Dispatches from Blue Valley

I've been struggling to write a few posts for the last few days. First, I wanted to write about detective shows, and violence, and how my Mom's fearful reaction to them both - she had just been for a visit and insisted on securing all windows and doors - affects me. But I couldn't.

Because I am depressed as fuck.

And then I struggled with writing about that too. Writing about all of that, the Big D, makes me angry. It's like the bitterness has become cystic, and writing slices it open. It might be cathartic, but the result is unpleasant. I also have a policy, a mostly reliable one, of not posting anything written through tears. The emotional tone is so embarassing the morning after, and there are so many typos that need to be fixed, that it's not worth the bother.

So I looked at the half-finished but already overwrought post, and deleted everything until the "fuck." There it is. I am depressed now, but I also know, as the benefit of so many trips to the emotional valley, that I won't be sometime soon.

Better luck tomorrow.

Pillow Blog: Sounds that Remind Me of Montreal

• Fireworks that I can't see
• Taxi wheels at 4am
• Drunken men yelling
• The metro announcer's pronunciation of "McGill"
• TamTam drums

Alone Again (Naturally, Fortnightly)

Dan has left for a two week trip to Europe, which means I have our new apartment all to myself. 

So check Craig'sList while I try to unload Dan's vinyl collection in his absence for some sweet deals. I'll give all the Zeppelin away for free!

Oh, I couldn't be that cruel. Though I am scared enough of the record player that Dan will return to a two-inch layer of dust on the cover - I just look at vinyl, and it scratches. 

Instead, I'm enjoying life spread-eagled on the bed, with Marvin (the Demon Cat) making a shockingly quiet foot warmer. It's time to Netflix in bed and think about cohabitation. I'm kind of scared that Dan and I won't make it to six months, that we'll have to break the lease, find a sublet, chainsaw our Ikea Kallax shelf in two for equality's sake. I know that's the risk anyone takes moving in with another person, even in a strictly platonic context. Things might not work out. Familiarity will breed contempt, and the kind of resentment that leaves one counting toilet paper purchases and floors mopped for signs of inequity.

There might be hope though. I'm happy for the extra bed real estate, but I already miss Dan. I can't wait for him to fly home and sprawl out, which makes me think we can make it. 

If not forever, then at least until our lease goes month to month. 

Domestic Thursday: A Baby Hat and Beer

Knitting for babies is great - small garments take less time to make. Knitting for babies is terrible - there's a non-negotiable deadline, since the babies insist on eventually being born. 

Here's my recent experience with the paradox. With two people pregnant at work, I had bought enough yarn to make two matching baby hats, and even cast on for one, before ignoring the whole enterprise to move. 

Then, suddenly, it was Friday, the last day of work for one co-worker. And I had maybe an inch of their future kid's hat finished. Well, that's no problem that a looooong working lunch can't solve, at least if I can fuel myself with a massive burger. Here's how the hat looked when my burger arrived:

And here's how it looked about an hour later. 

I handed it off just as my co-worker was heading out the door, and felt like Indiana Jones sliding out out of the temple just before the gate slams shut on the booby-trapped boulder. The pattern is the Golden Pear Hat by Melissa Thomson, in three shades of Cascade 220 Superwash. Here's hoping it still fits when winter rolls around. 

The liquid fuel? Left Field Brewery's Sunlight Park Saison. A great, tasty well-rounded beer. Drink it watching a baseball game, or while knitting a baby hat, though I think the second actually moves faster.

The Caviar Fridge

Greetings from beautiful, overwhelming Forest Hill. 

Where the local grocery store has a tiny caviar fridge for all of your fresh caviar needs. 

And my caviar needs are great. 

Anyway, sorry for the lack of posting. Moving took up most of my time of course. There was also some professional disappointment mixed in there too, so as irritating as moving is, creating order out of chaos, packing box after box, had a therapeutic effect.

Of course, eventually the last box is broken down and the last piece of Ikea furniture (shakily) assembled. At that point I had to make some kind of accounting of myself, and my future in my current industry. And so the answers I arrived at were: "B for effort", "outlook poor", and (to an unasked question) "Why yes, it's time to open another beer."

Which means one thing... tomorrow Domestic (Beer) Thursday returns!