oncall sex for life: Patrick

Showing posts with label Patrick. Show all posts

I finally replaced my old Oakley sunglasses

Remember when Patrick took me to Cannon Beach, Oregon and my beloved sunglasses broke? Well, Oakley doesn't make those sunglasses anymore, which is a real pity. They'd lasted me for ten long, glorious years before mysteriously giving up the ghost.

I hemmed and hawed about getting new ones, and kept putting it off because, hey, it was winter in Seattle. Not exactly sunglasses weather. But then last weekend happened, and holy sunny, Batman! I caved and bought myself some replacement ones. I'd gotten a cheap pair at the beach just to deal with the light on the water, but those are never anywhere near as comfortable and nice-looking as decently made sunglasses, not to mention they feel like even opening the earpieces out will make them break.

These are the ones I got:

Titanium frame and polarized lenses. No Muir snowfield blindness for this girl!

I'm fully expecting to never have to buy another pair of sunglasses again. If plastic frames will last me ten years, titanium ones ought to last longer than I will. And you can get replacement lenses, if they should get scratched. I take really good care of my stuff, though, and my other ones didn't have a single scratch on the lenses (contributing a few kinks to the strange plot twist of how on earth they could've broken the way they did... I suspect gremlins are behind it).

They're actually listed as men's sunglasses, but big deal. The women's line lately is full of these awful gigantic glasses that make you look like some sort of alien insect. No thank you. I'll take these any day. I love them so much that I've actually been wearing contacts to work so I can wear my sunglasses while driving. Usually I hate wearing contacts because my eyes are naturally fairly dry and they can be uncomfortable, but these are worth it.

I'll put up a picture of myself wearing them when I feel up to it. Physical therapy today made me a little achey, and I have it periodically for the next three weeks. Keep your fingers crossed that it fixes all my issues... The other night I was standing in the kitchen with Patrick and turned my head rapidly to the left for some reason. There was a huge crack from my neck that almost echoed around the kitchen (it was loud), and then I felt a little better (once I ascertained that I hadn't just turned myself into a quadriplegic).

Hopefully I am on the mend.

I think I figured out how to take flattering pictures of my own feet

You must lie on your back, feet in the air, and photograph them from upside down. This sounds complex, but it's really quite simple. I have the feeling the reason it works better has to do with the light being different when shooting upward instead of downward, along with having gravity working in your favor (pulling your bulk down and away from the objects of your photography, as opposed to the usual state of affairs). I took two pictures and edited them differently, as I enjoyed the look of sepia with regard to my tattoo, but was unable to clearly illustrate the true color of my toenail polish with that filter. I am very picky and precise today! I wrote today's three pages on my 750words account just a few minutes ago, and I am feeling particularly verbose as a result. I still find the data gleaned from my writing to be fascinating. It will be even more interesting when I have more than three days' worth of statistics to compile.

We managed to do some yardwork today as the weather finally cooperated. I succeeded in weeding by using my body weight to pull the weeds instead of my back muscles. I'd grab a handful of weeds and sort of fall backward onto my heels. It worked well and definitely minimized the pain I had to deal with. Patrick heroically mowed our incredibly overgrown lawn, after going to pick up the mower from Sears. As it turned out, the carburetor was faulty, so they rebuilt it and didn't charge us a dime. I love warranties. I'm very grateful to him for dealing with what was rapidly turning into a gluttonous horse's paradise. We'd nearly reached the point of having sort of waves in the grass, as if the house were floating upon a green sea. It was getting just a touch ridiculous, Constant Readers. I am no longer struck with intense shame upon returning home and beholding our lawn.

As it is now time for our dinner before we head down for Patrick's rehearsal (I am accompanying him since I'm sick to death of not being able to see him - thanks, Tacoma Opera), I will leave you with some pictures of my fabulous toes. I sincerely hope none of you reading this are of the foot-hating persuasion, so as to avoid feeling creeped out by the aforementioned photographs. If indeed you are, my apologies.

