Things I Should Be Doing this Weekend:

1. marking the work that was handed in three weeks ago
2. cleaning the frying pan. I made those eggs on Thursday.
3. marking the crummy Catcher in the Rye essays that have been trickling in all week
4. putting away all of the yarn that has migrated to the main floor
5. folding and putting away the laundry that's been lying in the basement hallway since...God, I don't know.
6. going to see Pixie & Kelpie at the bike courier races, so I can give her her birthday present
7. cleaning my toilets. Because the frying pan isn't gross enough
8. marking! Goddamn, exams start on Monday!

Things I Did Instead:

1. ordered a pizza and ate it in the backyard with Blake and without the benefits of plates or napkins
2. took Blake to visit the twins up the street for a playdate/bbq. No bbq, so we played in the back yard until Blake got into it with another kid and I dragged him away.
3. bundled my reprobate into the car seat and went downtown to Lettuce Knit for the Yarn Harlot's birthday a.k.a. Worldwide Knit in Public Day a.k.a. the Toronto branch of the 1000 Knitters Shoot. Even arriving hungry and wondering what I would do with Blake during the party couldn't dent my happy anticipation. Whee! Blake, however, was disappointed when his favourite kid Obi left with his family to go "to Space Island." "Better wear your helmet," I cautioned. Space is rough that way.
4. went to KOS for brunch and a bellini; found Jendricks, Fenner, Tapeheads and Zoe. All the mamas had booze. Blake was happy with his baconface.
5. came back to LK in time to hear Mason's Amazing True Stories of How He Learned About Lapdances to the Detriment of Sage's University Fund. Was totally charmed by his tales of drunken ineptitude, especially as he was unshaven and wearing a new snappy hat, like a character out of Small Change. Blake takes advantage of my distraction to start shovelling sweets into his mouth. Everyone thinks he is the cutest thing ever. They're right, but wait until the sugar crash, friends. It gets real ugly real fast.
6. got my photo taken by Franklin. He is awesome and I just wish I'd had more time to hang out after the shoot when he wasn't working his butt off.
7. left at around 4 o'clock: Blake sticky, Mason hungover, myself sad that I couldn't celebrate WWKiP day with more than a few seconds' knitting. I did start a new project, but I didn't even finish the cast on that day.
8. arrived at Juuki's house for the double-header birthday: her husband and the cat. As the first guests, we had the run of the place, and the adults were able to go up to the balcony while Blake and Paisley splashed around in the inflatable pool. Tranquility interrupted with the news of a missing child.
9. spent the next hour walking around with Blake (who was wearing his underwear and a pair of shoes) and looking for the lost boy. Not as much fun as I'd anticipated. Came home to find that everything was resolved. Ate a slice of meat cake (the frosting is mashed potatoes!) and drove Mason home.
10. fell asleep almost as soon as we got back to our house.
11. went to church. Dragged Blake off the refreshment table after 3 brownies too many and hauled his protesting self home.
12. drove to Mo & Brand's condo for a house-cooling party. Watched Blake run with the herd for 2 1/2 hours before scooping him up and taking him home.
13. watched Blake dump orange juice on the floor in a temper, carried him to the bath and got him to bed without further incident. He was clearly suffering from Too Many Parties.

There is no completed marking, or housework, or crafting to report. I am going into tomorrow the least prepared I have been in years. And yet, the weekend was fantastic. Wouldn't have traded it for anything. Even those sugar-fuelled temper tantrums and the anxious hour of child-searching were a decent price to pay for pizza in the backyard, bellinis with knitmommies and photos with some of my favourite craftistas.

Labels: bat masterson, festivals, friends, knit, outings

Spider Update, because I know you're keeping track of my kill-rate at home: as of last night, 55. The last one was a gift from another spider, who rushed the poor unfortunate on the ceiling, causing it to tumble down to the floor, where I stepped on it. I told Blake that it was an accident, but it wasn't an accident. At that point, watching 5 spiders on my bathroom ceiling try to figure out how best to kill each other, I would have killed them by any means necessary. I even broke my vacuum protocol and sucked up three victims yesterday, after cleaning up the baking soda on Blake's bed. Choke on pee-impregnated dust, spider bitches!

On Saturday I took Blake to Queen West for some shopping and frolicing in place of the official DKC yarn frolic. We hit Mac Fab (where he refused to get out of his stroller), Fresh Collective (where I picked up my new cupcake t-shirt and exchanged friendly greetings with the clerk, who has seen me every weekend for the past three), Magic Pony (which we had to leave, as Blake couldn't be trusted to stay out of the window display), Kol Kid (where Blake had to be coaxed out of the stroller to play with the jacks-in-the-box), Romni (where Blake refused to leave his stroller), and finally Trinity-Bellwoods Park (where Blake got sandy for the better part of an hour). I made things awkward by toting around my new gorgeous cast iron tea pot, which I needed for my first stop but which quickly became a ghastly millstone as Blake tried to escape and we wore out every welcome we were given. By the time we met Mason at La Ha for dinner, I couldn't speak without gasping and clutching at my shoulder. Since he was the one to give me the teapot, I don't suppose that I looked all that grateful. But I remain in love with it, especially now that it's safely on my bookshelf awaiting a crop of accessories. Like the rug in the Big Lebowski, it's going to tie my whole room together.

After chasing Blake around all of the tables for almost two hours, we loaded him into the car and went to Lettuce Knit for the Big Girl Knit 2 Book Launch (or, as I typed in my photo files, the "Bi Girls Knit Launch." We don't judge). I would have been there anyway, but I was extra excited because

1. my name is on the acknowledgements page
2. there were tiny cupcakes
3. I had a chance to use up the last bottle of my wedding champagne
4. I'm always proud of my knitsibs' outstanding achievements in the field of authorship
5. cupcakes? Did I mention cupcakes?
6. door-prizes! I won Soak.
7. Blake reuniting with Meghan's kids, whom he loved at Christmas
8. the chance to use the assembled knittas as models of Mason's completed wrap sweater

And that was just what I was looking forward to before I got there. Once I got there, I discovered the all-lady folk band, sushi, cool knittas previously unknown to me, and, well, everything. Mason & I took turns chasing Blake, which gave each of us a few minutes to have fun before going back to warning him away from messes and dangers. He had three cupcakes, which is one more than I did, and I suppose I should have been happy that there was no property damage, yarn damage or friendship damage thanks to my sugared-up wildling.

click through for the whole set, including everybody in the world modelling mason's completed wrap sweater

When it was finally time to go home, I said my goodbyes, took Blake's hand, and walked away from the light toward our car. It was only when we were next to the Blue Ruin that I realized I couldn't find my keys. I sat down on the dark curb and emptied out my bag to no avail. There was only one thing for it: take up Blake's hand and lead him back to the party. I could only hope that Michelle had Mason's cell number, as I figured he'd pocketed the keys when he went to the car to get the champagne. When we got back to Lettuce, we were greeted with the expected, "didn't you leave?" I asked if anyone had found keys, and was totally floored when someone described my Wolfvegas key fob. A Big Girl Knits miracle! I went home happy.

