Seriously considering taking the sheep shearing class and spending part of the summer shearing as many sheep as I can find.
Because:

• I've always wanted to do this kind of work, since the summer I helped out with lamb docking on a large sheep ranch in Wyoming (the lambs from 2,000 ewes- no idea how many lambs there were). It was very hard work...and I felt so fulfilled doing it.
  
• If and when I get fiber animals of my own, I will want/need to shear them.
  
• I need to be around animals and cannot have my own. Shearing sheep that belong to others will still give me that animal fix and it will pay, bringing me closer to the goal of having a place where animals would be a possibility.
  
• There would be constant access to all kinds of fiber, from all kinds of sheep. This beats having to pay for it outright or worse, having to feed and house all sorts of different sheep.
  
• It will keep me busy and my mind occupied, as opposed to dishwashing, which keeps me busy but still leaves my mind free to fret and stress. I do not think I am going to be able to handle another year of stressing and worrying and feeling worthless. The best antidote to feeling worthless is to go out and do something worthwhile and succeed at it.
  
• Opportunity to get a lot of exposure and experience with many breeds of sheep.
  
• This line of work would align nicely with some of my long term goals.
  
• If I'm going to be alone, this is what I'd like to do with my life. If not...guess I'll cross that unlikely bridge when it comes up.
  
• Also, my body is so out of shape and weak that it's embarrassing. I'm turning into a weakling. Being physically fit is important to me...and work is a good, profitable way to get there.
  

I'm sitting in the kitchen, plying the last of the Shetland, watching the singles twist into 2-ply so quickly that the yarn is a blur unless I stop the wheel....when I smell you. I stop. The scent is unmistakeably you: clean, refined, velvety, masculine in a restrained way. And I miss you so much...it's so strange that my mind could conjure up such a vivid scent memory out of the blue like that. It's as though you're walking through the room again, or as though you were just here minutes ago. It's like a few seconds of heaven, of the crazymaking stopping for a minute....like this nightmare is over. I don't know if it ever will be. I can only hope that eventually, things will be at least a little more sane....and to hold the thought of you in the light.

I guess that in the end, I don't care what sort of head trips they play with me. All I really care about is that you're OK.

A blog post by John Shore that brings me uncomfortably close to tears in a public place: The Child We Left Behind. Very worthwhile reading, not something I can really cope with in the library. :-/

Both bobbins of Shetland singles are done and I started on plying them...but then the laptop called me over to the laundry room...at any rate, it should be done tomorrow and then I can start on something else. Well...I should get to bed if I intend to make scones tomorrow morning. :-P

Man, I love that song. How can a song with such sad words make me so happy?? Really- if I were to buy songs to put on an MP3 player, that'd be the first song I'd get. I like it so well that I took out a CD from the library that supposedly is by Blue...but there must be some mistake. I do not think it is the same group, totally different sound. The youtube comments called this song a hip hop version...I hadn't thought of that. Guess there's a little of the city left in me after all. ;-) It is just about impossible to sit still while listening to it!!

I finally found (again) the version of this song that I like best. :-) Love it!

Because of you I will never again settle for less than something I can throw my whole heart into.

The shearing class is affordable! Yay! Except for the cost of lodging...I could conceivably sleep in a vehicle while there (brrr). And who would watch my son? Maybe it coincides with spring break....yes! It does!!! Now...to make it happen. hmmm.

I was laying awake last night, feeling gratitude for the simplicity and freedom of being single. I don't deny that there are times when I feel as if I might die or implode into an empty, aching husk of a person if I don't get a hug....but so many other aspects of life are so much simpler and less complicated this way. The trade off just isn't worth it except under the most unlikely circumstances.

So...I need to find a way to make animals a part of my life again.

Another thing I realized while laying awake: I want and need a mom. Not my birth mother, a mom. :-/

Got my animal fix. :-) The alpacas are becoming more appealing to me all the time....I love the hummy/whiny sounds they make and the expressiveness of their faces. And sheep....are still fairly interesting. Maybe not as much as the angora goats and alpacas, but not as complicated, either.

Almost done filling the second bobbin of Shetland laceweight singles. Then I can ply the two bobbins and hopefully still have a reasonably thin yarn. After that....goodness, how on earth will I decide what to spin next? I got about half of a fleece from a dark CVM/Romney cross lamb today and a some lovely long lustrous white longwool (a crossbred mix of three different longwool breeds) and a little bit of some beautifully colored and shaded Wensleydale.

Am thinking about doing some more dyeing...I have onion skins (the store would not let me buy these and had to call a manager to find out what to do!!! They finally decided that it was ok to just give them to me). This would make a golden yellow color. Yellow is not one of my favorite colors...except when it's paired with blue or violet. This blog has a showing of the array of colors which can be obtained from onion skins. The quiet green color (from red onion skins on alum mordanted wool) has some appeal, too.

I like bright colors...particularly in the blue/violet/magenta range...and for painting I can't imagine using only quiet colors. For wool though...the natural vegetable dyes seem to harmonize with the softness and texture of the wool better than the more exuberant hues. Mohair is an entirely different story. Shiny, lustrous mohair looks great when it's been dyed in intense colors. I don't know about alpaca yet.

If I want to learn how to shear, the class I would need to take lasts for a week, not terribly far from here...and the only way to get truly proficient at it is to practice by shearing a LOT of sheep.

Tomorrow: I get to help shear sheep and angora goats!

As if anyone cares. As if you care.

How can people have any faith in feelings if their feelings are so changeable and temporary, so easily switched off? How on earth can their state of mind or heart matter at all under those conditions?

The other thing anyone who knows me knows: that I am fragile. That I've been really upset over this mess for the past year. That if there is one weapon which can reliably be used to devastate me with very little effort, it's him.

So not only was it dishonest and unethical, it was fucking dangerous and cruel.

I am a bit embarrassed that it took me a week to figure this out: of course I am not dangerous or any kind of a threat to his safety. Anyone who knows me at all knows that I am harmless. I can honestly say that the thought of doing anything to hurt him has never entered my mind even for a second.

And she knows this, of course.

But: the only legal loophole for breaking confidentiality is if a person is a danger to themselves or others. I was not suicidal, so it couldn't be me. Therefore, she manufactured a specious threat to him. Talk about unethical.

I have been all broken up for the past week because she concocted a ridiculous, slanderous "danger" in a sorry attempt to excuse and cover up her own misdeeds. Wow. I am speechless. And insulted: did she really think I was so incredibly stupid that I wouldn't figure this out? It's a bit humiliating that it took me a week, but when one is distraught and broken hearted, one's mind has a way of going sort of numb and inactive.

I want the lies to stop.

Just noticed: I haven't had any typical headaches since going gluten free. By typical, I mean those that are not induced by being so stressed that the muscles in my neck and at the base of my skull cramp up and those which are not caused by sinus congestion via crying. In other words, by "typical headache", I am talking about the garden variety headache, the kind I used to have all the time, the kind I used to hoard any leftover hydrocodone pills for, because tylenol usually does nothing.

I've had these headaches all my life. They have tormented me for years. They were severe enough and frequent enough that they occupy a prominent place in my memories of childhood. I've always disliked the color orange because that's the color the pain was- an orange that just would not go away for hours on end. And now they're gone.

This is such a relief; it's well worth never eating bread again.

A realization: if I make art baskets, I can integrate nearly all of the various components of my varied interests: fiber, plants, nature, fabric, bones, shells, pottery, recycled material, animals (their fiber, bones, horns, etc)...I could incorporate texture, color, scent...the list probably goes on. I could probably even use seaweed and or kelp. :-)

Which isn't to say that I intend to quit making fish!

Because I am aspie, one might expect that I would hyper focus in my work and narrow it down to one subject, done one way, in one medium, etc. I have done this at times. However, this sort of specializing is generally countered by a drive to explore and diversify. My appetite for the sensory pleasures around me can be somewhat voracious. Not as in food or drugs or such...it's more like...huh. Maybe it's some kind of a compensation or reaction from living in my head and thinking so much. The other side of that coin seems to be this sort of wild hunger for earthy things, for intensity of color or different color combinations, for things that smell good or interesting, for sensual textures and for the solidity and energy of the earth. It seems to sort of scare people a little bit to see a grown woman so intensely into things. I don't know. It's like getting high on the ordinary things all around me. It's not obsession, because once I've finally run myself down, I can let it fade gently away and just sort of bask in the afterglow.

Um. That sort of sounds like I was talking about sex. It isn't a bad analogy because actually, that's sort of what it's like. It's as if my brain has this wild orgy on all the sensory things in the woods or arboretum or wherever and then when I've finally had enough, I just feel so calm and relaxed and happy.

Hey, I never claimed to be normal. :-P

My son signed up for hunters ed (I'm not exactly thrilled about this) and I didn't realize this until after I had taken off to town without putting any kind of handwork or project in the vehicle. He is going to be in that class until 9 PM and I have nothing! I don't think there is even a sketchbook, although the smallest one may be there. This is terrible. I can't tell you how tempting it is to run over to Ben Franklin's or worse, one of the shop that carry wool and drop spindles, and buy something to do with my hands. But, I can tell you assuredly that it will not happen again. My friend loaned me two pscyh type books; otherwise I wouldn't have had anything to read, either. Wait, no: in the laptop case there is this bio of a nurse who goes into helping terminal patients after losing her brother in childhood...but frankly that seemed kind of depressing.