Stormy Weather Toes I

Stormy Weather Toes II

Photography in Ballard

Patrick and I went to Root Table for dinner this evening. It's a very small sort of Thai fusion restaurant in Ballard. I love their bathroom. It's down a bunch of stairs and then inside this creepy little hallway made of cinder blocks. It has such possibilities! I had to take my phone with me and channel my inner artist. Here are the pictures I came up with:

Ghostlight - keeping the darkness at bay

Bloodied Stairway - climb up alone, or not at all

Glow - a light in the darkness, but a price tag is attached

Grasping For Light - so close...

Let Me Out of This Cell - clawing toward the light

I Can Feel The Wall Breathing Underneath My Palm - in and out, with a heartbeat and life all its own. This prison is alive, even if only in my mind.

Let Me Out - if I could rip these bars apart, I know I could run out into the light. But I'm so very tired...

Ornamentation - metal rods decorate the end of the passageway

The Way Out - sometimes all you have to help you escape are your own two hands

Beautiful Friday

I went out with Patrick after work yesterday and picked up my pill refill plus some nail polish. I got two shades, gold and a dark grey. They are called Nefertiti and Stormy Weather, both by Deborah Lippmann if anyone is interested. I love them! I painted my nails last night while Patrick played through some pieces on his trombone. Stormy Weather went on my toes, and Nefertiti currently graces my hands.

I tried taking a picture of my toes with the polish on them, but it is very difficult to get a flattering photograph of your own feet. I gave up. Just pretend you can see the dark grey polish on them. It's quite lovely.

An awful lot of next week is going to be dedicated to various types of therapy. Massage, physical, doctor visits, etc. I hope all this helps. I had a killer headache last night, but it finally went away. Probably stress and muscle tension. Glad that's gone.

In other news, I've discovered 750 Words, which is basically a site dedicated to getting you to write more. What about? Anything! It's free, and it's sort of fascinating. After you've written stuff, you can look at the various statistics it compiles about your writing (subject, focus, mood, etc). Some of the algorithm's conclusions are ridiculous, but that kind of adds to the fun. For example, yesterday I wrote my first three pages (that is approximately what 750 words works out to), and it informed me that I was a negative introvert who was upset about death. It exaggerated a little bit... I AM NOT UPSET ABOUT DEATH, DAMN IT! Ahem. Anyway, it gave me a chuckle. Your writings are completely private unless you choose to share them. It's an interesting idea if you're looking for something to motivate you to write more often.

Without further ado, this week's beautiful picks (click on each to be taken to its larger version):

Source: furkl.com viaAdrasteia on Pinterest

Source: annejulie-art.com viaAdrasteia on Pinterest

Source: pinterest.com viaAdrasteia on Pinterest

Source: magickalgraphics.com viaAdrasteia on Pinterest

Source: whattopin.us viaAdrasteia on Pinterest

Source: browse.deviantart.com viaAdrasteia on Pinterest

Source: hayloft-plants.co.uk viaAdrasteia on Pinterest

I was going to post this as a comment, and then I realized it was long enough for its own post, so here it is.

I am driving a 2012 Nissan Altima! I am calling it my Wizardmobile. The last time I bought a car was 2002, and I am SO unfamiliar with all the newfangled stuff that's come out in the decade since then. Apparently you no longer use keys to start a car. They are passé. Instead you just have the keys near the car and push a button.

It's a nice car. The doors shut solidly and it has some good acceleration. I'm used to a manual transmission, so having only the options of fully automatic or weirdly quasi-manual are odd. My hand keeps drifting over to where the shifter should be when I'm not thinking about it. It has something like 10 drink holders scattered all over the cabin. No clue what some of the buttons do, and not about to try them out for fear one is an emergency ejector or flame thrower.

The really nice things about it are that it is a tall enough car that neither Patrick nor I has our heads brush against the ceiling (my usual car is very compact), and it has a nice stereo system. The bass is lovely! But I do miss my car. And it is hard navigating a 4-door sedan around when you are used to a 2-door coupe and you have to park in a very cramped parking garage.

Like this, but in black.

I made sure to get the all the various insurances on it, just in case I had really horrible luck and someone else hit me before I even got my regular car fixed. The claim for this will go to the other driver's insurance along with everything else. They are supposed to contact me either this week or next, and we'll see how that goes. I hope it isn't some long, drawn-out fight. If they try to screw me, I guess I'll just end up getting a lawyer. Fun!