Next day I realized that sometime during that long wandery Saturday I had lost a new ball of yarn, the last one I need to finish a striped vest. I checked every place I could think of, but when I remembered the eccentric path we'd followed up and down Queen Street, I despaired of ever finding my last ball. Realizing that I had the same colourway knit up in my stash, I immediately unravelled it and soaked out the kinks, thinking that I was going to finish this damned vest one way or another. Yesterday I decided to check with Lettuce, and was rewarded beyond measure when Meghan confirmed that yes, they had my yarn. A knitter had picked it up from the sidewalk in the dark, and brought it back to the store. She was all ready to keep it, but Meghan decided to hang on to it and give it a chance to be found. So there we have the second Big Girl Knits Miracle! One more and I can break ground on the chapel.

The only other thing of note was my Church Fashion Show. It wasn't as embarassing as I'd feared (although I almost ran away when I saw that Mason had made good on his promise to capture my modeling debut). No, there will be no pictures, as even if I'd liked the way they turned out, they are far too blurry to share. You'll just have to wait for my dance troupe to start performing to see my exhibitionist side.

Labels: blake, friends, house rich, knit, outings

Spider Update: I killed two more before going to bed last night, and six more this morning (including two that tried kamakazes run on Blake in the bath and ended up floating in the water). I did battle with a further three while Blake was in the bath, but they proved wily adversaries and all three escaped. When Blake got out of the tub and flushed the spiders in the toilet, I saw three there, which is one more than I remember. So I'm going to say that my new total score is 20, with a possible but unconfirmed 21st kill. The war continues.

Apparently today was my day for being asked personal questions. Every time I tried to draw an analogy to a common experience, one kid would ask me if that happened to me. The first example was date rape, and the second was retail therapy. Gah. Like I need to experience something to know about it...although I must say that I have done a full course of retail therapy in my time. Anyone remember last spring's TTC knitalong? My credit card company sure does.

Conversation last night:

Blake: Nic has a conference.
Me: What?
B: Nic has a conference.
Me: Honey, I have no idea what you're talking about.
B: Nic has a conference. Like Daddy has a B---- Conference.*
M: Um. I think you mean girlfriend. Nic has a girlfriend.
B: Conference!
M: If you say so.
B: (jumping up and down on the couch) B---- Conference! B---- Conference!

* According to Blake, a "B---- Conference" happens on the computer, so it's either a video phone call or B---- is an AI. I'm not sure which I'd prefer.

Labels: bat masterson, house rich, knit, separation

Spring has sprung, and with it comes the arrival of Mean Girl politics. Mason's co-workers don't like the fact that he was the lucky man to volunteer for a chunk of my marking, so they have complained to him and to his department head. See, Mean Girls don't want any other girls taking advantage of their Nice Boy, because then he might not be free to do favours for them. They want him to stop being a sucker, as long as he shows the proper amount of gratitude to them by continuing to be their sucker. I'm torn between the desire to burn them to the ground and salt the earth, and the urge to sit as close to them as possible, sweetly and obliviously intruding on all of their conversations as if I had suddenly decided to be their BFF. I would love for them to lose patience, snap and show their hand to me instead of behind my back. I would love it.

Because even if I were to trade sexual favours for marking (which I'm not, but bear with me), it's none of their goddamn business. Bitches.

Speaking of sex, yesterday's yarn tasting quickly devolved into one of those all-female nights in which smuttiness becomes the conversation. As soon as I noticed the new Handmaiden, Amy warned me not to have an immediate orgasm. Yeah. It was good yarn, but.

Then there was the casual darts conversation. On Friday night, when Juuki expressed an interest in accompanying NotAnArtist and myself on the Unemployed Girls' Newfoundland Road Trip this July, Artist needed to make sure that the trip wouldn't involve babies now that two moms were going. "No," I said, "but do you mind if I get knocked up while we're in Newfoundland?" And of course she had no objection. How could she object?

Elizabeth was there on Friday, and she mentioned the pregnancy plan again last night at the yarn tasting. Since our entire plan for the road trip can be broken down into

1. go to Newfoundland
2. buy yarn
3. get tattoos,

And thus, casual sex immediately morphed into casual darts. Artist shared the fact that she used to be a professional casual dart player for many years, prompting me to remark that she was a Private Dart Player. "And any old dartboard will do," I added, as we all started spraying the table with laughter.

Labels: bat masterson, knit, outings

It occurs to me that I'm being a trifle hard on myself. Tonight, as I spent my first well evening cleaning up my house while my dad vacuumed, while rsvp'ing for a fundraising event and changing into work out clothes for my dance class tonight, I realized: dude, I got a lot on my plate. These days I am enjoying my life (mostly), which makes me feel guilty when I don't write down all of my adventures. Why, oh why, I think, can't I balance intellectually demanding work, single-motherhood, an obsessive hobby (knitting), a time-consuming new passion (belly dance), a thriving social life and my journalling duties? Maybe because I still sleep 8-9 hours a night. Clearly I need to start stacking up the Red Bull.

This week I have to get ready for a reporting cycle, and I'm a good 2 weeks behind in my marking. I had planned to knock it off last weekend, but you saw what happened. Between episodes of PDF (Public Display of Femininity), chaperoning the drunken knittas and hyperbolic crocheting, this sister spent all of her down time trying to get over what she strongly suspects is a mild case of strep throat. I'm still a little woozy. I think it's time to bring in a pinch-marker, a trick I've employed with great success in the past. I'll let you know who the lucky ringer will be. (Hint: it could be you! Get ready for a tear-soaked FedEx package arriving tomorrow!)

Speaking of knitting (and I always am, so roll with it), I utterly failed to make note of two momentous knit-victories this month. The first will stand for the ages, as I got name checked in the Yarn Harlot's new book, Things I Learned About Knitting (whether I wanted to or not). That's me on page 145, "teach[ing] high school English." Rachel H. gave me the tip-off at the Foxes Den following the April Fool's Scavenger Hunt. At that point, I was way too tired to squee as the news deserved.