Thank goodness for the gym.

Hey, I survived last week and the weekend! February is almost done. :-)

I've found someone who may be willing to rent kiln space to me at a more reasonable rate than the Arts Alliance. The next problem, should I do this, becomes one of glazes- specifically, either buying some or getting the chemicals to make them. It will behoove me to use glazes that are both dependable and interesting enough/variable enough that I can use the limited array without being boring.

Iron red and iron oxide are cheap...because iron oxide is just rust so I can get a lot of it for very little. Iron red is also dependable.

I'll need a white.

There should be a cobalt derived blue. Cobalt carbonate is expensive.

A shino glaze is another standard that I should have. No idea what is in these.

It would be good to have a fairly transparent, glassy green similar to the one I used as a student at the college.

Maybe a brown, or a glaze like the seacrest purple we used at college that was so dependably good and interesting.
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And then....I can make more fish. I found a gallery that is looking for another potter. If I can start turning out the work and afford the monthly fee (it is a co-op so they take no commission)...I could have work in a gallery in time for the tourist market.

Random stuff:

• I am currently watching a documentary (Rivers and Tides) about Andy Goldsworthy. I love the purity of his art, both the medium and that he does his art not for a gallery or to sell, but because he needs to. That his work is free of commercial concerns makes it purer to me. Maybe this isn't accurate...maybe he does get paid somehow, I don't know.
  
  
• I did something terribly sinful and foolish today and bought a few ounces of a 50/50 silk merino blend roving....and some wool mohair blend as well, which was much cheaper than the silk blend. I should not have bought the silk...but I wanted it with a sort of intensity that was almost....(shiver)
  
  
• The colors used in the silk/merino blend are inspiring to me though...and I can achieve them with the stuff I have at home. It's a warm russety brown, the color my hair used to be in the sun when it was long, or when I was a child, blending into a rich charcoal, shimmering throughout with strands of silk. It is beautiful, beautiful. The mohair/wool (mohair comes from angora goats by the way) roving is a lighter shade of the reddish brown, the color of cinnamon sugared toast when it's just right.
  
  
• I want to hike up to Beehive Lakes this summer (the stone cairns Andy Goldsworthy is building on the movie are reminding me of this) and camp overnight there this time. Last time I just went up, saw, and came back down...no time to even enjoy it really.
  
  
• People are giving alpacas and angora goats away...and I can't have any because I have no place to keep them. I know that I am a selfish thing to think of acquiring animals when I have children to think of and need to find a place to live yet. Sigh...I need animals though....dogs are alright, but they don't have the same calming energy that larger, ruminating animals do.
  
  
• But at least I live in a beautiful place, with forests and trees and streams, mosses and lichens and woodland plants and moist rich smelling soil in some places and aromatic woody pine needle carpets in the higher, dry areas. I don't think I could feel sane at all, like myself at all, without the outdoors and without animals.
  
  
• I wish that I could have the sea as well...(another selfish thing)...perhaps someday, but not soon, I don't think. I love the way the moist sea air smells, the mist and the fog....it is even better than rain.
  
  
• And...I am thinking about the work I'm doing with my therapist. I don't know what the future holds for me. Sometimes I feel a glimpse of it, but really, there is no way to know. I can only hope that it will be better than the past has been and strive towards that goal. But I don't know. I hope that someday I will be partnered....but if it isn't someone that I can love from the depths of my soul, then I would rather be alone. It is much, much better to be alone than to be in a relationship which lacks sincerity.
  
  
• I do know that if I should ever find myself in someone's arms again, I want to be there, to really be there, in the moment, not floating away, not disappearing with my mind to another place. I've spent all my life locked away, protected within myself...imprisoned. I want to be free. Whether or not it's fair is inconsequential, but in order to be present, to stay present, I will need to do the necessary work.
  
  
• When I spend so much time living inside my head, a head full of years of negative programming and trauma and pain, is it any wonder if I'm depressed? Maybe when I get free of that I'll feel better in a more general sense as well.
  

This...(laughing)...is the funniest thing I've encountered in weeks! lmao.... I especially love the ending!

I don't want to do anything that hurts or negatively affects you. :-( I have to figure out what exactly I am doing and then do everything in my power to change that.
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I don't know if you read this, but what if you did? I write really awful, depressing shit here, and while it's cathartic in a way....in someone else's shoes, reading it? Oh god. I can write that sort of stuff in my sketchbooks. And the thing is that I am not actually this blue 24/7, it's just sort of turned into my venting place. :-/

I feel like someone has torn a big gaping hole in my soul. It's the ache that never goes away.

I don't know how to tell her that ten years from now, I will still love you. Oh, I know how, but first of all it would be an incredibly bad idea and secondly she doesn't believe that what I feel is real. Still, this is true. And it will not be an obsession, because I am not obsessed. The thought of you is like the string that holds the beads of my thoughts, of my life, together. Like the beacon of a lighthouse when I am tossed mercilessly on an endlessly storming sea. You may be my favorite color, a color I cannot imagine a world without, but you are not the only color, the only light, or the only thing my necklace is made of.

I would never, never hurt you, never. How can she think that I would ever present a danger to you? That cuts me to the bone.

Have you ever seen one of those movies where there's a kid, usually a boy, with some animal that he's befriended? Sometimes it's a wild animal, other times it's a stray dog...usually he either doesn't have his parents permission or the animal turns out to be more trouble than the parents expected it to be. Either way, they tell him that the animal has got to go. But...the animal doesn't want to go, because it's bonded to the boy. Finally the kid has to pretend that he's really mad at the animal- he might chase it, yell, throw rocks. Sometimes the boy cries while he's screaming at the dog to get lost, that he hates it, that he never wants to see it again. The animal goes off reluctantly, usually not all at once. Or maybe it hangs back, hiding in the brush, far enough away but...not too far. It depends on the movie.

Sometimes I feel like that animal.

This was an unbelievably stressful day and I am so glad it's over. I don't even want to talk about it.

But the sky was so pretty...it was just exactly the right color.

Tell me why, please...why do I have to feel so ashamed about this? Perhaps I am simple minded, but I cannot understand why everyone doesn't love you to pieces. It just seems obvious to me that you're an inherently lovable person, so of course I like you.

Spinning wool on a wheel is very relaxing and centering...makes the worries just fly away. :-)

I've started spinning some of the Shetland fleece that I washed. I am spinning it quite fine, but not laceweight fine, I don't think. The mohair has spoiled me and I have now decided that if I make some sort of masterpiece, the kid mohair is going to be in it!

Meanwhile, the Shetland fleece is turning out a pleasant white/gray. Not sure if this yarn will be dyed or not later on.

Sigh. I have to try to be nice to myself this week, because there really isn't anyone else who can do that for me. Partly this is because I won't let anyone near, not really, so while I complain so bitterly of feeling so alone, isn't it a condition of my own making? I continue to choose it, though....because I know: when you let people in close enough, when you let them become irreplaceable, they're also close enough to really hurt you, and when you lose them, the loss is bottomless.

It's not the answer anyone wants to hear, but I don't know that I'll ever stop missing you. Because despite all the armor, all the defenses, somehow I am terribly, frighteningly vulnerable to you, to an unprecedented degree. And I don't really have the words for what that's meant.

I won't lie. I'm dreading this week. I'm afraid of it. So please, folks, be nice to me or just leave me alone. Save the little talks, the little condescensions, the kindly insults, the control trips, for next week. This week teems with ghosts and flashbacks of times so bad and so good that they seem more like hallucinations than memories.

There is nothing so urgent that it cannot wait until next Monday.

And....I was taking the first test for my class last night, was almost finished with it, when the internet connection went down. I tried and tried and tried to reconnect, to resend, to no avail. There are no retakes. I am just sick over this. I should never have enrolled in college while living where I do as it has been nearly impossible to pass a class due to transportation and internet difficulties. It is not free to live here; it is really fucking expensive when you fail one class after another for very petty reasons and when the alternative is to get internet in town at coffee shops (or the library when it's open).

Edited to add: apparently it saved some of the answers, not all of them, and submitted them. I got a D. I feel like crying. :-( To make matters worse, the "correct" answers to some of the questions are not, in fact, correct. For example, the ancient Greeks may have prescribed marriage as a cure for hysteria, but this was because pregnancy was supposed to lubricate and calm the uterus; therefore the Greek cure for hysteria was pregnancy, not marriage. :-/

Found a nice old livestock/animal husbandry textbook at the thrift store today. 80% of it is about cattle and swine, almost none of it is about goats. It does have a lot of useful information though. I want to know why so many animal diseases are caused and solved through feed and simple management and often the very same disease in humans often does not seem to share the same cause and solution.

For example, in dairy goats, urinary calculi are caused by too much calcium in the feed of a male animal. You generally do not feed a buck or wether goat alfalfa, or if you do, only in small quantities, because they will very likely get urinary calculi and that is more or less a death sentence. To reduce the risk of UC, goat owners feed their male animals ammonium chloride in their feed. Sometimes you can save an animal with ammonium chloride if you catch it quickly enough and are lucky. All of this is standard, common knowledge among goat breeders. Yet men are not warned against excessive calcium intake as adults and as far as I can tell, (too lazy to google for it, but I have done so before) there has not been much interest in feeding ammonium chloride to men who are at risk of getting UC, despite the level of pain and trauma involved. :-/

Yeah, yeah...I know. Medicine does not always translate across species (which is why we test stuff on rodents, and abnormal, albino rodents at that?!). It's just that at least 75% of what afflicts the health of livestock is related to their diet or management and the rest is genetics, trauma, freak occurrences, etc. I also recognize that livestock breeders practice selective breeding and culling, etc, and that humans do not, because that would be morally wrong. We practice these voluntarily on a different, much milder level, but still, the differences cannot be wholly due to genetics.