The doctor gave me a prescription for ultrasound physical therapy, so I'll be calling that place today to see about an appointment. The massage yesterday didn't hurt nearly as much as the previous one, owing in part to me mentioning to the therapist that I'd been in quite a lot of pain after the first one. She lightened up a lot this time, and I was able to get out of bed this morning without wanting to shriek. I think massage will work better and better as my hurt muscles heal up. Now it mostly feels like I've had a really godawful workout and I'm suffering through the aftermath. A week ago this time it felt like I'd been hit with a... truck. Oh, right. Hah.

So glad that dizziness is going away. It was just horrid on Sunday. One wave after another of disorientation. Since then it's happened a little less each day, and today isn't very bad at all. The doctor thinks perhaps it was brought on by Patrick and I going for a short hike-walk that involved some elevation gain (climbing). When I climb, I can feel my back muscles working, and the doctor said that it might have occurred from too much muscle tension fooling with my nerves. Either that or the concussion. Or both. Personally I'm going with the "both" theory. Having waves of disorientation and mood changes approximately one week after a concussion fits exactly with the classical profile. At any rate, I am glad that crap is easing off. I've finally quit crying about everything. I bet Patrick is relieved...

Aaaaand there, just set up four physical therapy appointments. I hope they help. I'm relieved to have come out of this without broken bones or some sort of terrible permanent brain damage. Just have to deal with the concussion and whiplash, but I am improving. I'm not supposed to go on anything more than a short, easy walk (no real elevation gain or loss) until I can move around without pain, and I can't carry a day pack for probably a couple of months. I'm hoping I'll be able to pick up the cello again soon (literally pick it up, it's pretty heavy and I can't even clean the catbox without my back arguing with me right now). Maybe in a couple weeks. On the up side, I'd only had one lesson, so there isn't much to worry about losing. It's not like I'm going to backslide after months of serious progress. I guess if I was going to get hit by a truck, this was the time to do it...

Tried a short walk yesterday

I'd thought to get out and get a bit of light exercise yesterday. Patrick and I went to this park called Meadowdale Beach, and I hadn't ever been there before, so I didn't realize the trail was pretty steep (steps involved). Climbing uses my back muscles, so we weren't able to do much without me being in pain, but I did get a few pictures anyway.

I'm such a sad sack lately. I'm frustrated at this pain and not being able to do anything. I'm afraid of this coming week as I have a ton of work to do plus another therapeutic massage (first one was yesterday, fairly excruciating), and I know I'm going to be in a lot of pain and be very stressed. Dreading all that.

Everything makes me tear up and want to cry. I'm very pathetic just now. I'm not taking pain meds currently because I want to save them for this horrible next week, and I can't take Ibuprofen. The last two times I've thrown up for some reason or other (last was Friday night, time before that was Valentine's), my saliva afterwards has had streaks of fresh blood in it. I think perhaps the Ibuprofen is doing something to my stomach, so I'm not taking it anymore. I'm going to bring that up when I see the doctor on Wednesday and see what he says.

I can't even lift the cello without pain, so lessons are currently out of the question. Fortunately my teacher is very understanding. Not sure when I'll be able to go back to it. Probably a few weeks at least.

This morning before Patrick had to go play his opera I made breakfast. Cheese blintzes (sweet crepes with a filling of ricotta, huckleberry honey and vanilla, raspberry sauce drizzled over), cantaloupe and tea. Patrick graciously cut up the cantaloupe before having to shower and dress (opera requires a black suit).

It was mostly okay, except I've been feeling like I've got a tiny bit of vertigo today. It keeps happening. Suddenly my head spins a bit and I get a wave of half nausea, half dizziness. Doesn't matter if I'm sitting down or standing up. I am not sure what that's from. Maybe either the accident giving me a minor concussion or going completely off Lexapro. It isn't severe, thankfully.

Anyway, that's what's going on. Here are the pictures I took. Hope y'all like them. Hopefully clicking on them will give you bigger versions, but I'm not sure...

More developments

I bothered a bunch of people yesterday, and the upshot is that my accident report has been corroborated by the other driver, so there is no dispute and my insurance could go ahead and waive my deductible, along with sending out the money for the preliminary car repair estimate (they will just pay for any extra directly instead of sending it to me first). The money should turn up in 3-5 business days, and I can get my car fixed. I set up a rental car for next week, and my doctor appointment yesterday went well.

