can say that combined, they are just $10 shy of half my share of the monthly rent. On the place where I live. Um, when I put it like that, it makes you want to gag, no? Yeah, me too.

In my defense (I have a defense?), I have trouble finding clothes that fit. Especially bottoms. I'm small. Some say tiny, but I just say small. I'm only 5'3", small-framed, and slender. Just a little bit over 100 pounds. Things don't fit me. Skirts are mostly too long and too wide. Dress pants are too big in the hips. Structured shirts are too big in the bust. T-shirts are too big in the arms. Everything is too big in the waist. When I find clothing that actually fits me, I get so excited that I tend to buy in bulk. The same shirt in two colors. The same pant in every print available, hence my stock in the Editor pant from Express, size 0 short, in black, grey and black with white pinstripe. Try wearing the same pair of pants every day, except its really a different pair of pants, and see how original you feel. Um, not very original at all.

But jeans. Denim. My favorite. And, also the HARDEST thing for me to find. Some may say that I am exaggerating. But jeans are my nemesis. My archenemy. My nightmares. I think I can safely say that in the last 4 months or so, I have tried on about 5 dozen jeans. For the mathematically challenged, thats 60 pairs of stupid pants. I'd say thats a lot. I usually go to a store or boutique that carries at least 2 lines, and I try on about 3 different styles each. So that's approximately 6 pairs, minimum, per store. Recently, I have tried The Gap, Express, American Eagle, Levis, H&M, Banana Republic, Flying A, Macys, Anthropologie, Bloomingdales, Loom, Brooklyn Industries, Target, Old Navy, etc. I have tried AG, Joe's Jeans, Paper Denim & Cloth. Rock N' Republic. Chip & Pepper. Seven's. Habitual. Citizens of Humanity.

See? That's a whole lot of jeans. I have noticed that the higher the price point, the more likely they are to fit smaller people. Great. That's just great. Not only am I punished for being small by not having things fit right, but I'm forced to pay extra for those same ordinary things.

So, back to the multi-purchase of expensive jeans. I was in Bloomingdales, looking for jeans as usual. For the second time in 9 days. Yes, I do other things besides shop. And THREE pairs of jeans FIT. Um, as you can probably tell from the above, that's never happened to me. Ever. As in never. As in, that means that both the moon and my stars and the universe and the cosmos and the galaxies and the karma and everything else was all lined up in the precise order to ensure that my little ass was housed in perfect-fitting jeans that looked fabulous and felt great. Well, aside from the hemming issue (seriously, who is my size and and six inches taller? you'd be a skeleton). So, I made the executive decision to buy two of the three pairs that fit. It had to be done.

Now, the question is, do I keep them? I know I can't afford them; that's why I didn't pay cash as I normally do. And, they look similar to each other. And they cost half my monthly rent. But they fit. Superbly. I can hem one for heels and one for flats. Or, I can decide which one I favor and return the other one in an effort to be responsible. Or, since they have a nearly identical cut, I can return the "worse" one and get the third pair instead, which was a very different cut, and still have two pairs of fabulous jeans. I think I may do the last thingy. And I think I will because if I ever hear from The Big H that they accept my application, in which case I will enroll, I will have 2 years of no jeans-buying (or anything else-buying). And for those two years, I'd love to have super jeans. And, while I'm still on a salary, I feel like I deserve these indulgences, however indulgent they are. And I can basically afford them, or afford to justify them.

I guess that's what I'm saying. I'm saying that I can justify my extravagant purchase because I think I deserve to have good things that I like before I give up so much to pursue a career that won't give me very much materialistically. Yes, its my choice to do so, but while I can manage nice, beautiful things, I'd like to. Hopefully, in three months, I can give it all up for the chance to pursue a dream. The Big H, where the fuck are you?

The Waiting Game

I feel like my whole life is on hold. Ok, not all of it, but a big, important chunk of it. I have still not heard from The Big H, as I have come to not-so-lovingly call it. Its better than Monkey-Fucker-We-Don't-Care-About-The-Little-People-CUNY. Which is why I usually call it in my head. Regardless, no word. It is now 13 days into May, which technically leaves them with 18 more days to tell me. Take away the Sundays when there's no mail and I'm still making myself crazy. Perhaps its time for another phone call but I sort of don't want to hear that they'll definitely be telling everyone by the end of June. If that's the case, I may have to throw my phone out the window. And I don't really want to do that, because then I'd have lost a device for complaining about how I haven't heard from The Big H. Monkey Fuckers.