I have all the respect in the world for modern medicine...after all, this is the girl who wanted to be a doctor sooooo badly for so many years. I guess what I am saying is that I wonder sometimes whether a similar proportion of human illness is due to diet and poor management (lifestyle, upbringing, living conditions, in other words, environmental factors that could be changed). How strange that we know how to optimize the health of the animals we raise for our own food but that we do not manage our own health with the very same principles!

I am beginning to have my doubts about Wendell Berry. I still admire him, but he and I have some definite differences. :-/ A wife as a substitute for a computer?? Seriously?

The only viable way out of the position I am currently in, is to make the jump to a job with benefits. Oh, I suppose there are other ways; but this is the most obvious. Now the question becomes one of how on earth to get such a job? It has also got to be something that I can learn or be trained for and something which will not stress me out beyond the range of my coping skills.

Um. Hmmmmm.

I need to get some goats. I am not kidding (haha).

Every time I've been broken before, I had the goats to lean on (literally), their animal warmth to snuggle up to, their patient ears to talk to...and goats don't tell secrets or lies and they don't judge, either. They just listen and look at you wisely or as if waiting to hear more. It is pathetic to admit, but I do not know if I can get through this without them.

What does one call it, heart, soul, mind, psyche? Whatever it is, that thing inside that hurts and feels and holds everything together...it feels like it has osteoporosis, like the interstices are growing ever thinner, ever more likely to crumble. I don't have anything to feed it, to build it back up again, to reinforce the weak spots.

There are only these judgmental people telling me how pathetic I am and that it's wrong for me to feel the way I do and god, I hate their trying to impose their narrow minded morality on my feelings. Not all of them...there are a couple of exceptions....but mostly. It's not their place to tell me how to feel, particularly when I never asked them. I hate to say this, but why can't people be a little more like animals sometimes??

When I met the lady who I am buying the spinning wheel from, she gave me a shopping bag full of fiber, too. She appeared to just grab a couple of fistfuls from a nearby sack, at random, as we walked by, which sort of wowed me in itself. About half of it is some longwool with very crimped wool. I'm not sure that this is a specific breed- it could be a mix of longwool types. If I had to guess on the breed I would guess some kind of Leicester crossed with Romney, but I really have no idea and since she is a sheep shearer, it may not even be from her sheep. It's nice, interesting wool of a type I haven't worked with yet.

But the mohair.....words fail me. It is sort of a strawberry blonde color or maybe rosy beige and it's finer than a baby's hair. It is fine to the point of being ethereal. It must be kid mohair?? I have never in my life encountered mohair of this airy, lustrous delicacy. It is so incredibly fine. I am longing to spin it, but since it is the highest quality stuff I've ever seen, I want to be able to do the fiber justice when I spin it. It seems to be finer and lighter than silk. It's like that shiny, lightweight, airborne fluff that floats away from say, milkweed or thistles..hmmm....there are other plants like that...only this is much thinner and lighter, longer and curly. It is simply wonderful.

Anyway...having experienced mohair again, I am trying to figure out why on earth I wanted sheep. I could just buy a fleece if I want the wool. Mohair is worth more, the mohair subsidy is higher than that for wool and goats are just so much more interesting and fun to have around than sheep. Sheep just sort of stand there, eat, run away if you try to pet them, etc. But goats....goats never outgrow their childhood. They're always frolicking around, climbing whatever they have to climb on, leaping off whatever they climbed and causing various sorts of mischief. Angora goats are less naughty than dairy goats and the bucks don't seem to smell as dairy bucks do (dairy bucks reek); they're a bit more laid back, but they are still intelligent, mischievous, playful animals.

It's all just a pipe dream anyway...but yeah...goats, not sheep.

The long term effects of spanking children.

I remember the day I realized that spanking was not ordained by god (I still believed in him then). I had just spanked one of my kids, and my hand hurt, apparently more than the kid's bottom. I stopped and looked at my hand, really looked at it. Thought about the delicacy and intricacy of the engineering marvel that a hand is. About the fine and detailed work that hands are capable of. And I realized that hands were not designed (by god or evolution) to be used as instruments of blunt force or to hit things with. As obvious as this may sound now, it was a breakthrough moment for me.

Repetition compulsion.

Another way of saying that my psyche is going to find ways to sabotage me and cause pain despite all my best efforts to avoid it and that every time is going to be like reliving all of it, a lifetime of it, all at once. This means that the pain will not stay the same. Every time this happens to me, it is going to be worse. And that...is not good.

It's like having to live through variations of the same nightmare over and over again, except that you don't get to wake up. There are no comforting arms to melt into, no familiar heartbeat. No.

Like love, these are things reserved for other people. I don't know why, and I am tired to death of asking why, am not going to ask why anymore because it doesn't matter if it isn't going to ever be different. Some things just are. I can resent it, I can blame, can despair, can wish that I were able to be a plain vanilla girl despite the inherent horror of that. But that doesn't change anything. Some things simply cannot be changed and fighting it is useless.

I try so hard. Maybe people don't see it, but I'm constantly working on myself, trying to fix the things that are wrong inside of me, trying to get past the things that torment me from years ago. I'm always thinking, always trying: why did I say this? Am I relating to her for who she is, or as an echo of my sister or mother, etc? I don't want to spend my life caught and entangled in a net of pain, so I'm always sorting things through mentally, consciously trying to unravel those knots. If I didn't, I think I would go crazy, surrounded by so much stuff in my mind that, contrary to what other people say, I cannot simply cram away and not think about again. It's always there, so I have to deal with it.

But I don't think it's going to be good enough. Which is just as well, because I don't do it with a goal in mind other than being a healthy and reasonably sane person, but I do hope that someday, I will know what it's like to feel truly loved, truly safe, for more than a few seconds or minutes. I can't remember being held as a kid, except on my uncle's lap, the one who was like an older brother. I learned not to expect to be loved and to be suspicious when it was offered, to test the people to see if they really meant it. I grew a shell and it kept me safe, but also it kept me apart. I learned that it was only safe to love from a distance.

So many people have worn themselves out beating on that shell, begging, pleading, everything, to try to get me to come all the way out. But I could not. And every time, when they walked away and I pulled myself back into the dark safety, I cried, but I was so glad that I had kept the safety of that shell. Otherwise, it might have been worse. Every time someone I cared for, a lover or friend or mentor, walked away, it only confirmed that the shell was definitely the place to reside in.

And now (I still have no idea how this happened) I am naked and raw and bleeding, and when you look at me, all you see is pain. But if you look again, you will see those raw and bleeding places are where the shell used to be. For the first time in my adult life, I have no shell and this is terrifying and it hurts and I feel so vulnerable, but also it is new and I am learning.

Even if I scream and cry to have my old, safe shell back, I think that probably it was time to learn how to live without it.

You know, I just read back over the past week or two. I'm kind of a strange little chick. And although I tend to seek out and prefer quirky people (usually they have to be funny and intelligent as well), I can see where people might prefer not to have to deal with me, why a very simple, basic and attractive female would be easier in terms of predictability at least.

Of course...that sort of leaves out all the good stuff about me that they might not have...but I truly can see it. I am definitely not the sort of person who would be anyone's generic cup of tea.

Cleaning is a good way to work off frustration, irritation, etc and unlike drinking, screaming, or blogging nastiness, it has a predictably positive outcome. Not that I am going to let the confidentiality breach slide, but acting in anger isn't wise. Nobody is dying or bleeding here, so there's time to think about it.

I now have a spinning wheel to use. It has been graciously lent to me to try out for a while, to make sure that this is the right wheel for me. It's a Louet Victoria. A louet is what I wanted, but I never dreamed I'd find one of these. I thought I might get an S15 or if I were very lucky, an S10. This model is very, very nice. It weighs only 8 lbs and folds up for easy portability, and the carrying bag even has backpack straps! Yes: I could conceivably pack a snack and some water, put this baby on my back and go for a hike, and then sit and spin wool in complete solitude, surrounded by nature and the views. :-) (Hopefully it wouldn't rain!)

But the real treat was meeting the lady who buys and sells these wheels. She is so interesting, intelligent and talented!

A problem with my abnormal psychology class: am beginning to think that I have the wrong book. I am disinclined to purchase a new book even if this is the case as I bought this one brand new just last year. The class is not at all difficult. I will be OK. It does make things slightly interesting though.

Today was better. My house still has too much stuff in it.....hey: is it possible for a house to be bulimic? Clearly more purging is in order.

I will confess to having a very strange sense of humor. :-P

Anyway, I can't say why, but singing makes me feel 100% better, even if it is the same CD or two over and over again. Never mind showers, nobody can hear you if you sing while driving.

The other loom set-up I made didn't work and I had to take the thing apart. I just made a slightly nicer version of one I used as a teen, an inkle loom. Usually these are used to make narrow bands, such as belts, bookmarks and similar items. I want a scarf, which is quite a bit wider but is still essentially a band of fabric. I haven't attempted using this technique with anything this wide, with wool yarn or with handspun yarn. This should be interesting. Sorry to say, I just made the loom and then came here to do laundry rather than warping the loom (the least fun part of weaving).