Dude. I wasn't 100% sure that she even knew my name.

My second knit-victory was all thanks to my peeps. Thanks to your votes (and the Boy's good-sportsmanship), I squeaked into 3rd place in the My Ex is Full of Knit Contest. Two hundred dollars of yarn, loves. That's good news right now, as I just paid off my March Break credit card bill and fear that I will have to choose between yarn and food for the next month. (Who let me loose in H&M in the first place? Oh yeah, it was me.)

we are the champions…of the world!

Labels: bat masterson, knit, victory

I've been taking quite a few classes this month, trying to whip myself into shape no doubt. Besides the twice-weekly belly dance sessions, I took a photography course last Sunday and a hyperbolic crochet course this afternoon.

The photography course was hosted by Jacquie & NotAnArtist, so I immediately felt at home. These two clever ladies put together over two hours of photo phun. My photography has improved a great deal just by following their three important rules:

1. turn off the flash
2. read the manual
3. take tonnes of shots

Some of the nicer ones:

Today's hyperbolic crochet was an exercise in non-Euclidean geometry taught by Miss Sweetiepie Press. I was just in it for the cool shapes, but I also snuck in some math. Go, me!

Yesterday I had the girliest day out ever in the history of the world. Throw in a waxing and the world would have burst with the free-floating estrogen (so it's good that there was no waxing). At 11 I had a hair appointment with Destiny. (Hee! I love pulling out the 10 ½-year-old pseudonyms as if I dropped them yesterday. That one's for you, long-time readers. Er, reader.)

Back to the hair appointment with Destiny. She cut my hair during the semester break in January, and it was the longest, strongest hair cut of my life. It was only last week that I started to think about getting it cut again, and even when I woke up on Saturday I found myself wondering if I had a few more weeks in it. The haircut is that good. But a haircut means girliness, and girliness means girlfriends, and I always need more of that no matter what my hair looks like. Scherezade met me at the salon, where the three of us chatted through the appointment (Destiny is her highschool buddy, after all). Then the two of us set out for what I thought would be a short trip up and down the strip. I failed to realize that when I shop with Scherezade, I shop the hell out of an afternoon.

First we stopped in at Fresh Baked Goods, where I was seduced by a bright pink t-shirt and a blue-and-brown dress. Although I paid for both, one is being custom-made and the second is getting slight alterations to make it perfect. Laura Jean the Knitting Queen pinned me up, and we were able to chat about her designs as I have enough yarn to crochet two of her Cupcake sweaters but lack the courage to cast on. At least I can buy her handiwork with no more courage than a credit card inspires. I'm not sure that the world will survive how cute this dress will make me. We can only pray that I won't find co-ordinating shoes.

After Fresh Baked Goods, Scherezade hustled me into the next store, which sells art and art products. She bought a set of postcards that I later fell in love with to the point that we had to return. But that second stop was well after lunch, which was my first visit to the Red Tea Box. The girliness hiked itself up a couple notches over the April Bento Box Special and the Competition Monkey Picked Oolong tea, not to mention ogling the fabric cakes. (Delish!) Having secured the postcards in my grubby little paws, we then went to Victor Gallery for frames, where I bought 4 identical frames which each cost more than all 8 postcards. (Easy come, easy go…or, as my grandfather might say, I have more money than sense.) We also ducked into Bakka for a quick banter with the saleslady and a hunt for some crappy sf novels recommended by Scherezade's honey.

Our final stop was Mac Fab, where I spent the better part of an hour looking for metal-shank buttons for my coat and some pretty plastic buttons for my dad's birthday present. I also found some awesome fabric for Mason's new apartment, which I shall buy next week, when I return to the block for my new dress. Life is good.

Labels: friends, knit, outfits, outings

Sorry about the silence, peeps. I lost the better part of a week to illness after the Harlot launch, and once school started on Monday I was busy every g.d. night, which is wonderful but also wonderfully tiring. I have troupe rehearsals every week now, and dance class, and knit night, and…well, this social butterfly is flapping her wings a bit too hard right now is what I'm saying, and the subsequent earthquake is liable to reduce my writing to rubble.

Yesterday was Drunken Knitting, and although this seems a bit redundant, it got pretty drunk out. Mason and his wife split up this week, Needle Addict got a promotion and Not An Artist is always one to enable a good bender; between the three of them and the tequila shots and the beer and red wine…well, of the five in the car (Mason, Needle, Artist, Juuki & me) two got door-to-door service and one of those two got his shoes removed for him (by Juuki, who met him that evening.) We let NotAnArtist walk the 20 paces to her concierge, and Juuki and I were cold sober. (I was driving and the both of us were having too much fun laughing to need alcohol enhancement.) Before this, Mason worked the room, converting civilians and encouraging them to model the cardi he's still knitting for his wife and dropping the f-bomb in front of 5-year-olds. Needle Addict drank glass after glass of red wine and told funny stories. NotAnArtist expected us all to have the tolerance of her trucker family. We all knit the hell out of everything. Got home at 2 a.m., still giggling from the conversation of hours before.

"I can pronounce your last name and I will fuck you up."

"The movie is called, 'The Mongoose is Eating the Fucking Cobra!'"

Labels: friends, knit, outings

There are scavenger hunt photos here. I should not be allowed access to the web and my wallet on sick days, as I have impulse-purchased a Flickr Pro account upgrade today. I don't think I'm going to regret it, but I can't help but think it sets a bad precedent.

The 10 free Moo mini cards were just icing on my impulsive cupcake.

Labels: friends, health, knit

My health has been completely ruined from yesterday's Harlot scavenger hunt. Tomorrow: photos, stories and something else. Maybe. I'm totalled.

In the meantime, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE vote for my severed head! Go to ADHD Knitting, register and vote for J Harvey in the Contest forum. I'm very far behind now and the idea of losing 2 knitting contests in the same week after I ruined my body to participate in both...well, it makes me sad, that's all.

(Sad even though Steph gave me a shoutout in the new book. I'll be properly excited when my lymph nodes return to normal size. I know that sounds bitchy, but I don't mean it to be. It's truly an honour to be namechecked.)

Labels: friends, glory, knit

My weeks just keep getting busier. On Wednesday I was thinking about staying home from Knit Night because - get this - I had too much knitting to do. But I went anyway. "I have to haul ass on this hedgehog," I announced grimly. "That's not a sentence you get to say every day," the ladies observed. It's about as often as I consider avoiding craft night because my crafting schedule has become too intense to allow for the commute.

