What can I say about my being gone, Dear Readers, except that for the last four weeks I've been trying very hard to take what Cuzzin Tom refers to, with a loud "tsk, tsk" that can be heard all the way from Mongolia to here, as an "Unauthorized Leave of Absence" from this world. The obscene mental and emotional cruelty of the last nine months became more than my confused brain was able to handle and I found myself very read to fly the coop, permanent-like, but, instead, I found myself spending two weeks in the loony bin and another seven days getting intensive outpatient therapy.
It's still an hour by hour struggle but I'm on a veritable cocktail of pills and...well...then there are the Friends. And Family. (The Capital Letters of Great Importance were never more deserved.) You know how on how some nature documentaries they show speeded-up footage of a field of wildflowers bursting into bloom? That's what it was like. When word got out that I was in a bad way--blam!--I was instantly engulfed in waves of tenderness, emotional support, practical support and even some tough love from every corner of Seattle, the States and Canada. Gifts, cards, emails, phone calls, flowers...all from people determined to keep me very much alive. (With one notable exception. Ahem.) I don't even know how to begin to thank this small army that stepped in and did the most amazing things.
Along these same lines, I do know about the blanket/blanket squares that are being knit for me by people all around the country. Because I'm staying with Janine right now, I've been able to see the squares arrive, and every single one has given me goosebumps and an overwhelming, indescribable feeling of gratitude and of being tremendously loved. If you knit one and you were afraid you were just mailing it out into an empty universe, trust me, you're not. Words fail me when it comes to telling you how the squares are affecting me.
I still have an incredibly tough battle ahead and, two or three times a day, the darkness invades my heart, and my bottles of pills (which I perversely call my Preciouses) call my name. But this is one of those areas where the tough love kicks in since a small army of friends are standing between me and my Preciouses and, in fact, take possession of them every day, only doling out what I need. (And when I'm feeling extra crappy about myself, I try to remember what one of my counselors told me: It's about chemistry, not about character.)
However, I suppose it's a good sign that last week I found myself shamelessly flirting with a tall drink of water in cowboy boots who, let's just say, now has my phone number. And I went to a meeting with my friend Janine and couldn't keep my eyes off another hottie. I'm surprised my eyes didn't melt her shirt off her back. Lastly, this week I'll be finalizing plans to take an all-lesbian cruise down to Mexico. Me and hundreds of other women. That should improve the odds somewhat. So, all that being said, I guess there's still some life in the old ticker yet.
In the It's a Bit Sick and a Bit of a Stretch But Knitters Will Understand category, the other good news is that I've eaten so little I've lost 50 pounds and nine inches off my waist and hips and somewhat less--but still some--off the boobage area so the prospect of knitting myself a real, grown-up sweater isn't so daunting anymore. Heck, I've whacked yards of stockinette off that project!
Another darkly humorous spot was the fender-bender (or, more accurately, the bumper-scratcher) I had last week. Those sorts of things are never fun but, as I got out of my card to talk to the other woman, I felt eerily calm and was thinking, "Hell, woman. I'm already on suicide watch. Make my day." It was very liberating.
This week I got some pictures of the Cotton Club/Cancer Walk so I'll post them the next time I'm up to blogging which who the hell knows when that'll be, although since I am all online and mobile with my new laptop these days, I may even post from Black Sheep, where I'll be sittin' and knittin' this weekend.