I've got some pain meds because since I had head trauma they don't want me taking anything that could increase the risk of brain bleeding (aspirin is the worst, but he didn't want me taking as much Ibuprofen as I had been, either). I had one of those last night with another muscle relaxer, and I do feel a bit better today. Not quite as much pain. Yay! I have an appointment for massage therapy next week, although hopefully they can bump me up a bit. I have a muscle knot in my back near my left shoulder blade so big and tight that the doctor could see it bulging underneath my shirt. I'm not sure how many of these appointments there will be, but hopefully they help.

In the meantime, Patrick is finally home tonight after several days of opera rehearsals, so I can have a shower and wash my hair! I will need him to either hold my head up or wash my hair for me, as it hurts to lean my head backward without holding it up with my hand, and adding soaking wet piles of hair to the mix will only make it worse.

My right shin is swollen with fluid from being rammed into the brake pedal upon impact, and the doctor suspects it's a few torn muscle fibers and a bruise right near the bone. It hurt off and on Monday right in the middle of my shin, and now it doesn't hurt, it's just swollen and strange feeling.

This is SO FUN, y'all!

I'll let you know how the therapy goes.

Hair! Or: Things I Learned Today About Lawnmowers

Those two things aren't really connected. I went and had my hair redyed back to a glorious darkness today, and I am SO DAMN HAPPY about it! I look in the mirror and recognize myself again! Brown hair, how I missed you. I will never turn on you again.

The picture of it is at the end of this post instead of right before this paragraph because I'm using that Blogger app on my phone, and it is too stupid to put pictures anywhere but at the bottom of posts. Good job, Blogger...

Anyway, it's awesome and I love it. It's a bit darker than it usually is because we had to go darker in order to cover up the red. I'll have to get it dyed several more times to fully cover the red, but no biggie. Honestly, the shampoos and head massaging that come with it are almost worth paying for on their own. Soooo pleasurable.

I'd purr if I could.

When I came home, we had a bite to eat and then went out to do yardwork. HAHAHAHA. No. Mower wouldn't start.

We tried various things, to no avail. The internet claimed that we needed a bunch of tools that we didn't have in order to fix what was most likely a gummed up carburetor.

Allow me to explain said carburetor: we had some inordinately warm weather late in the year, and the grass was still growing. To appease my sense of order, Patrick heroically tried to mow in November. The mower wasn't having it, as it was just cold enough that it wouldn't start.

Usually he makes a point of burning up the rest of the fuel if it's going to sit for a while, but in this case the silly thing wouldn't even start, so it had a bunch of gas sitting in it all winter that we couldn't get rid of. This turned weird and gummed up the carburetor, and that brings us to today.

After scouring the internet and inwardly screaming at the mower, we decided to take it to Sears for repairs. Patrick tried calling them and made it through their stupid automated phone tree all the way until the computer forgot why he was calling in the first place and started asking him if his rowing machine was still under warranty (?!?). I HATE automated phone menus.

We hung up as viciously as we could and decided to go ahead and drag the mower to Sears, reasoning that we'd just let them throw it away if the repairs turned out to be more than a new one was worth. We tried cramming it in both trunks and finally succeeded in shoving it into the backseat of Patrick's car on top of a blanket. Pain in the ASS, let me tell you.

We drove it over there and left it with a dude after ascertaining that it was still under warranty. I suspect it will still cost money to fix, but I think we get parts for free if they're necessary. Anyway, it was much better than having Patrick beat it to death with his fists if he'd tried to fix it himself without any of the required tools.

So, kids, the moral of this story is that you should never ever try to mow the lawn in November. And you should also never leave gas in the mower, because it apparently turns into horrible Evil Engine-clogging Jello. Be ye not so stupid.

Without further ado, a hair picture! It was up because we were fighting with the mower a short time before, so you don't get the full effect, but I'm sure you will all get the idea.

Love

Me: I only want you.

Patrick: Aww, I only want you too!

Me: You are the only person for me. I don't want anyone else. Not even this monkey.

Patrick: Gah! That's kind of frightening.

Me: I don't want that monkey at all!

Patrick: Well good, I should hope not.

Me: Ahhh, true love.