I have a big weekend coming up. I start my part-time job tomorrow, from 12-5. I'm excited and a little nervous. Not nervous that I won't be good at it or won't like it, but nervous that it will eat up too much of my down time, my weekend time, my M. time. But, I sure could use the extra money once I'm up to the full hours on Saturdays and Sundays. I will almost be able to make rent on the p/t work alone. And that's going to be HUGE if I ever hear from The Big H and they actually want me and I'm not so pissed about how I was treated that I actually attend.

And M.'s sister is in town, which means jamming in a lot of NYC stuff that I don't normally do. I'm looking forward to it.

So, I think I'm boring today. Oops.

Lineage, Debates, and Letters

I was always of the opinion that I would keep my last name upon marriage, and definitely would like to pass it on to my children, should they ever exist. I was excited to read this today, and know that other people think similarly.

I like my last name. Its unique. My grandfather chose to keep it when coming to this country and my father wore it proudly. Yes, it causes confusion. Yes, it is always misspelled or mispronounced. But its mine. And I'm the last one with the chance to pass it on.

My cousin (not of the same last name) felt the same way. Until she got married, that is. And then she hyphenated personally and used her maiden name professionally. Though, she did confess that it brings her such a thrill to be called Mrs. Last Name.

And, a dude I know at work hyphenated with his wife's last name, so that they are now BOTH Mr. and Mrs. Yours-Mine.

I have no idea what will happen to my name when that time comes, but its definitely good to hear of how others have handled the situation. And to know that there are a lot of options.

Absolute Perfection

I am so entirely in love with M.

Unreasonable

Ah, mixed emotions. How do I love thee? Actually, not at all.

I'm buggin'. Seriously.

I arrived home yesterday to a mailbox filled with mail for a girl who doesn't live in my apartment anymore and, say it with me, No Letter From Hunter. After I composed myself enough to close the mailbox door without ripping it off the hinges, I walked upstairs and debated my next plan of action. I figured I had two choices. I could stay home and fume, and possibly (most likely) give myself an anuerism, or I could go for another run. Thankfully, I chose the run.

And so I ran. And it hurt but it was the good hurt. It hurt enough that I felt a little better, or at least a little less tightly coiled.

I have got to let this go. I cannot kill myself waiting for this fucking university to help me decide my future. I have to let go of the fact that I cannot plan, that I cannot move, that I cannot do anything. I have to learn to be fine RIGHT HERE, which, to be perfectly honest, was never ever my strong suit. Not that I always look for something better, its not like that. Its more like I have trouble being present. I worry about what I just did or what I'm about to do. Trust me, I'm working on it.

But it seems like the gods weren't totally satisfied that I lost my weight in sweat, I was to be tortured more. Mind you, none of this is serious, its just the lay of the land for me at the time.

1. The lightbulb is out in the kitchen. Even standing on a stool, my 5'3" frame cannot reach the ridiculously high ceiling. This was a problem as I hadn't done dishes since Sunday.

2. The rash thingy on my eyelids that I got from crying too hard on Monday burned last night. Not a comforting feeling.

3. I was out of milk, which not only meant no nighttime cup of tea, but no breakfast either.

Oh, and

4. M. was out at a baseball game with the gal he happened to mess around with during our break-up time. Um, yeah. And I couldn't fall asleep until I knew he was home, and then once he was home I still couldn't fall alseep and so I didn't sleep. And now I'm cranky and I'm trying so hard not to take it out on him and I don't think its working.

Seriously, I'm fine with him seeing her. They were friends way before he even knew I existed. And she just moved to town recently and can use friends. But cleary, even I can see that subconsciously, I was opposed to this on some level. And I keep turning around in my head to the fact that he kisses me differently since we broke up and got back together. And I connect that to him kissing someone else (her) and learning a few things that my two-year stint of kissing couldn't show him. I know that he is my crowning glory in that department (I can think of no better chemistry or satisfaction), but maybe I'm not for him. Maybe I'm just so so for him. Maybe Ms. Baseball (what girl really likes baseball, anyway?) is his va-va-voom and I'm just his mashed potatoes.

All this from an empty mailbox and a Yankees game. I really gotta start seeing my therapist twice a week.

Trust

I finally ran again last night. It felt SO good to get back out there, on my feet, in my body, and move. I have a lot of trouble with my body, whether its psychological or physical (usually a combination of both, unfortunately). Running helps to keep me inside my body and outside of my head, which I think is generally a better place for me to be than the opposite. When I run, I feel strong and confident and alive. I trust that my body will do what it is supposed to do, instead of turning on me when I least expect it. I feel strength and capability instead of frailness and fear. I trust my body. The trick is to get that feeling to translate into other areas.