Spun a small amount of the Shetland wool I'd washed to see if the Irish ring shawl idea is even a possibility. Some wools can be spun very thin, others cannot. I was able to spin this finer than anything else I've tried so far. I don't know whether the fineness I came up with is sufficiently fine to be classified as laceweight yarn. Um, a problem: my knitting skills are only rudimentary, as far as I can tell ring shawls are always knitted and not crocheted and these shawls are not exactly a beginner's project! Oh well. It will take me a long time to spin the yarn anyway. Perhaps by then I'll have more knitting experience. I could make one for my daughter to start out with before moving on to a larger version.

Also duplicated the bird pattern and cut out the templates for it (this is a quilt pattern).

Am reading Life is a Miracle By Wendell Berry. I've only just begun the book, so have no feedback to offer on it as yet. Once I have read more of it (and possibly E.O. Wilson's Cosilience as well, for the sake of perspective and competing viewpoints), I'll be able to render a more articulate opinion.

An idea: if I retake Chem 101 (I got either a B- or a C in it), get an A or at least a B+ and really understand it, then maybe I could take Chem 111 (and no other science or math classes during that semester- 5 credits of chem is enough) and actually pass it. To what end other than proving that I am able, that is the question.

I can feel it coming, like the sense of foreboding that I used to get before those panic attacks (?) that only happen at night, when I'm asleep. I can feel things start to get loose and wobbly at the joints, at the places where it all comes together to make a cohesive, workable life. I am afraid.

I tell myself that I'm stronger now, that I've survived for a year like this, that things are better than they were before. I'm lying to myself. The truth is that I'm tired, so tired. This year has worn me down, left me depleted and disheartened. It's an entire year of seeing that things are not ever going to really get better. Last year, I didn't know that. Last year, the pain was brighter but I was still strong within, fired by the memories of your kindness and of the light in your eyes, of your warm voice holding the sound of my name so gently in the air. Now there's only desolation, exhaustion, no hope. Last year, there were people who could help me. This year, my resources for help are not at all the same...they're tired of me, frustrated that I still hurt.

A week and a half ago, I would have said that whether or not the person you love feels the same way, still there is purpose and meaning and fulfillment in that love, that it can still give life meaning, that one can still draw strength from it.

Now I am reeling, tottering off kilter. They say it's wrong for me to feel this way. It makes them uncomfortable, makes you uncomfortable, it's shameful and old and I should throw the thought of you away as though you were rubbish in my mind....but you never will be and I cannot help this.

They are not artists and they do not, cannot understand that the beautiful color of you infuses and breathes life into everything I think, see, do or create. They don't understand that you are my muse and would surely be horrified if they did. All they can see is the concept of possession. I cannot understand this anymore than I can understand wanting to live in a dark basement because one cannot possess the sunshine. Would anyone scold such a prisoner for missing the daylight or for wanting to paint a sun drenched landscape?

People cannot be possessed. Perhaps they think so, but I know...it is not so and that love which is about possession, not appreciation for the qualities of what is loved....isn't love at all. It's just greed. If something has to be owned to be loved, then it isn't loved whether it's owned or not.

Never mind. They're wrong. Why should I implode because someone else is small minded and criticizes what they don't understand? Forget it. I will survive in spite of them.

I think I am going to have to see a doctor about my back. There is a serious disconnect between the expectations of other people and what my body is able to do without pain. Makes me feel wimpy. :-/

Found: the pattern that I adapted for my bird quilt; I'll adapt it again (the same way) and make another block. I might even make a number of them, since there are still some of the fabrics used in the first quilt. I could make my son another one...but it will never be the same as the one I sewed while he churned in my belly and I dreamt of what he might be like. From now on I am going to document the quilts, sign them indelibly (as opposed to a sewn on label), and keep a much closer eye on them!

Still culling and occasionally upgrading my too-copious stuff. I'm tired of moving possessions that don't actually mean anything to me or that I'm not even sure I like or will ever wear. I have to move by June. No, I have no idea. Seriously. NO idea of where we will be moving to. I cannot make enough money to pay rent without losing my health care and I have to have that health care.

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I'm not sure what the answers are for my feelings about you, either. The wise man that I talked to on Friday told me this: that I second guess myself too much. That a little bit of self critique and second guessing is OK, but once I come to a conclusion or decision, I shouldn't keep second guessing it at every turn. He also says that no matter what other people say, I'm not delusional, that I'm not the fool they all say I am. He's the only one who ever says this.

I don't know.

In a way it doesn't matter, because there are things that I have to do. There's so much to do. I have to gather myself back together and stay the fuck away from her and keep her away from me. I have to be more careful, whatever state I'm in. I can't afford to crumble and I can't afford to be truthful and lying is distasteful...so avoidance will have to be the modus operandi from now on. I'll never respect her again.

But it does matter...because if I close that door, my heart will turn to stone. All of me, stone. I can't say that I'd never, ever be with anyone else, but they'd never get close to that vulnerable part of me. And in truth, no one else ever has and I'm so scared, I feel so fragile.

I just made contact with a lady who buys, repairs and sells used spinning wheels and shears sheep down in California. She has luster longwool breeds and also sells fiber! And she knew Donald Smith of Sodium Oaks fame (this is the herd my bloodlines were based on when I had dairy goats) personally!

I get to meet her in person next weekend. It sounds like she has a variety of spinning wheels available. I'm so excited and happy about this! :-)

Ugh!! Why such a strong need to justify my existence?

Here is something fascinating: Behavioral Ecology

And...I want to read Darwin's On the Origin of Species

Bioethics is interesting too.

I cannot adequately convey how much it hurts me to have failed as a biology major. I love science and its orderly ways, taxonomy in particular. It never occurred to me that I might not be able to make the cut to be a botanist. I had actually wanted to go to medical school. Oh, that seems laughable now. I think that partly I wanted to redeem myself in the eyes of my family, but also blood and guts interest the hell out of me. Gory as it may sound, I've always wanted to participate in a human dissection.

Sigh....I guess that sounds kind of sick. It's only that the human body and how it works is so beautiful...especially the bones.

Plants are my passion, but even so, the idea of being a botanist was always sort of second best. Not being able to do either is just sort of painful. Realizing that most people don't expect much from a mother with Asperger's and six kids anyway isn't much of a consolation. It hurts. I am intelligent. I hate it when people talk down to me, particularly when it's apparent that they're not that bright themselves. And my family...god, I don't even know what to tell them anymore. If it weren't for the math, and particularly the math involved in chemistry, I could probably have done well enough. My grades in the other science classes were good in spite of the long commute, parenting, etc. But "ifs" don't matter.

I might be able to go into scientific illustration. Botanical illustration for example...but there are hundreds of people who are better at this than I am. I love bones....they're so beautiful. I could draw bones.

But...would it pay, that is the question.

I could get EMT or paramedic training and possibly work my way up to the P.A. program in Spokane. Yeah, right....

Phlebotomy is interesting but doesn't pay well. The CNA--> LPN--> RN route is probably not viable due to the social skills required. The psych field is rapidly losing its appeal; however this is still an option. Not sure what's involved in forensic botany or forensic anthropology....probably math....and probably there are no job opportunities anywhere nearby for this. I loved working in the library. I could get a library science degree. I never tire of books and the categorization involved delights me. I wonder if public libraries give their employees health insurance. An additional plus to this idea is that working in libraries does not exhaust or deplete me mentally or emotionally as other jobs have. It is quiet, soothing, restorative work.

Huh. That might be my best bet. :-/

I suppose it will come off as a misplaced sense of priorities, but I would really like to get involved in some kind of charity work.

Such as, for example, making weighted blankets for kids who are on the autism spectrum or who have other sensory issues. These blankets are so expensive to buy, relatively easy to make and they make a world of difference for the children who need them. I hear of people who need them and cannot afford one on a regular basis...or people who think a weighted blanket might help their child but who cannot afford to shell out $200 without being certain if it would make a difference or not. Therefore, it might also be nice to have loaner blankets that people could borrow for a few weeks.

I don't think I could do it by myself. I'd need help. The fabric could be gotten easily and cheaply; the weighted poly beads are the biggest expense.

Redirect---->

Good things:

I found a Pendleton wool suit, gray flannel, that fits me perfectly, at a thrift store yesterday. It cost a whopping $7.50. It is a jacket/skirt set. I had no skirts that weren't tie-dye, mini or for dancing...so it's nice to have one that's more respectable/dressy.

I found out that some of my quilting fabric was still stored at the house of my children's father! I haven't lived there for about 8 years...no wonder I haven't seen it for a while. I haven't looked through this stuff yet, but one of the boxes was of white, black and white prints and black fabric. It is very good to have found this.

I still have the dye that I bought to dye the wool before I found out that it's mostly for cotton. I have 2 yards of white fabric, a bunch of white T shirts to tie-dye, and hopefully there will be some more white fabric in this box which can also be dyed. Dyeing is so much fun. :-)

I need to dye the white fabric for the Storm at Sea quilt. There was no fabric in the colors of blue that I wanted at Ben Franklin. I need very pale blue, blue the shade of a winter sky on a sunny day and darker, more intense blues.

