This past weekend my husband had to go out of town, and since I haven’t yet reached the point in my recovery where I can stay by myself for extended periods of time, my parents came to stay with me.

We started talking about all the TV shows we love to watch, and how glad we are that the writer’s strike is finally over and there are finally new episodes for us to watch. And then suddenly, in the tones of someone undergoing an exhaustive cross-examination at the hands of a crack prosecutor, my mom announced,

“And I already know which shows I’d pick if something happened, and I was only ever allowed to watch 2 shows for the rest of my life.”

I totally understand this behavior, this compulsion to try and anticipate every possible situation one might encounter in the future, and then formulate an appropriate response and/or defense strategy. I myself am quite skilled at it.

Not surprisingly then, many of the sessions with my coach involve the two of us delving into my extensive library of Scary Stuff I’ve Made Up In My Head and attempting to clear out this dense cloud of thought forms.

In one particular session we were having a hard time breaking through, so in an effort to make her point my coach asked, “Well, do you worry about having to learn Braille, just in case you ever go blind?”, thinking that surely, this extreme example would help me to see how irrational I was being.

But apparently she had forgotten who she was talking to, because OF COURSE I said, yes! “Yes, I worry about having to learn Braille, just in case I go blind one day.” Because…doesn’t everyone?

Sometimes, I even scare myself.

Overheard at my knitting class:

“So I was sitting in the living room knitting, and my 18-year old son walked in. He stopped, saw what I was doing, and then asked, ‘Mom, are you practicing being old?’

If the school year ends on May 21st,
and you have waited until April 22nd to call me,
AND your child has failed every test this semester,
it is mathematically impossible for them to get a “B”.

Thank you for you kind attention to this matter.

You may have noticed that lately, I appear to have dropped off the face of the earth. Unfortunately, this is due to my having had a pretty major relapse in my recovery from The Autumn Of Illness. Thankfully, there has not been a return of The Hostile Alien Bacteria. But everything else-the arthritis, the fatigue, the feeling like I’m being pulled naked across asphalt all day long-that’s all back.

I finally had my first pain-free day in about a month last Sunday. And I’m tentatively optimistic, because I’ve now had 3 in a row.

So hopefully I should have a little more to say around here. I appreciate everyone sticking around while I’ve peeled myself up off the floor yet again.

I found out that I have another stupid cavity.

“Well,” said the hygienist, poking me with a very sharp stick, “you have a pit that we’ve been watching for a while, and now it’s developed into a cavity.”

Hm, really? Well, thanks so much for sharing that information with me, when it can do me absolutely no good whatsoever.

“But it’s only a little cavity. And it will only need a little filling.”

That did not make me feel any better.

But it did make me wonder; is that anything like being just a little pregnant?

Lost In Translation: Awkward Signs From Around The World

And after I saw number 35, I wanted to know how I too could become an “ass manager”.

A teenager wearing a T-shirt which proclaimed,

“Cancel my subscription: I’m done with your issues.”

So despite the “assistance” of the cats yesterday, I was able to dive right in with my trusty knitting needles, yarn, and two knitting instruction books. And the most important thing I learned yesterday was, that I am apparently NOT a person who can learn how to knit from a book.

Fortunately I found a yarn store that was open today, where I planned to go and throw myself on their mercy, or quite possibly throw myself on the floor, whatever it took if only someone would please, please show me how to do a knit stitch.

Unfazed by my dramatic entrance (which apparently happens there quite a bit), the owner of the shop was more than happy to teach me the basics. Soon I was easily casting on, knitting, and binding off, right up until the time when I accidentally unraveled an entire row.

There was a knitting circle working in the store while I was there, and one of the nice ladies jumped right up to help me repair the damage.

“I do have a few holes here and there,” I said as she worked to recover my stitches.

“Oh no, honey,” The Nice Lady quickly corrected me. “Those aren’t holes. Those are design elements.”