The monkey in question:

The bag has eyes!

We figured out that in order to entice Widget to sit companionably near us (she eschews the couch in favor of the piano or guest bed, for some reason), we would have to place Patrick's work bag on the table. She has a weird affinity for it and loves sitting in it, so as soon as it was available, in she went!

Dude, the movie

Patrick: Well, there wasn't a lot to do, but at least I got to see the end of Dude.

Me: What?

Patrick: Dude. You know?

Me: What are you talking about? Is this a TV series or a movie? I have no idea.

Patrick: DUDE! Dude, with the worms?

Me: Oh, DUNE!

Patrick: Yeah, Dude. I'm still very congested.

Me: That makes so much more sense now.

I want to tell you a story.

This story begins years ago, but it flashes back and forth between those days and these.

I went to my doctor appointment on Monday, and had a meltdown. I went by myself. Usually Patrick goes with me, but he was unable to, and I am a big girl. I put on my Woman Pants and went my damn self. We were discussing what to do about my medications, and the doctor put forth a very reasonable suggestion (spurred in part by how artsy I am; he felt it would be neat for me, since I am creative) that I should videotape myself when I'm very depressed and suicidal, in an attempt to better understand that mood (or something like that, I don't remember exactly).

I didn't react well. I felt terror and revulsion welling up inside me, and began to have a mini panic attack. I couldn't speak very well anymore, and told him I couldn't do it. He said that was perfectly okay, and it was only a suggestion, and thanked me for hearing him out. I obviously couldn't have a productive appointment anymore, so he said it was okay for me to sit there and take as long as I needed. After he left, I sobbed and silently screamed to myself. I could not handle the idea. I wasn't sure why, exactly, but I couldn't. And I felt alone. Horribly, utterly alone. I finally managed to get my shit together enough to put my coat on and get ready to go. A nurse came in and asked if I was okay. I said I wasn't, but I was fine enough to get home. Then I left. After I'd gotten home, the doctor called me to make sure I was doing all right. I tried describing what was wrong with me, but I was still upset and didn't do a very good job, so I wrote this letter today to better illuminate my situation:

Hey Doc.

After I got home on Monday night and Patrick turned up, I regaled him with the tale of my meltdown. He thought of something I'd blocked out that might explain my reaction to your (very good) suggestion: many years ago, when I was married for the first time, my then husband pressured me into letting him take naked pictures of me. I wasn't comfortable with it, but I wasn't comfortable with much in that marriage, and I was young and trusting. Anyway, at some point after that, I did something (I no longer remember what) that he didn't like, and to keep me in line he threatened to post the naked pictures of me all over the internet. I freaked out and felt the need to warn my parents in case he decided to send the pictures to them. The following day I got home before he did and went through his computer, deleting all the pictures and the backup copies. When he came home, I told him what I'd done and he seemed shocked that I'd actually take the step of getting rid of them. He seemed even more surprised that I'd found and gotten rid of all the backups he'd made. I have never trusted anyone to do that to me again. That first marriage was full of Never Agains.

Making a videotape of suicidality isn't the same as naked pictures, but then again, it is. I guess I can't bear the thought of being caught somehow in such a state of vulnerability. I have done everything possible to ensure I'm never vulnerable again. Before I was married, a guy held me down in front of a bunch of people and tried to yank my shirt up. No one helped me, and they laughed. I finally got away and cried in the bathroom. Afterward, I kicked him in the balls and took up martial arts. I swore that no one would ever be able to do that to me again. I already knew my ex would never come back and help me, no matter what happened. He let the sensei from the martial arts dojo stick his tongue in my ear, which was when I quit. He left me on a cliff when I was trying to climb out of this ravine thing and was afraid of falling. He told me what a terrible person I was when I was huddled in a ball on the floor of my kitchen, crying.

I learned that no one will ever help you. You have to help yourself. And if you do tell people that there is something wrong with you, they will betray your trust, tell other people, call you a liar, send people to your apartment to try to break in, pound on your door and call you a fucking bitch. It is a terrible, beautiful secret you have to keep, when something is wrong with you. If you don't keep it, they will call you crazy. Or worse, insist that you are fine and they know exactly what you mean because they once felt sad, or like punching someone. They can deal with it, so why can't you, you weak excuse for a person?