Being able to go to the gym alone yesterday was so incredibly nice. I need to start working out instead of frequenting the hot tub exclusively. I guess I am terribly self conscious about other people watching me go through movements, possibly ungracefully or ineptly. :-/ It would be good to overcome this and get the exercise....

Looking at Aubrey Beardsley's work this morning...he was so gifted.

Also, the artist friend (Hurley Dean) gave my son and I each a digital camera so that I can start uploading pictures of my work to Fine Art America. He says that they're outdated, worth only $5 on Ebay. For me though, having a functional digital camera to use instead of my cell phone is invaluable.

I was beginning to feel like I was finally emerging from the quagmire of self loathing and guilt , pain, etc. And now she wants to throw me back into that whole feeling guilty about my feelings trip?

Wow, thanks. Yeah, empathy. "All the empathy in the world", my ass. Or did you forget- I'm autistic. That feel good crap flies right into a brick wall when it gets thrown my way and it insults me. I loathe insincerity and thinly veiled self interest.

I was OK with my body hurting (like I said, dissociation), but I really did not need to have scabs ripped off my inner wounds.

Sigh.

I am trying. So hard. Not to let this bother me.

And god help me if my child ever takes off with one of my sketchbooks. :-/

Bob Dylan's "Sooner or Later" is playing here at Starbucks. ahhh...loving it. Forgot how much I like his music.

Thinking about my eldest son...realized that the one and only time I have seen him truly and wholly remorseful for something he did was when I enacted an unusual punishment. He'd been "playing" David and Goliath with his little brother and hit him in the head with a rock. I don't remember if there was blood or not, but I was pretty upset and he didn't seem very sorry even though his brother was crying and obviously hurt. I made him sit at the kitchen table and draw a picture of what he'd done; he started protesting but I told him that he wasn't getting up until he'd drawn a complete rendering of the event. By the time he was done with the picture he was sobbing, really upset, said he hadn't meant to actually injure Nathan. When I let him get up, he ran to his brother, hugged him and apologized all over the place. I've never seen him as sorry as he was that day.

What was it about that punishment that was so effective?

I never inflicted it on him again; maybe I should have...I don't know.

Fell on the ice yesterday morning and it didn't hurt so much at the time, but today has been a little more noticeable. It's certainly made me more careful.

And. Hmm...I don't know how to say it. I'm feeling better, a little bit at a time and I have decided to stay away from things that trigger childhood/early adulthood issues for now. Until I can cope with them, there isn't a lot of point in it. Things like animal cruelty, child abuse, freaky religions that subjugate women....there will be time for me to deal with this stuff once I learn the grounding techniques for coping with it. It's not that I'm denying it, but why rub my own nose in things that I know will hurt me?

Also: the longer I'm alone, the more it is sinking in and really penetrating: my body, life and time belong to me. Choices about what to do with these things are not anyone else's to make. If someone tries to act in a manner that is not consistent with that, I do not need to feel guilty or obligated. End of story.

This is such a relief to realize.

Art critic and fellow artist likes my fish (the one on display at Kokanee Coffee) and wants to know how many more I have! :-D

When I told him that the main obstacle to producing more is the lack of affordable firing space, he and another artist mentioned a guy around here who has a huge kiln that he used to let people fire stuff in.....That sounds promising. Apparently the man still has the kiln but they don't know if he is still renting out kiln space. If I could fire the fish, I could start making them again. Even on a part time basis, I could probably make one every other day at least and still have new ideas. This is so encouraging...between the lack of cash, transportation issues and work schedule, I had pretty much given up on the pottery class at college, where I could fire as much stuff as I can produce. Finding an available and local kiln would make all the difference in the world.

Good news: I found the Hidden Circles quilt! If the camera were still working on my cell phone, I'd post a pic here. So happy to find that I still have it.

Bad news: upon awakening I remembered, very vividly, yet another hand-pieced, hand-quilted quilt that I made for my daughter. This one was done in red and white, with little red squares. Going through the fabric has awakened all sorts of memories of the things I made. And he claims he doesn't have them. That was not a reassuring answer. :-(

I will go through everything I have, to ensure that I haven't overlooked them. If I have, I will owe the man a big apology....but I haven't seen any of these quilts since I lived there.
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Other than that...it's been a good day. I'm so happy that you're in this world. :-)

I don't know why, but baking makes me feel better. :-)

Never found a picture of the swallows quilt pattern, but here is Hidden Circles, one of the others that I am missing, except mine was more interesting because instead of white, the lighter areas were pale tie-dyed fabric. See all those pointy little triangles? It doesn't look like it, but there are hundred of them and they were a pain in the neck to cut out, keep separate from one another (they aren't all the same and using the wrong triangle in the wrong place screws things up) and piece. That was a lot of work. Grrrrr..... I am really hoping that when I go through the boxes in my closet yet again, I'll find it. It is only a quilt top; it doesn't have the batting or backing yet, because I hadn't decided on how to finish the border. See how the one in the picture looks as if the colored shapes are floating on white? If the border is colored, the same as the fabrics in the center, then the white melon shaped pieces appear to float on top of the color and it's as if you are looking through a lattice of these curved shapes to a deeper, more interesting layer beneath. If I ever find it or get it back, I'll post comparison pics to illustrate what I'm talking about.....

I think of the emails that I wrote and those hurt me almost as much as the one that I received. It's not smart to react and write something that can't be taken back. I was so scared...and I guess I thought that the solution was to try to pull the hook out if I could. I knew it would hurt, but I thought it would be like ripping the corner of my mouth open. Somehow I missed that I'd swallowed that hook so deeply that there's no way to get it out without ripping me apart. I knew that I loved you more than anyone before you (after is unfathomable), but I didn't know that my every breath would become a silent plea, an unspoken ache.

I had no idea.

I should make a list of all the career ideas I've entertained in the past 5 years and then see which ones are actually feasible. I don't know exactly what I want to do (that's actually possible) but I don't want it to be a lifelong job of washing dishes.

I just realized today that the guy I left almost 2 years ago either has or got rid of the beautiful bird quilt that I made for my youngest child while I was pregnant with him. I worked on that quilt during my lunch breaks, 15 minute breaks, in little bits of time because I worked full time during that pregnancy. It's made completely by hand, with curved piecing, from a pattern I made by adapting it from a pattern with four birds meeting in the center of each block. I'd link to a picture of this type of pattern, but it is uncommon and hardly ever seen. I loved that quilt, wasn't done with it, and it belongs to my son.

People always say, "it's just stuff, let it go, get over it". But you know if it was their quilt that they'd labored over for hours and days and years until holes were worn through the skin of their fingertips and that thing was sewn full of memories, love, etc...they wouldn't say that. They can only say that because it isn't theirs. So I think it's sort of callous and thoughtless of them.

I was upset about the biggest and nicest quilt already, the one I started when Daniel Haugen was dying of cancer. I'd poured so much love and pain into it and that quilt was a real masterpiece. It took me over ten years (not of continuous work obviously) to finish it. It's beautiful, wherever it is. But because you've eclipsed him, I was able to let it go. I resented the loss of such a beautiful thing but it didn't have as much hold on me.

The bird quilt however...and the others (at least one other, possibly several!!)...it's no longer an incident where one quilt, wrapped in a pillowcase for safekeeping, could have been mistaken for a pillow. No, he kept a number of my quilts. That's purposeful. He says that everything that was mine is legally his now, despite repeated requests for him to return it. I ask you (all): if I stole something, claimed I didn't have it for over a year and just refused to return it and then announced it was mine once the year was past, would that seem OK to anyone? That's stealing, regardless of time. If he kept it and then threw it away or gave it away, that's still wrong. A decent person doesn't do such things.

I want my quilts back. Every single one of them. If they're gone I want to know where they went and how so I can track them down and do what I can to get them back.

Sad.

Thrift store: I found a k.d. lang CD I didn't have yet (Torch and Twang), a flower-embroidered white-on-white shirt that feels like it was made for me and a purse. Yeah, a purse. It is all leather and apparently similar purses by the same designer sell for about $350. I just liked it because it is well made, not synthetic and has an elegantly simple and understated look...nice clean lines with no foo-foo stuff. It is still um...(cough)...a purse...but we'll overlook that for the time being. I haven't carried an actual purse since I was a teen in Chicago.

When we got home, I traced and cut out the Storm at Sea quilt pattern templates. I'm a bit upset with Paula Nadelstern (the book that had the pattern is one of her earlier ones) because she seems to have been set on making extra, needless, idiotic work. Tell me, please: why should I cut out and sew together 4 right angled triangles to make one square if I can simply cut out on square? Similarly, there are four long diamonds in each block. She has the templates designed so that you have to cut out eight isosceles triangles and join the short sides of 2 triangles to make a diamond that could have been cut out as a whole diamond rather than two triangles. I see this sort of thing all the time in quilting books and publications and it drives me nuts. My time is worth enough to me that I am not going to make something take three times longer than it has to unless there is a good reason for it. Anyway, I fixed the templates to rectify this flaw and will now need to make a sample block to ensure that my version is accurate.

Sigh. There was a time (only about 18 months ago) when I was thinking of majoring in art so I could go into textile design, either designing fabric or things such as quilt patterns. That seems so long ago and far away now. And the thing is, I could have done that. If my kid hadn't stolen my gas money. If I hadn't failed nearly all of my fall classes as a result. And I guess that if I were to move closer to the college, I still could take those classes over again...but really, what would be the point? I can't move unless I want to abandon kids, which I don't.