I went home early, as the next day was Parent-Teacher Night, a.k.a. the day I spend 13 hours in the school. In fancy clothes, no less. I was slightly consoled by the fact that we had a huge standardized test scheduled for the morning, during which I hauled ass on the aforementioned hedgehog. Mason & I went out for dinner to get a break from the building, and we managed to squeeze in a few wee adventures simply by strolling the plaza. I tried to get my engagement ring appraised at Cash Converters, but the line up was too long, so we ended up buying female sword and sorcery complilations from the 1980's. A grand total of 2 interviews in 2 hours rounded out my night. At least I got tonnes of time to play with yarn. And Blake, the poor little guy, wet the bed and had to come in with me at 4. Good times.

By Friday morning I was exhausted. Blake was sick and I wasn't doing too well in that department myself. I staggered though my day, teaching the worst, most inept lesson to my 12's I have ever perpetrated upon them, supervised a test for another two periods, and got home in time to watch Blake fall asleep on the couch 15 minutes before his father's arrival. Nice. Once Blake was carried, protesting, off to spend his weekend with my babydaddy, I quickly devolved into a state of inertia: reading blogs, drinking beer and unwinding a tangled skein of sock yarn.

My Saturday was spent in similar idleness. I don't actually enjoy prolonged periods of sloth and social isolation; but after my last two weekends I really needed to re-introduce my bum to my couch and let the two of them catch up. I also have tonnes and tonnes of knitting deadlines this week and I needed some quiet time to get them in line. In a stroke of brilliant serendipity, the DNTO program was focussed on idleness as a creative act, as a political protest, and as a lifestyle. Beautiful. It reminded me of what I already knew: when I spend an afternoon knitting or crocheting or whatever and I'm not using a teevee to keep my eyes occupied, my brain starts to fire off new and creative ideas through simple relaxation. I got to the point where I needed to keep a notebook on the arm of the sofa to record my inspirations.

I did some laundry and the dishes, but because I wanted to, so it didn't really make a dent in my contemplation. At dinner time my parents came by to pick me up and take me to a church dinner to fund raise for land mine removal. I {heart} church dinners, I really do. My love affair with the church affair began in Wolfvegas and I've never truly lost my desire for the simple potluck.

They dropped me off 20 minutes into Earth Hour, so I found my candelabra by touch, loaded it with new candles, and set up for an even more peaceful hour of candlelit embroidery. (Thanks, Nadia: I haven't had a housewarming gift come in so handy since Sophie's yarn became my fabulous winter hat.)

Sunday was napping, church and more embroidery, punctuated by the making of chicken soup and the joyous arrival of my the Blake. "Mommy, can I have a beautiful cookie?" he beamed. Man, he's happy to be back. Me too.

Today was another slog, as Blake wet the bed at 1 a.m. (he's 2 for 2, considering that he was away for the weekend). Tomorrow is the Harlot's latest book launch, and I don't expect to get near a computer until well into Wednesday. To tide you over, here is the severed head I finished yesterday:

(Yes, it is based on the Boy. He was pretty cool to let me take this picture after he dropped off the separation papers. I gave him a slightly-expired yoghurt for his trouble.)

Labels: bat masterson, blake, knit

My house is obsessed with They Might Be Giants. By "my house" I mean me and Blake and by "They Might Be Giants" I mean the song Ana Ng. Blake listens to that song between 5-10 times a day, usually in sets of at least 4 repeats. And he dances, trying his best to imitate the dance of the Johns. It's too cute. And I don't even mind hearing it over and over because it's a kickass song and I know he gets his obsessive tendencies from me.

(There is also a really cool stop motion animated fan-art version of the video. Really, it's too awesome for words.)

Speaking of things I enjoy, we now move into the realm of jokes I have recently made up that are too obscure for anyone to enjoy but me.

1. A joke brought on by 4 hours of marking 1984 essays. When I started to misread "Room 101" as "Room lol", I knew there had to be a cute picture in there somewhere.

(One of my students suggested "lolrats", but I still think the joke is dead on the table.)

2. I am knitting swatches for Laura, and have decided to call myself Team Swatch You Like A Hurricane. (Here I am!)

3. Dude, I don't even know where this came from.

Labels: blake, books, friends, knit, music

When we last spoke, I was in full-on rant mode about the Boy's stuff. By the time he came by to pick it up on Monday, my attitude had softened considerably, and I tried to apologize for being a bitch. No response. So I went to hang out with Blake while the Boy loaded his crap into the car. Since I was feeling reckless and light-hearted, I mentioned that Blake had ratted him out*, and I knew about his special friend. (This is what I didn't want to share a few weeks ago.) Instant aloofness. I even tried to kiss him, which he dodged neatly. I walked into the house with a smile on my face, waiting until the door was locked before dissolving into sobs.

There is just something about sending the degree and the R2D2 Phone that betokens a finality. The kiss was my last desperate stab at denial, and I myself was denied. I called Scherezade, and choked through the sobbing: "Can you tell me that part about how it's inevitable that I'll be loved again?" She did. Eventually I was even able to stop crying.

* I was towelling him off after an unfortunate soiling incident, and he looked up brightly.

"Daddy has a new friend."
"What's her name?"
"B----."
"Does she sleep over?"
"Yes."

Egged on by the ladies at work, I looked her up at the Boy's school. I'm being supplanted by a kindergarten teacher. I should have known those nasty primary-coloured sluts would be at the bottom of this.

True to form, when my life starts sizzling, I get too busy to write about it. Good thing I have these long periods of boredom contemplation to sift it all into words. It's been a good March Break, despite my house-bound frustration of the first weekend.

On Monday I kicked around the house, deeply into my kid-less fester. (Who knew that it would take separation to catapult me back into Ferg Life?) I was so bored I even marked a set of papers. But since I had a date, I wasn't prey to the same restlessness as the day before. At the stroke of eight, I changed into my dancing pants and drove down to the Bloor Theatre to meet my favourite Stacy. First there was No Country for Old Men and a lot of good popcorn; then there was Shannon at the Dance Cave. Stacy was celebrating her last freelance week, and was more than happy to dance with me till the wee hours. The only hitch came when we got there and I was shedding layers, only to discover that I'd never bothered to put on a bra. I guess I really was committing to partying like it was 1998, what with the PVC pants and the lack of supportive undergarments. On the spot, I resolved to avoid Prince songs, having found out the hard way what happens when I dance to Prince without benefit of a bra. Some guy did eventually try to pick me up (during Gloria Gaynor, of all weird moments), but he wasn't too impressed when I told him that I wouldn't be available till the summer. Well, it's true.