I sobbed a lot in the room after you left, and that was both because of my reaction to the suggestion and my brain screaming at me that my supports were being taken away with nothing offered in their place but an abhorrent suggestion. You are alone in the dark, and no one will ever help you. I know that isn't true, but that is how borderline feels. It is excruciating and overpowering. We are so desperately afraid of being abandoned that we create abandonment where there is none, and we overreact to the imagined desertion. So, of course, I overreacted. Fine, if I'm to stop some drugs with nothing to help me, then I'll stop ALL the drugs. I will show you what fucked up looks like. Watch this. You can't abandon me, I'm leaving YOU! Anger keeps the terror away. Anger has always been my shield against fear.

I stopped taking everything and spent the entire night lying awake, staring into the dark, worrying someone was going to break into the house and smash my head with a baseball bat. I did not go to work the next day, and I didn't sleep then either, until the nightfall. During the day, Patrick got through to my sense of reason and made me see that stopping all the drugs cold turkey was a very bad idea. I knew that, but I was so angry and afraid that torturing myself was the only control I felt I had left. I didn't eat yesterday, either, until about 5pm. After he and I talked about it, and I'd had some food, I felt a bit better. I took my pills last night, all of them except cut the Lexapro down to 5mg, and I slept well. I feel better today. I've lost something like 15 pounds in the last few months. I like that. It makes me feel better about myself. I haven't had a drop of alcohol since I had that ghastly hangover episode on Lexapro, and I don't think I will start again after I'm off of it. It isn't fun the way it used to be, it's expensive, and it's a lot of unnecessary calories.

Anyway, I just wanted to explain myself. I hope you don't feel badly about my meltdown in the office. It wasn't your fault.

Taryn

None of this is new. I've been like this since I was very little. I've always felt that no help was ever coming, especially at night, with the hellish dreams. What normal nine-year-old girl spends her chore money on ever bigger and sharper knives?

Mental illness is real. And, sometimes, it is terminal. I'm hopeful that it will prove otherwise in my case.

Lucky #13

I attended Patrick's rehearsal with the Tacoma Symphony last night, and after I got up from my seat to leave, I realized I'd picked the one with my birthday on it.

I have a cello! [updated]

It was ready today, so Patrick grabbed me and we went to go pick it up. I am so excited! I've emailed a teacher about lessons, and hopefully I can begin as soon as possible. The cats are going to wonder what on earth I'm bringing home...

Update: So. I finally got home about 9:30pm tonight. I heard back from the teacher around 4:45, and it turned out he was leaving for Italy on Saturday, so he wanted to know if I could come tonight or tomorrow. He promised to give me enough stuff to work on until he was back on March 10, and he wasn't kidding... This lesson lasted from about 5:20 until nearly 9pm. I am SO TIRED. It was a really good lesson and I learned a lot.

He seems like a good teacher. Now for the Hey Guys I'm Strange part: after I left, I was completely emotionally overwhelmed. New place, new person, new instrument, holy crap so much information, all alone, no dinner.... As I was walking to my car in the cold, I felt so alone and lost. I had sort of the beginnings of a panic attack, but that transformed into this totally pointless and sporadic uncontrollable sobbing in the car on the way home.

I had NO reason to be upset.... It was a great lesson and he's a really nice guy. We got along just fine, and it was fun! I even made a pretty sound on the cello. Yay! I'm just like GAH too much new stuff all at once. Patrick was in Tacoma for his rehearsal, so I texted him and let him know what was up. That poor guy is so patient with my weirdness. I had to pay for a quarter's worth of lessons up front ($60 per hour lesson, 13 of them), but it's not like we couldn't handle it, after we got the tax refund and all. I think I was just so freaked about all the other new stuff that I lost my shit and cried like a slapped baby.

Fortunately said shit was held together until I left! It's a good thing my new teacher thinks I'm fairly normal... Hopefully he will continue to believe that lie. I'm wearing my new Fight Like A Girl t-shirt, and I am FINALLY eating dinner, so I am going to finish that up and go tuck my damn self in bed. I think I have earned some sleep.