I suppose that I could freelance it from where I'm at. I was doing that eight years ago, designing patterns for a quilter/businesswoman's book that she was going to publish.

Today probably isn't a good time to think about it though...I am so tired. I dug out all my blue fabric. I am going to make the most beautiful quilt....

I know this is a repost...but am posting it again because it says it better than my lame words ever could.

Blue. Went to sleep in a good mood and my dog woke me up because she wanted to go outside. After she was appeased, I laid back down in the dark...and the words of that email crept into my mind and cracked me open again. Cried myself back to sleep, woke up still raw and aching.

Locking the effing dog out of my room tonight.

There will always be someone smarter, more successful, more attractive, more articulate, more talented in whatever area I want to be the best in. There's always someone better, someone brighter. But...there will never be another person just like me. I can't be someone I am not and in chasing after trying to be what I "should" be, would I be neglecting the exploration and expression of who I really am?

More IQ testing today. While driving home I realized the correct answers for two of the questions that I got wrong.

I'm so afraid the testing will show that I'm less intelligent. I'm not sure what tangible difference this would make in my life....I've already learned long ago that brains alone do not make success in life. Even brains + willpower and determination don't make for success. It is not going to matter if the number goes down a little.

Ugh!! :-/

I need reassurance and there isn't any and then I ask myself why I feel like I need external reassurance anyway?

This was a good day. :-)

I was thinking about the saying that nobody else can make you unhappy unless you give them permission to do so. I don't exactly agree with that. If a woman has been raped, it would be cruel to say that she is only unhappy and traumatized because she has chosen to be or because she is allowing the rapist to make her unhappy. If your partner has physically abused you, said incredibly cruel things to you or cheated on you, likewise...it's a little much to say that someone in that position would not be unhappy unless they were choosing to be.

On the other hand, I do think that there can be an element of personal choice involved. The woman who was raped can take steps towards healing the trauma and seeking justice. The abused partner can leave their partner and learn how to have a healthy, non-abusive relationship. The party who's been cheated on can either end it or hash it out and decide whether the love between them is enough to get through and past the cheating.

But what I was thinking today was that if this principle of only being unhappy if one chooses to be is true (and as I wrote above I don't accept it in this very simplistic form but I do think there is an element of truth here), then it follows that one must learn to be happy themselves. Another person can't make you happy unless you're already capable of being happy by your own volition.

For example: I once worked with a girl who was in a dysfunctional relationship with a married man. He had been her lover, her first and only lover, before he'd gotten married in a mail order sort of arranged marriage to his wife from the country he'd come from. My friend said that he still loved her...and I have to admit that he looked incredibly sad and wistful when he watched her. I don't know what the answer was to this situation...it was miserable and she cried all the time for him. Every now and then she'd get together with him and then she'd come to work really happy.

It turned out that not only was her her only lover, he was the only source of sexual satisfaction for her! (sorry, I just cannot think of a more polite way to put that). So she was going without, totally and thoroughly frustrated, for months at a time. I just couldn't imagine. That seemed nonsensical to me. So one day I said,
"Look, have you ever considered that you don't need a guy in order to not be frustrated?"
She just stared at me. And then she looked grossed out and said,
"You mean..like..touch myself? Oh, no. No. I could never do that. That's disgusting."

I felt really sad for her- that her own body grossed her out, that she thought a married man was her only possible source of satisfaction and that he had been her only source of information about her own sexuality. I can't even imagine. And then to think about what sort of pressure that would put him under!!
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So, this is a long post but back to the original thought...I think that instead of crying for what isn't, etc...I should focus more energy on being intrinsically happy and fulfilled. Maybe that's where I've gone wrong in the past. Goodness knows that there are lots of interesting things in this world to enjoy and to savor.

If I'm alone, it isn't because I'm a failure or inherently unlovable or ugly or not good enough or any of that crap. It's because I choose to be, because I am not ready right now and because I cannot be with the person that I love. And as I know so well, there are much, much worse things in this world than being alone. So...this is OK, I can make this work and I can choose to be happy and fulfilled from where I am right now. :-)

That thing I was all stressed out over apparently is not a concern. I will still be extremely careful. And I am still a little paranoid about it. :-/

Um, wow! The teacher copied part of my answer to her question to share with the entire class. (blush) A little embarrassing, but I'd be lying if I said that didn't feel good.

I am so stressed. It all seems so insurmountable and beyond hope sometimes. People say that I'm so smart that I can do whatever I want...they don't understand that brains aren't everything. I feel so useless, so powerless in the face of circumstances.

But I stop and think of you, of a thousand fleeting memories, of things that I loved about you. And somehow that makes me feel stronger. Makes no sense, but it's true.

I don't even know if you like me. Maybe you dread the sight of me. Maybe I'll never know one way or the other. Still the thought of you is like a fire within me that warms me when I feel so cold, so afraid, so unsure. I think of you and breathe...and I take another step.

Afraid. I don't know if I can trust my new therapist, or how far. And I am so tired of normal people telling me to simply stop thinking about whatever it is they think I am thinking too much about. Hey folks, get a clue- I am not really able to stop thinking about something. It's part of being on the autism spectrum. You may be able to, but please accept that I cannot. I can divert myself, can put myself in an environment that will distract my mind, but I cannot simply close a door on a train of thought or on a particular subject.

All I can say is that it has become obvious to me that I am not going to be able to talk to her about the thing which hurts me most. She will be very helpful regarding side issues which tie into that and she is probably the ideal choice for working through the trauma stuff. But as for the heart of the matter, no.

(edited to add)- How much am I going to be able to accomplish with someone that I don't know if I can trust?? Trust is one of those essential things for me. :-/

And...tomorrow is scheduled to be a logistical nightmare....so I should go to bed.

I am so frustrated!! That so-called loom that I tried to make doesn't work and it isn't going to work unless I want to spend HOURS separating strands of warp yarn that should be easily separated by the heddle and shed. I don't know where I went wrong but it is just not going to work. Now I have to decide whether I want to use the dowels to make an inkle loom or just wind my yarn up again and get some much needed practice knitting. A knitted scarf sounds so dull...so boring. I could bite off another big piece of trying to do something I don't know how to and attempt to learn how to knit cables....realistically there is no other way to learn this stuff other than trying.

sigh....

And the fleece is drying with crispy yellow tips on the locks. Yeah, crispy. One never thinks of wool as crispy but that is the only way to describe it. I think it needs to be washed and rinsed again. At least I did not felt it in the process of washing it! One can always rewash fleece whereas unfelting wool is impossible.

After checking out a bunch of quilting books that should have had the Storm at Sea pattern and did not, I finally located one that does..by looking in the index and table of contents of each and every book until I found one that had it. This is a classic pattern! I can't believe how hard it was to find...with the advent of rotary cutters, quilters are tending not to make quilts which require cutting pieces out by hand or angles that are tricky to make neatly on a sewing machine. I will be doing it all by hand....so it won't matter to me anyway.

So anyway...after all that enthusiasm, I am feeling a bit unproductive and inadequately skilled. :-(

I don't like Freud. He was an asshole who made excuses for sexual predators and put the blame squarely on the shoulders of the victims. Unfortunately, he did have some worthwhile ideas so he can't be discounted entirely.

Made a very simple loom and warped it with the yarn I was talking about before...the stuff I want to make a scarf out of. I attached the heddle loops and stick too...just need to put the shed stick in and then I can get to weaving but my limbs were going numb from sitting in front of it on the floor. Once I get it all set up I'll probably go at it until it's all done.

Homework: the question was, "what is normal or abnormal? How does an individual's culture influence what is abnormal?"

Now, I think that there are some things which are crazy and wrong regardless of culture, such as subjecting children to scarification or circumcision (of either gender)...but...that wasn't really the question, was it?

So I said:
-------------------------------------
Distinguishing between what is normal and what is not is more complicated than it might seem at first glance. One of the principal problems is that there is no clearly defined line betwen the two; abnormality is a continuum such that one would be hard pressed to find a perfectly normal individual with whom to compare others. We grow up thinking that the differences are black and white or that they can be sorted on a line graph from abnormal to normal. A better visual model might be one of a spherical area in which a perfectly normal person would be in the dead center of the sphere and extremely dysfunctional, abnormal people would be on the periphery. Some of us might be a little closer to the center of the sphere than others, but most of us would land somewhere in between. The most wonderful thing is that none of us are ever in exactly the same spot; we are all unique and so each of us has a slightly different perspective on life and reality.

Still, it is necessary to identify warning signs that a person might need help. The three hallmark features of a mental disorder, as defined by the DSM IV are:

• Subjective and present distress
  
• The ability to functionin everyday life is impaired
  
• The person is at a significantly increased risk of pain, suffering, disability, loss of freedom or even death.

Excluded from these criteria are expectable and culturally sanctioned responses to particular events, atypical sexual, political or religious behavior and conflicts which are primarily between the individual and society. While people with severe mental illness often do not comply with societal mores, laws and values, this alone is not enough to label a person as mentally ill if they are not exhibiting distress, inability to function, etc.

Also relevant is the variance in behavior between cultures. For example, there are cultures in which grief or extreme distress is expressed in a way which looks almost like a seizure or demonic possession to the outside observer, but it is understood by the others present that the person is not physically ill, etc even though they may be writhing around on the ground. If this occurred in the U.S. the response from onlookers would be very different!
---------------------------------

I am really bad at concluding a paper or essay neatly. :-/ It is so nice to be back in school though- believe it or not, I really like this sort of thing!