There was much beer and much soul-deep girl talk and lots of dancing (I am too sexy for this shirt, you know.) When they kicked us out we hugged Shannon goodbye and walked off into the cold night. I drove Stacy home and went home myself, and by the time I went to bed on the first day, it was 3:30. Rock and roll.

The next day I got up at 10:30, the absolute last time I could get up and expect to shower off the dirt before meeting Scherezade at the mall. I was almost on time, too. We met at a big Toronto mall with the idea of getting sassy jeans for me. Boy, Yorkdale was happy to see me; between the H&M binge (3 dresses, 2 blouses, 1 blazer, 1 pack of underwear), 3 shirts at Jacob Connexion and 3 pairs of jeans, I dropped a tonne of money in that place. Even Scherezade was taken aback, as our traditional model consists of talking our way through many many stores while she buys the occasional item and I look on cautiously. My new model is entirely driven by the consciousness that I will not get back to a store twice in a season, so I'd better buy it now. I got back home at 6, ate my take out bbq pork in front of the teevee, and passed out cold. And the night and the morning were the second day.

On the third day I got up rather late and looked around to fully grasp the mess I had made in nearly a week of neglect. I was barely able to make a start on it when the doorbell rang with my the Blake. He nibbled his way through lunch while I figured out where the dirty dishes could go for a few days without stinking up the kitchen, then we packed up, got in the car, and went to K8rs' house for a sleepover. It was pretty much the perfect time for him: a lot of new toys to play with, a lot of climbing and rolling around in the gorgeous snow, Kraft Dinner for supper, and then a sleepover with K8rs. (Marc tells me that when he went in the following morning, Blake was leaning on K8's bed like the Fonz, Miles the dog was sleeping in Blake's place, and K8 wasn't wearing pants. Good times.)

It was also the perfect time for me, as Andrea & I were able to discuss all aspects of everything in the universe while following the kids around, then go to knitting in the evening. This was my third night of cathartic girltalk, and I was feeling pretty comfortable in my skin as we rolled into Lettuce. I've discovered that there's nothing quite like indignant girlfriends when a man has done you wrong. I know, I know: I'm a little long in the tooth to have this revelation, but in my defence, the last break up I had was clearly my fault and Scherezade (my only girl at the time) is not about lying to me to make me feel better.

I fell asleep in Andrea's basement, confident that Blake would wake me up in the morning. And this restless night of strange rockstar dreams was the beginning of the third day.

Andrea and Marc did a full pancake and bacon breakfast the next morning, so my tossing and turning of the night before was mellowed by delicious bacon, hot tea and cloth napkins. (Don't ever think that I can't be soothed by good living, because I can.) Blake didn't want to go, of course, but we were due at our next social engagement. Opera Sarah & I had talked about the zoo, but the weather was hostile, so I figured that the best thing to do would be to go over and just hang out. Of course, then I parked in the wrong place, got stuck in the unplowed snow and had to call a towing service to yank me out. Fun fun fun. By the time that was sorted, I really wasn't going to the zoo. So I hung out in the apartment, proofread Leo's flyer, knit a bit, and watched Blake slowly succumb to the sleep he had missed whilst talking K8's ear off. Eventually I packed his resistant body into the car and took him to the Children's Storefront to meet Opera Sarah, Hestia & Persephone for the afternoon. I used to go there when Blake was wee because it's right close to the Midwives' Collective, and I've never forgotten how stimulating it is. Blake had a great time with the other kids, and we frittered away the afternoon until it was time to caravan back to my house for supper.

My parents had asked us over for supper so they could see Blake as soon as possible, but they were more than ready to bring supper to my house, and we all ate happily in the dining room. After my parents left for the night, Hestia and Blake played around while Sarah and I got progressively glassy-eyed, then we forced the kids into bed. My guests slept in my bed, Blake slept in his bed, and I slept in the basement. And the night on my old futon and the early morning were the fourth day.

Tossing and turning on the futon, I heard a little voice from upstairs. "Mommy?" "I'm down here, sweetie." "Mommy, Hestia didn't sleep in my bed with me." And he burst into messy tears. Aww.

We made oatmeal with many fixings for breakfast (walnuts, yum!) and festered while my dad took the car away to fix the part that had been ripped off by the towing (did I mention that towing is a damn good time?) Then it was a whirlwind of dressing and brushing and packing and we were all off to the sugarshack. First stop: pancakes. It was just the sensible thing to do. When we got outside, Hestia and Blake ran around the snowy paths while me, Sarah & my dad followed at a sedate pace. So much better than the zoo – cheaper admission, more room to roam, the possibility of many snowballs, and the smell of boiling sap. I heart the sugarbush, even though I was thoroughly worn out from my marathon of fun and sincerely regretting wearing my new jeans to slop around in the snow.

When we got home, Blake & my dad puttered around while I went to pick up some paperwork and a few more Flashman books in downtown B-ton. And then came the best part of my day: I got to lay down for an hour. Bliss.

Conversation in bed:

"Mommy, when I grow up, I want to have big breasts like you."
"Do you want to be a girl?"
"No, I want to be a boy with breasts."
"Well, they don't just happen when you're a boy."
"How do they happen?"
"Um. Hormones and drugs and surgery. It's a lot of work. Why do you want breasts, anyway?"
"I want to nurse babies."

All together, a la Scarface: First you get the breasts. Then you nurse the babies. Then you get the power.

At 4, my dad came back to pick us up, and after dropping them off at his house, I went on to my bellydance teacher Juuki's house to pick her up. She had expressed an interest in Drunken Knitting, and I am nothing if not a world-class enabler. So we travelled down, chatting away, and she got her first introduction to the high stakes world of pub knitting. You know the one I mean, the world of, um, girls who knit. And who talk about knitting? While they drink?

Ok. It's not a high stakes world. But it is a high-larious world, and we did it up. Between planning the Unemployed Girls Road Trip of July 08, accepting yarn from Laura (more swatches, mule!), and trying to chivvy Lisa into dating my brother, I barely had time to knit three different things. Somehow I managed.

On the way home, Juuki remarked that it's hard to feel at home with a large group, but she'd never felt like an outsider. Thanks, ladies, y'all did me proud. I collapsed into bed at 12:30 with a book of patterns, and the night and the morning were the fifth day.