Holding pattern

Just waiting for my cello to be ready.... We're also looking into teachers. Hopefully I will have one lined up soon. I think I've exhausted my creativity for a few days, so I'm going to lay off the art and let the ideas begin recharging in my mind. In the meantime, Patrick has graciously indulged me by playing F.E.A.R. (First Encounter Assault Recon) for me, which is a fairly old first person shooter but still has great AI and a wonderful atmosphere. I love those kind of games, but I can't play them. I can't separate reality from game, and my hands end up getting so cold from blood loss that I can't feel my fingers and they move stiffly.

I have weird problems.

So instead I watch him play them! I've seen a bit of this game before, but I am enjoying it very much nonetheless. All of us (myself and kitties) pile onto the bed and watch Patrick play the game. He sits in my old computer chair and uses the bed for his mouse. We're running it through the television because when he tried to play it on his laptop it made us both incredibly motion-sick. Something about the refresh rate or the camera. Not sure exactly, but we do not have that problem with the TV, thankfully!

Come on, cello...

And now for something completely different!

I'm taking up the cello.

I have wanted to for years, and I haven't done it (owing to various reasons, some real and some totally irrational and imagined). At any rate, Patrick is a great enabler of me in all my wonderful and bizarre permutations, so he is encouraging me in this pursuit. I've inquired about obtaining a rental cello, and I should have one by the end of the week.

I can't wait.

I've always wished I'd taken up a string instrument at some point, and I particularly love the deep vibrations a cello makes. It's not as unwieldy as a double bass, and it's much less piercing than a violin. Viola was an option, but I had a strange problem when I took a violin lesson quite some time ago, which was that when I view a string bridge from the angle you must hold them at to play, I see two of them. I have no explanation for this, but it was highly impractical to try learning to play by keeping one eye shut all the time, which was what I had to do in order to only see a single bridge.

I also love how you sort of hug a cello with your legs while you play. I'd thought about an electric cello, since they are much cheaper, but Patrick correctly pointed out that the vibrations wouldn't be there with the big wooden body missing, and that is at least half the point.

Pardon me while I sip some tea - mmmmm...

I've decided to do this instead of ballet classes for the simple reason that we can't easily afford both, and I've wanted to play cello for a much longer time (years) than I've wanted to dance ballet (and I say even that loosely since I weigh too much to ever consider dancing en pointe, and thus would be rather limited in my potential repertoire). I am going to take cello lessons, hopefully once a week, but every two weeks or whatever is affordable will have to suffice. Patrick has some wonderful cello pieces that I can regard as goals in the extremely distant future once I've gained sufficient skill (this is a multi-year task I'm embarking upon, much like finishing The Book of Lost Memories).

I will have to finish relearning bass clef and learn tenor clef to play all cello music. I already know treble clef, and I'm sure the others won't be a problem with sufficient repetition. I also very handily have an expert in tenor and bass clef living right here with me to help me out. *wink*

I am very excited to begin. I'm hopeful I can find some good exercises and very simple pieces to begin with that aren't crap like Hot Cross Buns. If I can't, I will make up my own after I've learned to play scales and then practice those. I can already hear the music inventing itself in my mind. Like the Hogwarts Sorting Hat says, "It's all there in your head." Indeed it is.

Happy Valentine's Day!

I hope you're all enjoying Love Day in your own way, be it pampering yourself or hugging your pets or having dinner with a Significant Other. Patrick and I are going to Volterra for Valentine's Day dinner (NO wild boar this time, I have learned my lesson). I was going to dress up, but it's raining buckets outside and the last time we had dinner there we had to park literally a half mile away, so I decided sensible clothes and hiking boots were in order. He gave me a wonderful massage last night that lulled me right into sleep. No nightmares, so I am happy!

On the hair front, I have decided that purplish red does not suit my skin color (or like anything I own except stuff that's black and white). It looks SO weird. I may at a later date attempt red hair again, but for now I'm looking forward to regaining my original brown! I miss you, brown hair. I miss how you went with everything and you didn't look terrible when you were left alone to be naturally curly. My appointment is on March 9 at 11am.

In other news, we did our taxes and are getting a refund, so I get to order my Dreamcoat! I tried to get Patrick to refrain from giving me birthday and Christmas presents so I could save up for this, and we are using only extra money from gigs for it. I am SO excited. Construction has begun, although it will probably be at least a month and a half before it's finished. Can't wait to show you guys what it looks like.