I am so worried about my kids and I'm so limited in what I can do. That's frustrating. I can only try to do the best I can to the extent possible...and to try to become a more functional person so that I can really be here for them.

It was still dirty after the first washing so rather than rinse it I opted to give it more time in a batch of fresh soapy water. The first round of wash water had turned a deep brown (yuck) and the fleece...I had thought it was shades of beige and off white, but it is turning this lovely white with gray shading! I guess the beige was just the dirt!

and.....

Sometimes I feel so vulnerable, so fragile, and I hate feeling like that. And yet....I guess that one has to be vulnerable in order to feel close to someone. You can't have one without the other. And never have I felt this open, like a turtle without a shell. It scares me......but. I can't help it. I have to choose the fear, the defenselessness because if I choose the shell, the armor, I don't know if I'll ever be truly happy again. I'd never have the guts to risk taking it off again so I'd always be alone no matter who I was with.

I felt so safe....it was just...gosh I don't even know how to describe it. It was like coming home- to what home should be- for the first time in my life and feeling perfectly comfortable there.

Washing the Shetland fleece right now. I went to the yarn store to see what laceweight yarn looks like (for that shawl that frankly, I don't have the skill to make yet). It is pretty thin. For what I want to make it will need to be thinner than that stuff. An idea: I could buy that yarn and make a shawl from it, perhaps for my daughter if there isn't enough in one skein for myself, to get the crochet technique down first...if it is crocheted. Maybe it has to be knitted...in which case I had better practice with regular sized yarn first, starting with that hat that I spun up all that yarn in so many colors for.

The spinning wheel fell through at the last minute, which is odd, because I'd had a dream this morning that it wasn't a good wheel for me to get. Huh.

I never did get to go to the hot tub because I spent about an hour talking to the owner of the yarn shop about fleece, the feasibility of getting local fleece and processing it into dyed roving to sell (via Etsy or other online venues because the locals here are unlikely to pay for it), etc. Then I got a haircut. I am not 100% happy with it but dammit, it was getting so out of control and unkempt! I was able to keep most of the length and once it gets a few inches longer it will be better.

I have come to the conclusion that the song I want was not done by Clannad. Suppose I could get the records of which CDs I checked out from the NIC library...but there are two CDs in hand that I am going to go through first.

And....the pain is gradually evaporating. I still miss you and feel the same but for christ's sake that doesn't mean I have to be in agony about it. Still, I think I am going to avoid the other grocery stores until, say, March. I hate that they have holiday stuff out looooong before its time. They have Easter stuff already- that's just ridiculous. Anyway, found out I can order food in bulk and by the case through my workplace, which reduces impulse purchases somewhat.

Hmmm...lots to do yet today...no time to sit around in the library if I want to get to the hot tub before I pick up my son!

Since I am wantonly spamming my own blog with music videos....here's another one. It will take a while to load for those who are on dial-up or have slow connections, but IMHO it's worth it.

An embarrassingly feely song: what can I say? I'm feeling feely today....which I suppose is better than being depressed. :-P

There has got to be a better version of this song where the lady isn't wailing. :-/

This one is also very, very nice. However, it is not the one that I miss and am looking for.

OK...this is going to drive me nuts until I find it. :-/

I cannot seem to find my favorite Clannad song. Sigh....this one will have to do for now.

Things I have been thinking about making:

• A quilt. I haven't decided on the design yet. One idea has been to make a Storm at Sea quilt. I've wanted to make one since I started quilting, but the diamonds were challenging to work with for a beginner so I postponed it. I love the optical illusion of curves when only straight lines have been used, a quilt made only with blue and white fabric and that it's a nautical theme. I've never lived by the ocean so I don't know how I can miss and yearn for it, but I do.
  
  
• The other quilt idea is to take all the countries from which my progenitors came and to make a quilt with a square with the national flower from each of these countries. As far as I know this would include England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, the Philippines, Germany and Spain. There may be others...and that's part of the problem. I am 99% certain of the above countries, but as for the rest, who knows? Also, these add up to 7, and 7 is not a number of square that fits precisely into any rectangular arrangement. I could probably add and eighth block for America. That would make it 2 wide by four long. Or I could just forget the whole silly idea.
  
  
• I have a Shetland fleece and my handspinning skills have developed to the point where I can spin fairly fine yarn. I'd need to be able to spin it even finer to make an Irish lace shawl....and I am pretty sure that my work would not be anywhere close to the caliber of the legendary shawls that were of such fine yarn and lacework that the entire shawl could be passed through a ring....but Shetland wool is the traditional type which was used to make these shawls...and it might be nice to try. Here is some of the work done by a (very talented!!!!) lady who is trying the same thing. I would like to point out however, that she did not spin her own wool, and I will be. ;-)
  
  
• A dress. Ack!!!! What is happening to me?! But I can see this dress in my mind. It has a mid-calf range hem and it laces up from the waist to the bodice. It is tailored and close fitting through the torso with a skirt that is flowing but not poofy-full. It looks sort of like the sort of dress a peasant might wear. I haven't decided yet whether the sleeves are part of the dress or if the dress is worn over a blouse....nor have I decided what sort of fabric to use, but the fabric needs to be understated. I also have to figure out how to construct the garment so that it is sturdy enough to withstand the pull of being laced up, and what the laces will be threaded through. It would not do to use grommets.
  
  
• With the Blue-Faced Leicester yarn that I spun up a few weeks ago: maybe it would be nice to weave a scarf from it? It has a tweedy look that would lend itself well to weaving and not so well to knitting.
  
  
• A felted laptop case/messenger bag. The felt would be heavy and thick, sturdy. I am not sure how to construct the strap. I want to put some kind of an animal or something on the front flap. Haven't decided whether this should be a goat, a salmon, sheep or just leaves. The salmon is kind of personal for me. I am not sure that I want to wear it so publicly on a bag like that.
  

One of the guys I work with has a mom who makes tapestries...and she is selling her spinning wheel- to me for a very reasonable price, as it turns out! I am jazzed! I'm not sure when I will get it, (the wheel is currently residing in Moscow, Idaho) but I have a lot of fleece to wash and card until then.

Happy dance!!!

A co-worker has the same name as me and we were discussing our name today....which of course made me think for a while. I've never liked my name, particularly the long version of it. But then...the way you said it...it didn't sound unpleasant anymore. It didn't sound like a dirty word. It sounded nice, and suddenly I didn't mind having it. I'd never heard it sound like that before.

I don't know if I'll ever hear you say my name again.

I don't know if I've posted it before and I'm not in the mood to go digging around in old stuff and risk upsetting myself (ugh! embarrassing!) so am going to post it. If it's a duplicate post, too bad.

Anyway, my dad is a musician and he plays mostly Bach and church music (Lutheran, hymns, etc). I've heard him playing this song since I was able to hear, probably and I love it. I just never get tired of it...but I am hardly ever able to find anyone who plays it in a way that satisfies me, because I'm used to Dad's playing. Other people tend to muddy up the precision of the notes and I hate that! This guy does a very nice job...if only my computer speakers could do it justice.

You're like this song. I never get tired of you. I could listen to you all day long, see you every day, and still you'd be as dear to me as when I first realized that I cared about you.

Class has begun and seems to be off to a promising start. The last time I took this class, the guy wanted us to not disclose anything about our personal life or family history, etc. Do you know how hard it is to discuss a disorder that you are intimately acquainted with, with people who are badly misinformed, without mentioning that you have it or know someone well who does? Well, I couldn't do it. He deleted half of my discussion posts and didn't give me credit for them, even when I tried to follow his petty little rules. Good riddance to him and hello sunshine! to the teacher we have now.

New therapist. I had to do something different.... My first impression is that this is going to end up being very productive once we get over the huge hump of preliminary information/history. And...the techniques here will tie in well with Quaker practice/silence/philosophy.

Outbid on the spinning wheel already. Still don't know whether to keep or drop that class.

On the bright side: I got a *brand* *new* mattress for free yesterday! Brand new! I was not half as excited at the time but after my son and I wrestled it into place on the bed frame, I realized: nobody else has ever had sex on this bed before me! It is pristine! A mattress without baggage or history! LOL..... I realize that this is ridiculous but somehow the idea of a new bed that has never been used by anyone else just thrills me to death. :-P I know, I'm silly....(and maybe a little territorial?).

This is the one by Yoyo Ma that you liked...probably my favorite work by him.

Sigh....there is boring talking after this. If I can replace it with a better one I will. :-/

Currently the high bidder on Ebay on a spinning wheel of the brand I really wanted. I was about to take the plunge on an Ashford Kiwi but after further research....had turned my attention back to Louets, wishing I could afford one...when I found this one for about a third of the price it would cost new. I don't really expect to win this auction, but I am sort of hoping... This is a nicer model than the one I'd been looking at.

Will see...I guess that the worst thing that can happen is that the seller will get a better price than they would have before. It was scandalously low before I bid on it...and is still reasonable. :-P

By the way- I should have mentioned this already since I bitched about her....the girl I had issues with at work- she and I are getting along fine now. I guess it was just the usual hazing that comes along with starting work in a deli environment.