Saturday was supposed to be my relaxing day, but somehow it wasn't. Blake was perfectly happy at Camp Grampa, so I took the opportunity to meet Opera Sarah and her neighbour Briar Rose at the annual Balfour Books sale. Hestia was also spending the day at Camp Grandma, so we ladies were free to book shop, eat crepes and drink martinis (Briar Rose, that is), and exchange money for church-lady-created Easter eggs. (I have a connection, yo. It's, um, my mom.)

I also hooked up with Ian three different times, starting with busting into his apartment as soon as I'd parked the car in order to use the bathroom. (And did I act like obese Homer trying to get a ride to the Power Station? Yes I did.) Ian coped well, considering he was in his pyjamas playing video games with the shades drawn when I frantically hunted him down. He even groomed himself to join us at the crepery before disappearing to find his wife. I found him for the third time when I went to the apartment, and I was able to spend the better part of an hour lying on the couch, watching other people play video games while I did sweet f-all. Only my cat allergies kept me from insinuating myself into their dinner plans. I visited two separate yarn stores for a few vital errands (it happens, shut up), double-parking at both. The lady at Romni not only remembered my weird project from the last time I went there, she even made a joke about the inevitability of double-parking when one requires double-pointed needles (only she didn't make it sound pretentious the way I just did). People always complain about Romni, but I've always received service that ranges from adequate to exceptional, so I'll remain an apologist for them. I do so love to be unconventional.

I came home in good time, then went to my parents for dinner. Blake came home with me, we put on pyjamas, and I made him go to bed. And the night and the morning were the sixth day.

Today has been tidying, church and marking. I didn't finish all of my Mark Break homework, but I've done a sizable chunk. I'm proud. Also freaking exhausted. Remind me that I don't get to complain about not having a life, would you? I'm going to lie down now.

Labels: dancing, friends, knit, outings

I've been crafting all day, and I'm paying the price now. The weather has been snowy and blowy, and all of my plans were cancelled. Thus, I've spent the day in unparalleled luxury: knitting, sewing, finishing, snacking, reading, bathing and slowly sipping teas. And I have the thumping headache to prove it. Sigh. Time for a little teevee and mental break.

Labels: knit

"You do stupid things that I don't like!"
- Blake, this morning, when the rage subsided enough for him to speak

I had a really great entry for Wednesday, but then I thought better of it. As I learned from the great Q & Stacy Rumour Disaster of 2002, sometimes I need to think twice before publishing something on the Internet. It will see the light of day eventually. All we need to say for now is that I cried myself to sleep on Tuesday and made all of my co-workers join my pity party on Wednesday, whether they wished to or not. Everything got better when I made it to my knitsibs, big fat burrito in hand and wool fumes buoying me up. I only had to tell a few people before I was okay again. I even got a phone call, which left me gobsmacked because only one person knew where I was going that night and I thought I was moving renegade, under the cover of the eclipse. Not so much. But being found was pretty terrific, too.

Tonight I pack up the Blake's stuff for the weekend and spend the night making something for Hestia's b-day tomorrow. I love a good kids' party, and between Andrea and Opera Sarah, I've been invited to some of the best lately.

Labels: angst, blake, knit

My Grade 12 class has a summative project that involves designing a utopia based on the principles they've absorbed throughout the semester. Then they make a presentation designed to sell us (or more importantly, me) on this idea of utopia. One group last month did a slide show about their institutions of higher learning, and partway through my startled voice proclaimed, "hey! That's my college!" Good old UC. And when they argued, I said, "I know that place. I was up on the roof once." Then they laughed at me.

Happy 11th anniversary, ridiculous Fireball. Happy anniversary random nudity, stolen ice cream and impossible love. It was worth the cigarette burns, the ruined stockings and the pictures in which my underwear was clearly visible. It was all worth it for the view from the top of UC.

Yesterday I offered to drive Mason home because I was going down for Drunken Knitting and we haven't had a chance to hang out since he came back to work this week. I didn't realize that being with a friend would make the handoff of Blake to the Boy that much harder. This is because I couldn't encase myself in the customary ice that cloaks my recent dealings with the Boy. So when the Blake had walked off into the snow with his daddy, I started to cry for the first time in weeks. Sometimes I am terrified by the amount of denial I use to get through the day. Watching the two of them walk around the corner made me realize that on some level, I'm just keeping my life warm for the day the Boy decides to come back.

This week was an especially hard one, because the blessings flowed in and there was no one to share them with. Asked to join a belly dance troupe – wait until work to cautiously tell anyone. Love bombed by Stacy – private and wonderful and no way to share why I'm smiling. Cosmic Pluto wants me to test-knit a pair of socks for her book – wait a day and a half until I can share the news with my knitting protégé Mason. It's really really hard to be missing the person who tried to understand my obscure flashes of joy.

But if emotion is the sickness, Drunken Knitting is the cure. By the time I made it down to the Dick, everything was in full swing. Sophie buttonholed me outside the door and we traded angst (not only are we goths, but we have actual troubles this winter, which makes it easier to mope convincingly.) I ordered food as fast as I could, then spun my head around when Mason, Kristen & Sage walked in. Yay! Between eating and talking and listening and playing pass the Sage and soothe the Zoë, I might have knit 8 tiny rows on my scarf. Maybe. It was one of the good nights, one of the best. I only went home when I was too tired to keep my mouth closed from yawning.

Conversation in the car on the way to K8rs' party:

Blake: I don't love Daddy anymore.
me: Yes you do, sweetie.
B: No. I don't love anyone anymore.
me: I feel like that sometimes.
B: No love for anyone. I'm not going to save anyone from dying.
me: I feel like that sometimes, too.

Labels: angst, blake, friends, knit, nostalgia, outings

My work day has been immeasurably improved ever since I downloaded the TMBG clock radio. I listen on headphones, of course, which only makes it weirder when I start giggling to something no one else can hear. I was driven to this wonder by my officemates' liking of light pop radio, which has the opposite effect on me. I am the girl who can work to anonymous grinding industrial, but give me 'The Girl Can't Help It' and I'll start chewing my cheeks in irritation.

Some lovely things happened last night at my belly dancing class. First of all, I was the knitting avenger, avenging all situations in which knitwear is required. Which I suppose is a grandiose way of saying that I finished my 2 day dance socklets in time for class, and I lent out my wristwarmers to a girl with chronically cold hands. The socklets are for a little bit of slippage to aid my turns. They are my answer to buying a dance half-shoe or cutting up a pair of whole socks; when I can just knit a tube of any length with materials laying around my house why should I take scissors to an innocent pair of machine socks? And the wristwarmers were just sitting in my pocket, but I certainly felt like a hero when her hands were warm and sweaty at the end of class thanks to my knitting. Plus, I was wearing my provocatively worded knit t-shirt, so I had a uniform and everything.