Running helps me relieve stress, sweat out frustration, pound away anger, and breathe through anxiety. I know I love it. I know it helps me. I relish the results. So why did I spend over one month sitting on my sagging ass without doing it until last night? I know there's no sense in beating myself up over it, and that I should move forward with the good feelings it gave me and make the committment (again) to continue doing it regularly. But I can't help but think its one other form of self-punishment for some sin or another that I waste time lazing instead of running.

Why is it so hard to do the things that you like and that you know are good for you? That should be the easy part. Let the hard part be eating chocolate. Let the hard part be meanness to others. Let the hard part be distrust. And let the easy part be running.

Accidents Will Happen

There's good news and there's bad news. And its all mixed up together.

The good news is that I got the invisible zipper foot (#35, in the red box, for all you ancient Bernina users out there). The bad news was that it was was pretty pricey - about $25. I know that its an investment, but it still sucks, as I've laid out a lot of money so far on this "investment" of mine, this hobby that I love and love and love. So, I guess I should quit complaining. I cut the fabric using my personal pattern, sewed the darts (another first) and assembled the skirt, zipper and all. I only did it backwards once, and was able to fix my error at about 1 1/2 inches in, rather than a whole side seam. Yes, yes, break out the bubbly. Inserting the zipper was actually easier than I thought, and my tutorial at class last week totally applied to my situation last night.

Now, here comes the bad part. Those who are less than okay with graphic stabbings, now would be a good time to stop reading.

I was setting up to stitch along the bottom edge of the zipper, perpendicular to the zipper, to close the gap there, and stitched my finger. Oh, the pain. Oh, the blood. M. was cooking dinner right behind me (the machine is now set up on the kitchen table...) and all I could say was "oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god" as I ran to the bathroom dripping blood from the middle finger of my left hand. It turns out you should move your hands away and position the fabric from a little farther out in order to prevent jabbing a machine-propelled insanely sharp needle into your finger. I did not puncture all the way through, but I think I got pretty deep. I can't tell how deep, but there was a fair amount of blood and pain. I poured some hydrogen peroxide on it, slapped on some neosporin and a bandaid, and decided it was time to stop sewing for the evening.

That's the bad news. The good news is that my skirt is freaking awesome. Ok, well, its almost freaking awesome. I still have to turn down the top for the waistband and hem the bottom (and finish that pesky zipper bottom) but its definitely a skirt. And its definitely seethrough. The cotton poplin or whatever it was that I got is not as thick as I initially thought. So, I will now learn how to drop in a lining. I was thinking - I'd like to do the same fabric in a white or other pale color that matches the navy, and let it hang an inch or two lower than the hem of the skirt itself. Then, I'd apply the same decorative edging to both hems to tie the whole thing together. Eh? My sister thought that would be very interesting, but M. thought it would be silly. I think my style is a little too out there for him sometimes. I'm sure once he saw it on, he'd like it.

Whew. I suppose that is all for now, as I realized that I just wrote a freaking novel. Its a good thing nobody reads this yet.

Oh, and I finished Cleaves, but I'm not sure I like it. I may un-bind off and add a few more inches to the cowl, as its sort of awkward at the length specified in the pattern. How hard is it to un-bind off?

The Wrong Foot

Well, after all that discussion yesterday about the Invisible Zipper, I braved the fabric store below Canal Street again after work yesterday, and purchased a "universal" invisible zipper foot. Um, not so universal. Unless I am missing some HUGE thing (which I must say, I doubt). I'm a little let down, actually, as I got some great fabric to make an A-line skirt, with decorative trimming, and, say it with me, a side zipper. Which I can't actually use if I have no zipper foot. Today, I'm going to call around to some manufacturers/dealers in Bernina machines to see what I can do about getting a Bernina foot. Wish me luck!

I called in sick today. I'm pretty sure I'm well, so don't tell anyone. I really just needed to sleep, and catch up on some relaxing. I've had a pretty rough time emotionally this week, and I couldn't stand the thought of sitting at my desk another day. My plan for today is to meet my sweetie for lunch uptown, go to Bloomingdales and look for expensive jeans that actually fit me and some summer shoes, and then maybe some more relaxing. I'm about 2-3 inches away from finishing my Cleaves and I hope to finish that today, too. Perhaps even cut out my skirt pieces as I wait and see about the zipper foot.

Invisible

I had my first of three dressmaking classes last night. Amazing. We cut our pattern pieces and learned how to insert an invisible zipper. This will open up a whole new world for me (groan). Now I can go ahead and make my skirt from the pattern class and start mucking around with other ideas.

