OK. I'm here. Really.
I've had a hard time posting lately, seeing that, oh yeah, what the hell can I say? The extent of my time lately has been knitting, knitting, knitting, knitting, and knitting. Mara, this is for your spine, and this is my favorite. Notice that my distraction is not limited to knitting; dyeing has been done as well. I hesitate to ramble on with the knitting because it feels shallow now, and I get a little anxious about flaunting it after realizing the potential emotions it may elicit from others (how can I best be considerate?). The madness is, in my opinion, forgivable, even if concerning. It keeps me busy, gives me time to meditate. Knitting has been swiftly, deeply associated with Maman. Some of it is knitting for her, her kids, with her yarn, with her advice, thoughts, memories, and all kinds of silly things (like losing an umteenth dpn in a don't leave home without it knitting book). So, I process. It may seem unusual to knit my feelings, but I feel better doing this than running them away (or running away from them) or studying them away (which is synonymous to studying away from them, too), which is what I would do otherwise. So, there, that's me, my time, for the past few weeks.
More madness has been sighted. Thursday night we were without power, which meant that I stayed up once it came on in the name of getting more than 40 minutes of studying for my Friday exam. The next morning, I woke up, went through my routine, ran for the bus (which is most certainly part of my routine), and had only standing room left for me (also part of the routine). The bus driver is an evangelist, I recognize him, and he has the local Christian radio station playing (yes, you know, routine). Inevitably, a song comes on that I recognize and it's something like "you are my all in all." It's Christian rock. The lyrics are, let's say, for the sake of it, trite. The music is, hm, simple. The gist of it is, yes, country in flavor. It, by all of my standards, is intended solely for group worship purposes, and, in meeting those requirements, is bad music. So, I start crying. Because that's what you do, when you're (1) having a significant spiritual experience, and (2) having it because of bad music (I'm supposed to be deeply moved by DEEP music, Tschaik, or Mendelssohn, or Bach!!). [(3) having it on the Metro]. Here's a listen if you are into that sort of thing. I get off the bus, it's raining, I'm crying. I'm walking to class, and, just in case a good weepy morning won't destroy one's exam-taking-skills, I start to feel ill. No, I feel the muscles around my stomach gear up for a good, solid heave and I'm still 15 feet from the trash can. Greaaat. Luckily, I've found that I can avert the imminent crazed-hormones puking if I can cool myself off quickly and just keep breathing. So I drop my umbrella, coat, scarf, hat, and my sweater. And I wait. (No puking; did fairly well on the test, I think).
The moral of that story is that I don't do well on rollercoasters... I think.
There, those are my thoughts. I'm in the middle of a bachelorette weekend, thanks to Mendon's absence in the name of moving Andrew to Chicago. Thus, I'm getting little done, still in my pjs, and thinking that frozen pizza is a perfectly acceptable and healthy meal. And on my 4th cup of tea.