Besides the yarny stuff (or perhaps because of it), I made a breakthrough. I've been grumpy for three weeks, a classic Type A response to my clumsy dancing. This week I started to nail the chest lifts and it felt like someone else was moving my body. I don't think I've ever stared at my rack with so much admiration. I'm so happy. With a small victory, I can keep hopeful that one day I'll be able to bust out to The Ubiquitous Mr. Lovegrove and no one will laugh. (Not that people usually laugh during a goth dance-a-thon, but it could always be the first time. Wouldn't that be a terrible claim to fame? I was the girl who broke through everyone's studied facade - with hilarity.)

and now for something completely different: my new hat!

Labels: bat masterson, dancing, knit

I am being showered with blessings this week, my knitsibs once again wrapping me in their skeins of love. Last night I took advantage of my first weeknight off in a month to visit the Lettuce Knit Sn'B without a small troublesome boy as backup. (God knows I love him, but it's hard to keep him interested in knitnight when he's il-knit-erate.) I always feel welcome at LK, but this week it seemed like everyone was going out of their way to comment on how awesome I look these days. (And here I am thinking that I need a haircut before I completely dissolve into skiddish rattiness.) Once again I was struck by the comfort I feel being in a knitting circle lately, as people are neither nosy nor busily trying to ignore my single status. I even got into a rant about the missing Peanuts Christmas CD without feeling totally full of myself. Amy offered to give me an extra copy, but I decided at that moment that I would much prefer to replace the Boy's missing possessions by making my future boyfriends buy me things. I'm thinking that after 9 years of scrupulous adherence to "it's about love, not things," and being left with neither, I'd like some things by which to remember the next ones. Because right now I've got a few t-shirts, a few books & CD's, two rings, a really great Rodin reproduction, and a 6 1/2 year old houseplant named Beryl whose fierce desire to survive has managed to triumph despite all of my extremely half-assed attempts to keep her alive. Not exactly a collection worth auctioning at Christie's.

Ahem. But I was focussing on non-tangible blessings, like the long hug from Rachael H. and the chance to play with a rageful Fenner and my name - yes, mine - in the acknowledgments section of Amy's brand new Big Girl Knits 2 book. I know that nobody reads the acknowledgments pages unless they're in them, but there I am! Thanked by Amy "le Knitty c'est moi" Singer! And it's not like that one bit is more important than any of the other outpourings of love last night, but it is easier to brag about.

As if last night's Caramel Baileys-fuelled shenanigans weren't enough to coast on, today photographer, knitter and organizer non pareil Jacquie B put my blog up as one of her favourites. If this keeps up, I won't be able to knit myself a hat big enough for my head.

My picks:

• Josh
• Stephanie
• Amy
• Anne & Kay
• Michelle
• Jacquie
• Jen
• Dooce
• Alison
• Franklin

Labels: friends, knit, outings, the boy

This is my second weekend off, and true to form, I've stayed up too late, overslept, and hardly touched my professional work. I did get a lot of domestic stuff done, though, and in my defence my dad was over at the house for close to 5 hours. I love my dad, but he's kind of lonely now that he's in retirement. When no one else is around, he often comes up with a project for my house, which is extra fun when I've been awake for 10 minutes and being asked about programmable light switches. I ended up cooking dinner for the two of us, as the alternative was each eating alone in our quiet houses. I figured that I owed it to my mom to feed him at least a few times.

(Why, yes, the Boy did cite feeling smothered by my family as a reason for his desertion. How observant of you.)

My other bit of defence is that my late night and later morning were the result of genuine social interaction and not pointless websurfery. Last night I had an extended visit with Mason's baby Sage, after which I went to Drunken Knitting and closed the night down. I am completely in love with Sage, and found a way to hold him for most of the three hours that I was over at his house. (I even have a touch of carpal tunnel in my forearms today, which makes me feel like a bit of a mommy copycat.) No pictures because my camera is taking some exotic vacation of which I was uninformed (read: lost). Take my word for it: he may very well be the most beautiful baby since a certain alien-eyed moppet stole our hearts in 2003.

Drunken Knitting was also awesomely awesome (and featured a soundtrack bonus, as we were unexpectedly rocked like a hurricane.) The Gorgeous Ladies of Yarn were more than ready to dish about my domestic bizness, which is a welcome change from some of the other groups I've been in of late. (The only thing worse than talking about my marriage dissolving is not talking about my marriage dissolving.) I was humbled by the revelation that I am the most sexually inexperienced knitter in that pool by a factor of 20. Or maybe I was relieved. I can't remember.

Labels: family, friends, knit, outings

I've been crying pretty much continually this week. There was something about these last few days – maybe it was the darkness, maybe it was the stress of planning Blake's birthday party – but something spoke deep inside me, telling me that the Boy wasn't ever going to try to love me, and that all the promises I extracted from him were evaporating as quick as I could see them go. On Wednesday, while I was watching my students, I wrote a little note to myself that predicted this. "My marriage won't survive the Christmas holidays. Two weeks together will precipitate a crisis." And still I tried to hope otherwise, tried to plan some kind of a vacation that would forestall the inevitable. But I knew. I knew that I would bring it up after the party, and I knew what the answer would be.

I've been trying to figure out why this was happening since August, when the decline began shortly after my birthday. Four months of obsessive thinking later, the best I can do is sit, confounded. I don't know why he's leaving me now that things are coming together in every other part of his life. I don't know why I can't with good behaviour cancel out the bad behaviour he says has made all the difference. I only know that I can't do it for both of us. I've been trying to keep it together for so many reasons: because I love him, because I'm terrified of abandonment and life as a single mother, because it's not fair (whatever that means). But I can't do it. I can't convince him to love me again with good things, and I certainly can't browbeat him into loving me.

The bitterly ironic thing is that as soon as it was said, he let go of all the defences and cried for hours. The intimacy, the connection, the trust I had dreamt of for months was finally mine, but only when it couldn't benefit me in the slightest.

This is what's left. A heaviness and an ache that infuses everything I do. A pain that steals my sleep and my appetite and my will to move forward. I'm going to have to force myself through the motions for the next little while. Not looking forward to it at all.

7:37 p.m.