I don't....know...that I will ever trust her completely, but since she is just a co worker it is not a huge issue. It's so nice to be able to work in a more relaxed state.

Doubting myself now. I have no idea how I'm going to be in a month. I'm scared. Taking two classes....and working full time...no internet at my house (unless I'm standing in the laundry room, which I suppose is better than nothing but not entirely tenable, especially for two classes). If I fail one of the classes or fall apart again and fail them both, not only am I not making progress on improving my GPA, not only am I out a LOT of money, I'll actually be in a position that's worse, academically, than the one I'm in now.

On the other hand...summer. I could take the other class during the summer semester, during which I will only have to pay $5 in general student fees. I still have no idea what is going to happen as far as the College Algebra class if I do get documentation for having a math disability. Maybe I don't have one. Maybe math is just my area of stupidity (along with misunderstanding social cues). But if it turns out that there's some reason that I'm actually unable to do this class, what exactly does accommodation look like? I've already tried the tutors, different teachers, just about everything. The only thing I can think of that would really help is to be allowed to bring a paper or index card with the math formulas that I reliably forget as soon as the text anxiety hits me...and frankly that sounds unlikely. If I had that, I could pass the first three tests and possibly do OK on the midterm. The tests after the midterm are when my inability to comprehend logarithmic and exponential functions would doom me- those would be a loss but since all the test scores get averaged out, I would need to at least try. Even a score of 25% or 33% is better than a big fat 0. The final exam...I would be able to do about half the problems and if I were careful, I could get a 50% on that. If the instructor curves the scores....I might get a higher grade. I'd also have to do really well on the homework in order to pass the class...possibly just barely.

Ugh....I hate feeling stupid. But what I am getting at is....maybe I shouldn't take both classes. :-/

The other class I was waitlisted for, Developmental Psychology, opened up...so I took it. The thing is that I don't have the book (unlike Western Art History) and I haven't failed this class before (unlike Western Art History), so I am going to need to get a (used!) book if I keep this class and even if (when) I get an A, it won't bump my GPA up as much as the other class would have. However, I do think that this class will be more interesting, worthwhile and relevant to my everyday life than the Western Art History...which frankly was surprisingly dull.

Also....I am not going to be able to buy a spinning wheel if I take this class. Ah well...priorities.

More neuro-psych eval stuff today: evaluated for ADHD and started on the IQ test. She says that I did really well, but I'm still a little stressed over it. I do not want my score to drop any further (lost 6 points the last time- my friend still thinks this is ridiculous for me to be upset about, lol). Apparently I have four more hours of testing to go.

A confession: despite the anxiety of doing less well, I love this kind of testing (well, except for those horrible number tests). It's so much fun....especially the matrix reasoning (?) and those little cubes that get arranged to make patterns. This test carries so much more weight than most of the college exams that I freak out over (to the point of forgetting pretty much everything).....but it's so enjoyable. Yeah, OK, so I'm a bit odd. :-P

In fact...the test actually made the whole day pleasant. LMAO... I have no good explanation for this!

Dear Men,

Just because I have a vagina doesn't mean that I am obligated to share it with you. Whining about having a very lonely penis who is tired of Madame Palm is not going to help your case. When I said that I'm not dating right now I meant it, and yeah, that does include pity fucks. Even if I were feeling together enough to be on the market, I would want someone who could respect me and comprehend simple boundaries. If my dog can understand the word "no", I don't think it's a lot to ask of a human.

That is all.

Jen

There are all sorts of irrational and embarrassingly emotional things that I'm fighting back the urge to say. I can only say that every day is becoming a struggle to stay afloat, that I am having dreams where I've succumbed to the urge to pick up the phone and disappointed in myself for not having been able to refrain from that. In all honesty I think the main deterrent is the terror that if I did, you might actually answer, instead of the ever so predictable and oddly reassuring voicemail message. Now I'm laughing because that is so bizarre and sad....

I think the most frightening thing about this whole thing has been that I no longer know what to believe, what to trust, what's true, what isn't, what stays the same, what changes, and least of all, my own perceptions, memory, etc. I just don't have any faith or sense of security in myself that anything that I know or knew or heard or thought is trustworthy or valid. And that really, really scares me.

I mean, for example. I am pretty sure you said you didn't hate me, that you weren't mad at me. I think you did. Other people have told me that this is correct, so unless I've also imagined that, I can be fairly certain of this. But dammit, you look and act like you're angry at me and so then I have to turn inside myself and ask: are my perceptions and abilities to read social cues misleading me, or were you not angry then and are now? I don't know. I blink back to the email briefly enough to reflect, but not very long because it still hurts like a knife in my heart every single time it reads itself to me in my mind. And in that second, the overall tone sounds like you really, really hate me. Maybe you changed your mind. I don't know. What did I do? What could I have done that's so horrible it couldn't be atoned for somehow, that you'd still be angry at me for? And the panic bells start ringing and my mind starts racing around trying to find the answer, but I know that there won't ever be one. I cannot ask, but even if I could, I don't think you'd tell me so there's no point. I guess I can think of reasons why you might have been annoyed or exasperated with me at times, but not for this long, and I am trying so, so hard and still.

But I don't think I've done anything horrible. And now, thinking about it...I've never pissed anyone off badly enough to make them shun me for nearly a year without knowing why. If I screw up that badly, I generally have a very clear idea of exactly what I did.

So.

Maybe you aren't mad at me.

Maybe I shouldn't take it personally. Or I could try not to, anyway.

Maybe I should stop hating on myself for whatever I might have done, for the things I wish I could be and am not.

Maybe I should try to take every day of silence as a gift, but I don't have that much faith in myself or in life.

The one certain thing that I can say here is that what I have been doing isn't that productive. Obviously another mental approach is called for.

I sort of wish that I could go somewhere without calendars, without access to the outside world for a few months. But with children that isn't really an option.

I got my fleece (and a half) in the mail today. I haven't opened up the box yet. I spun the alpaca fiber (the huacaya kind). It was a dream to work with.

And all day at work I put on a happy face.

But...there is no color in my life, in my heart. I don't know why I write here. Nothing that I think or feel or hurt or want or dream matters. And if that sounds all pouty, I don't mean it that way. It's just...I'm nothing. I don't matter.

But who hides from nothing? Who slams the door in the face of nothing? So, I am not really nothing. I am something, something kind of awful maybe. And I am afraid to find out what this awful thing that I am might be....because you're a good person, a reasonable person. You wouldn't act this way towards somebody unless there was a good reason for it.

And the a part of me, growing ever fainter by the day, says, "wait a minute! You cannot define your self worth and identity on the basis of someone else's actions and reactions." But see, these are just words, just thoughts, concepts. They don't fly very far in the face of real life playing out in front of you, telling you the opposite, again and again. Truth hurts.

The furnace is working again and the house is warm. Yay!

I finished spinning all the Blue Faced Leicester roving and am going to do the light brown huacaya alpaca roving next, because I will go past the store I bought it at on Friday. If it is knock-my-socks-off wonderful, I might get some more, because it is very affordable. And on Thursday I get to go to the handspinning group! :-) I learned today that a beautiful shade of blue dye can be obtained from the water left over from soaking black beans. They are in the kitchen soaking already, ha. Will make a chicken tamale pie tomorrow and some of the beans could conceivably go into that.

I have been so much into cooking and my appetite isn't really into eating. In the past 5-6 weeks, I've lost about 12-13 lbs. At first this was cause for delight, but when it got down to 117 and losing weight at the rate of a pound every 2-3 days, I began to get worried. So I've been eating nice cheeses that would usually be too fatty, German sausages and other stuff and now it seems to have stabilized... It is nice to be able to fit into my favorite jeans again, but on the other hand, I don't want to...um...deflate. (blush) Ah, vanity.....

It has been a reasonably good weekend. I am now dreading going to work tomorrow. I do NOT want to see that co worker again. I try to remind myself that she has good traits, everyone has good traits....but just thinking about having to deal with her for 5 hours sent my heart pounding, and not in a good way. She acts sickeningly sweet when the manager is there and delivers nasty snide remarks when the room is relatively deserted. She probably has positive attributes but I do not like her and I hate the obnoxiously sweet fakery even more than the putdowns. It is SO PHONY. I hate that. Please, folks. Be honest with me. Be direct. Don't play little head games.

In the end, after writing all that, it comes down to the same thing again: I am not looking forward to going to work in the morning....particularly since we have a team meeting.

Sigh. The college I go to, NIC, forces us to use Microsoft Outlook for all college related email. If you have a class waitlisted, they send that information to your Outlook email address. You have 24 hours (I think?) to register for the class once they email you, and if you don't, they take you off of the bleeping waitlist.

I missed the class I was waitlisted for by a day and a half. I am pissed. WHY are they unable to send this information to the email address that I actually use? Why is this not an option? I refuse to check the flipping Outlook address that I never use, every single day. This sucks.

It's interesting how one tends not to appreciate things such as a working furnace (or running water, working plumbing, electricity, etc) until it ceases to function. My, my, it's cold.

When there is a threat of a hard freeze and the trees are about to bloom, sometimes the orchardist sprays them with water so that the entire tree is covered in ice. When water freezes, it generates heat and that heat is enough to keep those buds protected.

Sometimes I feel that way, like my heart is covered in ice and bristling with icicles. But underneath that hard, cold shell.....I am so vulnerable, and my small and tender leaves wrap protectively around the thought of you.