Happy Valentine's Day! You are loved!

Kitten picture from: Live Love Laugh.

I've been trying to think of a way to make exercise fun for myself, and given that I've already taken classes in tango, jazz, salsa and swing dancing, I might as well add ballet to the mix. If I recall correctly, my aunt took ballet classes at one point in college. I vaguely remember practicing pliés with her when I was very small.

This is only the very beginning level, for all shapes and sizes, so no pointe to ruin my feet. I will need to wait until the next installment of UW's Experimental College is in session, but no big deal. I'd like to take it through them since it's usually cheaper than going elsewhere and the environment is one I'm familiar with. I may have to ask Patrick to accompany me and read outside or something during the class, though, since there have been a lot of muggings in the U District lately and I don't fancy becoming a victim.

I hope there are a lot of other people in the class who aren't in the best of shape. I suppose I'll just wear black workout clothes and that should be fine. That's what I wore for jazz and such. Given that karate is no longer appealing to me, maybe this will turn out to be a fun source of exercise.

I saw a bowl of these at work and fished this one out of it.

I have menstrual rage and EVERYONE MUST KNOW ABOUT IT.

I am displeased.

It is that time of the day? week? month? I don't know. My body is so strange and irregular in all aspects that I never know when the demonic blood fury will come on me. That sounds waaaaay cooler than it is...

No, I'm just downright pissed. This is such bullshit. I love my husband dearly, and I am not a man-hater, but this isn't FAIR, girls!

Men do not have to bleed every month. They do not have horrid bloat and zits that mysteriously appear from nowhere and enough hormones to scare a hippo every single time Aunt Flo comes to visit. They can pee standing up, and if you don't think that's neat you have never tried to pee in the woods at night while camping.

Men do not have children, and thus do not have the hemorrhoids, incontinence, mastitis, post-partum depression and so forth that accompany this Blessed And Wondrous Experience. (Granted, I'm not going to have kids either, but I am ENRAGED and therefore immune to logic.) Also, in an evolutionary sense, men can have completely risk-free sex. They are not the ones who will be stuck with said Blessed And Wondrous Experience. You can tell I mean it because I used italics and some capital letters. They can jam their dick in a few times and then scamper off to go write their names in the snow and spear mastodon(s?) or whatever while the girl is stuck wondering if her dad will be mad and whether someone is going to invent canned beans and Ramen before the snow flies, because everybody knows that when you think you might end up barefoot and pregnant you are forced to contemplate subsisting solely on canned beans and Ramen.

Why do I crave so much chocolate? WHY? I am not normally this much of a fiend for the cacao bean, I swear it. I like a bit of chocolate after dinner usually, but these days I'm like a ravening monster for the magical brown stuff. I'm sure this isn't contributing positively to my horrible Zit In Residence. It's probably a vicious cycle, one that I am currently unwilling to break, because Cupcake Royale still has Deathcakes through the 14th. What is the solution to this horrible problem? Let's spell it out like they do on Sesame Street (maybe? I haven't watched since I was 6): W-E-I-G-H-T W-A-T-C-H-E-R-S.

How do I get so fat so QUICKLY? It's like I'm some sort of medical miracle. I'm going along fine, just minding my own, zit-free business, when WHAM I suddenly weigh exactly three pounds more and I forgot to do laundry for like a week, so all I have are Horrible Fat Pants, so I wear the Horrible Fat Pants and feel even worse. Three pounds does not sound like a lot, but I tell you it feels like you've suddenly packed on a preschooler when it happens overnight. I keep drinking liquids, but I just sort of stop peeing, and bingo! We have a winner! Sudden bloat, at your service.

I am vengeful. I need to find something to smash. Yet I am also cheap and greedy. I do not want to break anything I actually like or will have to pay to replace. Decisions, decisions.

On the up side, the bloat and bad skin always go away after the wonderful leaking begins, and I suppose that kind of makes me a little happier, but I'm still so grouchy about the whole thing that I can't really give these improvements the kind of appreciation they deserve. At least with hot flashes and stuff you don't have to jam tubes of cotton batting up in yourself all the time and maybe the zits will finally quit making an appearance.

Come on, menopause!

oncall sex for life