Sorry for the radio silence. If you know me in real life (as opposed to just reading here, or listening to the podcast), you know I've been going through some stuff. Not-enough-time-for-fun stuff.
After speaking with three professionals (different professions) and getting the same answer, I need to slow down. I've disappeared from social knitting groups because I'm putting in long hours, and I've passed the Minion hosting torch.
I've gotten loads of supportive e-mails, and a few checking on me to make sure that my absence isn't something more serious. (Thanks for the lurve, dudes!) Now, I'm sharing the worst, most vexing part of all of this:
When I get this tired, I start looking like my father.
I mean, I haven't sprouted a mustache yet, and I've still got all of my hair, but when I'm tired, I get the same bags he has under his eyes, and I get the same, weird creases down my cheeks that he does.
I see it in the mirror, vanity takes hold, and I'm immediately resentful of the responsibilities that are keeping me from my Beauty Sleep.
I'm still knitting and spinning, just not very much- tomorrow I'll post about Color and the yarn swap at Purlescence.
Showing posts with label We all have daddy issues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label We all have daddy issues. Show all posts
Monday, October 20, 2008
Sunday, December 2, 2007
The “IT” List
I mentioned before that I wasn't going to participate in the madness that is holiday knitting, and that my list of things to finish before December 25th was limited to three items.
Item 1: The Top Secret Project
The recipient of the Top Secret Project reads the blogs, so there aren't any photos here. But I KNOW they aren't on Ravelry, so it's up there.
Item 2: Dad hat number one:
Item 3: Dad hat number two.
My father asked for two hats, and wanted them to be positive and negative to each other, in tan and brown. Despite my suspicions that he is color blind, I agreed. He also specified that the predominantly tan one have a dark brown edging so as not to show dirt as quickly.
Totally manageable, right?
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Making My Degree “Worth It” & FO!
It's no secret that I don't get along with my father. We have a mutual dislike of each other. I'm too masculine for his taste, and I think he is the moral equivalent of a laughing hyena's hindquarters**. Nothing I do has ever been of any value and all of my decisions have been bad. Now, having said that, here is the discussion that we had last night.
Dad: How are you?
Me: Tired. Sick. [Explain current gastro-intestinal malady. Exaggerate a little bit so that he doesn't come over for dinner.]
Dad: So, my friend Reza's son is having problems in school. He's in 7th grade and doesn't write very well.
Me: That's too bad. [I think to myself "Lazy brat."]
Dad: He wants to get his son a tutor. He'll even pay for it. I thought since you went to college for writing, you could tutor him.
Me: [I think to myself, "I got my degree in Lit, not Comp. But whatever."] Dad, I really don't have time to tutor, paid or not. I'm working overtime and I have things at home that have to get done. I come home so tired that I can't breathe. The nights that I could tutor, I have to get dinner ready while Andrew is at school. I just can't take the time. You should offer it to Sam, his writing is really good, and tutoring is flexible with school.
Dad: [huffy] Well. I just thought that I would give you the opportunity.
Me: [tired] Thanks for thinking of me Dad, I just can't take the time. ["and even if I could, I wouldn't tutor any of your friends brat kids."]
After this little exchange, he talks to my mother, who all-too-happily tells him that her rate for private instructions is the market rate of $25/hr. My father tells her that she's overpriced. I just think it's funny. The two people he treats the worst are the ones who have the "marketable" skills here, because after all, this is how it would go down (because I've been volunteered before).
I would show up, tutor the kid for a couple of hours, my father would call and tell me not to embarrass Dad by asking his friend for money, that my dad will pay me instead. When I lived at home I had to baby-sit for free (same thing, "I'll pay you") or incur the wrath of my father.
I don't live at home anymore, and he's reneged on all the promises he made to help us pay for the house. I figure if I let him control me any more, I'll snap. I was so worried that he would "take back" his "generous gift" ( it's not generous if you haven't given it, and he would routinely "take back" things I had been promised) that I wrote the letter to immigration to get my aunt's visa. Which I shouldn't have done, because she is the sister of the moral equivalent of a laughing hyena's hindquarters. Making her genetically predisposed to behave like it. [I TOLD YOU SO, MOM.] So, I blow him off and I don't worry anymore, because I HAVE THE POWER!!!! Mwah ah ah!
Major FO!
That's right, I finished the Eucalyptus throw! Early, even! Now I'm back to the Sunshine shell.
**Phrase Courtesy of Aunt Constance.
Dad: How are you?
Me: Tired. Sick. [Explain current gastro-intestinal malady. Exaggerate a little bit so that he doesn't come over for dinner.]
Dad: So, my friend Reza's son is having problems in school. He's in 7th grade and doesn't write very well.
Me: That's too bad. [I think to myself "Lazy brat."]
Dad: He wants to get his son a tutor. He'll even pay for it. I thought since you went to college for writing, you could tutor him.
Me: [I think to myself, "I got my degree in Lit, not Comp. But whatever."] Dad, I really don't have time to tutor, paid or not. I'm working overtime and I have things at home that have to get done. I come home so tired that I can't breathe. The nights that I could tutor, I have to get dinner ready while Andrew is at school. I just can't take the time. You should offer it to Sam, his writing is really good, and tutoring is flexible with school.
Dad: [huffy] Well. I just thought that I would give you the opportunity.
Me: [tired] Thanks for thinking of me Dad, I just can't take the time. ["and even if I could, I wouldn't tutor any of your friends brat kids."]
After this little exchange, he talks to my mother, who all-too-happily tells him that her rate for private instructions is the market rate of $25/hr. My father tells her that she's overpriced. I just think it's funny. The two people he treats the worst are the ones who have the "marketable" skills here, because after all, this is how it would go down (because I've been volunteered before).
I would show up, tutor the kid for a couple of hours, my father would call and tell me not to embarrass Dad by asking his friend for money, that my dad will pay me instead. When I lived at home I had to baby-sit for free (same thing, "I'll pay you") or incur the wrath of my father.
I don't live at home anymore, and he's reneged on all the promises he made to help us pay for the house. I figure if I let him control me any more, I'll snap. I was so worried that he would "take back" his "generous gift" ( it's not generous if you haven't given it, and he would routinely "take back" things I had been promised) that I wrote the letter to immigration to get my aunt's visa. Which I shouldn't have done, because she is the sister of the moral equivalent of a laughing hyena's hindquarters. Making her genetically predisposed to behave like it. [I TOLD YOU SO, MOM.] So, I blow him off and I don't worry anymore, because I HAVE THE POWER!!!! Mwah ah ah!
Major FO!
That's right, I finished the Eucalyptus throw! Early, even! Now I'm back to the Sunshine shell.
**Phrase Courtesy of Aunt Constance.
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