I do have one complaint, however. The class was held in their alternate studio space, and it sucked. It wasn't just bad, it was terrible. The tables were awful (the tables they had), the space was FREEZING and the machines were set up on these rickety folding tables that I thought for sure would just tumble over once the motors started going. Oh, and its in the basement, which means no natural light and an awful buzzing unnatural overhead. Wow, you'd think I'm such a princess the way I'm yammering on. But I consider this to be an investment in my creativity and in my skils, and it was a difficult decision to pony up the cash for this second class with them. And it was a lot of cash for me. So, I expect the same sort of investment in return. Another thing that bugged me was that we all had to cut our pieces from one pattern. She said that at the end of class we could copy the pattern, which I full intend to do. I would like to begin making these things, and if I like the dress, I'd like to experiment with other colors and textures with the pattern. I guess I should just wait and see.

I met up with M. after the class, which was nice. I feel like we haven't really seen each other lately, even though we live together. Strange. But he feels it too. We'll make an extra effort to do something special this weekend. But, it worries me that I'll be working part time on the weekends pretty soon. What if its too hard on our relationship? I guess that's something to consider.

No word yet (still) from Hunter. I have decided to boycott my mailbox.

The Morning After

My body has not yet caught on to the fact that I am awake and at work. One word: Boggle.

Last night was Boggle night, the first of many (hopefully). K, A and I met at a bar in Park Slope and tossed back a few while playing round after round after round of Boggle. Now, I'm totally a Boggle champion. But last night, the alcohol must have dulled my capacity to combine letters into words, as I was lagging behind K. But, in my defense, only by a few points. Perhaps next time I shall have a dinner more substantial than a PBJ sandwich before ingesting 3 drinks. You may think that three drinks isn't so many, but when you're 5'3" and just a hair over 100 pounds, 3 drinks is quite a lot. At least I recall everything that took place!

Tonight I start my new sewing class: Summer Sundress. I am SO excited. Its taught by the same instructor as my patternmaking class, and she is just fantastic. I love the dress pattern we'll be using and I'll finally get a hands-on experience with inserting invisible zippers. Now this is what I'm talking about. Screw my job with my crazy (literally) boss and shitty salary. Screw Hunter and their utter lack of information. Screw NYU and their ridiculous tuition for an MSW. Give me a sewing machine and some pins, with a good pair of scissors, and I'm in heaven. Oh, and carte blanche at Mood or one of the other foncy-ponts fabric stores. Hooray for creativity!

I'm going to work on stealing my bf's camera and get some pictures going here. Wouldn't that be fun?

I Do?

I had an amazing weekend. I know its Tuesday, which is a little late for a weekend post, but hey, I'm new to the blog thing and can't be held responsible. So there.

M. and I went to Princeton for my friend's wedding. It was beautiful, she was beautiful, the whole thing was just so nice. It really made me think about the things that I want in my life. Like M. for instance. Being in that setting with him was just amazing. We held hands and nuzzled and slow danced and even discussed what we would do in that situation. Yes, in that situation meaning what we would do at our own wedding. Um, pretty darned cool, right? We' have been through such a rough time, but its great to see that we can both come out of it better, stronger, sweeter, and more in love than ever. Aw, I'm even making myself slightly queasy here.

And on to the next: Hunter. What the feck, Hunter? Why are you such a cold and unfeeling asshole? Its not like I have anything else to do but wait for your sorry ass to tell me whether I can plan my future or not. So thanks. Thanks for continuing to push back your acceptance schedule. Thanks for ruining my chances of getting more financial aid from other institutions. Thanks for making my nights sleepless, my mailman hate me, and my panic attacks reccur. If you weren't the only graduate program I could afford, I'd say, "Smell ya later, dick!" But alas. I must continue to wait. And wait. And wait. Pretty soon it'll be August and I'll still be stuck in this shitty job and waiting to hear from good old Hunter. I'll be old and grey and still waiting to hear from Hunter. I'll be dead and my ashes will be spread goodness knows where and I'll still be waiting to hear from Hunter. Anyone notice anything wrong with this picture? Anything at all?

Oh, one more thing. I'm making this. I have about 3 or 4 more inches to go on the collar and then its finished. Mine is in a dusty pink color (of course). Aside from my poncho, this will be my first knitted non-scarf/hat combo. And the only thing I have made with sleeves, which weren't so terrible after all. This is pretty exciting. I would like to finish it this week so that I can start (showing it off) wearing it. Work appropriate? Why not!