And now for something completely different. Feeling really good right now, thanks to a combination of knitting downtime at Jacquie's, surprise handmade socks (thanks, NotAnArtist!), cardio exercise, leftover vegetarian chilli and some strategic kitchen cleaning (I love how parties make you clean up before and after). I think I like feeling in control, like I'm not just moping around my house. Plus, Blake was extra happy to see me, and I'm greatly looking forward to putting him to bed tonight in his new Buzz Lightyear sheets (thanks, Andrea & K8!). More party stuff tomorrow, because despite all of the heaviness I felt that day, it was a damned good time.

Labels: angst, blake, friends, knit, outings, the boy

Brief update: last Wednesday at Lettuce = bad; last weekend = worse; this week = much better. We had a therapy session on Thursday, and when I got over feeling bad (which apparently is a very common to this kind of therapy), I realized that I needed to take action. The problem is that the Boy, for obvious reasons, doesn't like it when I broadcast our problems in this medium. He's tried to be noble about it and avoid "censoring" me (his word), but the truth is that it hurts him, and thus makes reconciliation that much harder to reach. He's got to trust me and feel safe with me and if that means not writing about our issues here than that's what it means. I'm a big girl. I'm not under any illusion that I'm writing a complete and accurate account of my life. It doesn't actually hurt me to avoid this as a topic, because it doesn't mean that I have to bottle up my pain.

This brings me to my second point, which is that the whole reason I was writing about our struggles is to a) achieve some kind of catharsis and b) reach a sympathetic ear. But I don't have to do that online. So if you know me and want to keep in the loop, please call me. I hardly ever get phone calls any more and I would love to talk to people face to face as schedules permit. I accept the fact that I shouldn't be standing on a soapbox, broadcasting my pain to the wide world; we both wholeheartedly accept the fact that I need to talk to people who care about me. If that's you, feel free to keep letting me know that, privately.

Speaking of keeping in the loop, last night was October's Edition of Drunken Knitting. I enjoyed myself immensely, as I got to hog baby Zoë to an extreme that almost mimicked having a 5-weeker myself. Mason & I were both completely infatuated with her, and we spent almost all of our time with her singing songs, making faces, talking in silly voices and telling her how wonderful she is. It was so good to feel that uncomplicated love that flows out of me when I'm around a tiny baby; for one, two, three minutes while Mason was singing "Dream" to her, everything was perfect.

Between Zoë and drinking and a sudden attack of the sneezes and the inevitable gossiping, I once again put in a somewhat pathetic performance on the knitting front. Oh well. I think it's a magnificent victory that knitting, the task I use to keep me awake at most gatherings (business or social) would be the least important aspect of my socializing with fellow knitters. There's something pithy in that which is eluding me at the moment. All I know is that knitters, knitting, knitty conversations, yarn, and little babies swathed in knitwear make me incredibly happy, without making me want to knit another stitch on my own account.

Blake has reached a saturation point in his school. We've passed the stage at which he's adjusting to the routine (a stage characterized by not eating lunch, making messes in the bathroom and distracting others during work time) and passed into the sponge stage. Last week the Boy & I were poking around on the computers in our study when we heard odd noises from his bedroom nextdoor. I crept around the door and found him playing with his toys and SINGING THE NATIONAL ANTHEM to himself. All of it. Phonetically in some places, but all the way from "O Canada" to the final "stand on guard for thee." I was amazed. I'm still amazed when I remember it.

The other thing he's taken to recently is la langue française. His ear for words and his early experiences reading French books have heterodyned to create a boy who can count to five and identify key Hallowe'en figures en français. I couldn't be more proud if he'd started ordering his own poutine.

blake & the boy with a tiny accordion that used to belong to my uncle roy and has lived in my grandmother's basement for decades.

we seem to find them wherever we go.

Labels: blake, friends, knit, outings, the boy

(or How I Learned to Bomb Through Nuit Blanche and Love the Run)

Artist's Statement:

In the rush of modern progress, our reliance on technology has passed from a coping strategy to a neurosis. The artist will put on a costume with no watch, leave the house with her cell phone turned off, and perform the piece. Scheduled movements include

• meeting up with volunteers
• knitting in public
• interacting with other artistic events both positively and negatively
• performing impromptu improvised dances in a carefully staged club-like environment
• locating a volunteer who may or may have been drinking all day
• spotting at least 6 random acquaintances from her past in the crowd
• finding a place to sleep that night (this piece begins no earlier than midnight)
• experiencing the environment as our primitive ancestors (i.e. without a coat)
• making and abandoning pom pom(s)
• getting up after five hours sleep to catch a "bus"
• taking the wrong "bus"
• participating in a charity walk with thousands of volunteers

The cumulative effect of these small performances is intended to show the struggle of an average woman resisting the expectations of her communication-crazed culture while still managing to make a number of complex meeting points despite her intentional technological crippling. The sheer number of participants makes this an unforgettable and unmissable performance.

I shouldn't take the piss, because Nuit Blanche was a truly unforgettable night. I started out alone, met up with a few choice members of the Gorgeous Ladies of Knitting at the new Tequila Bookworm, found the Boy while at a club, and wandered the streets with my knitsibs and him as long as we could stand it. The Boy, who was initially unenthused about the whole NB experience, opened up like a flower once he started seeing the various pieces along Queen West. We met 2 Bridesmaids, Pixie's ex-boyf & 3 of the Ferg res crew while milling about, an impressive total for a night boasting crowds of thousands.

(I even got to make a "date" with Casey to meet at the chocolate deer at 2 a.m. "Hey, I just made a date with your wife," he laughed to the Boy. And I have to admit that it gave a very petty part of me smug satisfaction to know that, after more than 10 years, I finally had a chance to stand Casey up. But I have to say, I was very close to sticking it out and making the date, so maybe standing him up is not what I always intended.)

We took an hour out in the middle of NB (were we blanching?) to try and enjoy ourselves at Panic. Problem was that we were too distracted by the possibilities of the night to really enjoy the possibilities of retro music. The only interesting part of it was my unexpected decoration. When the Boy showed up, he thought that we had been putting on glowing makeup at some installation.

"No," I said. "Where do I glow?"

It was only when we were back under black light that I remembered Blake colouring on me in yellow highlighter Friday night (see: too tired to suggest an alternative). When I woke up Saturday morning I no longer looked jaundiced, so I'd assumed that it was gone. Instead, I danced to Skinny Puppy with abstract squiggles on my arms, and a glowing tip to my nose. Cute.

The next morning I got up from Nad's soft futon at 7 a.m. so that I could do the breast cancer Walk for the Cure as a part of Team Knitty. I did the run "alone" (if that can be said when you're walking with a crowd in excess of 10 000), as various issues came up for all members of Team Knitty save myself and a woman named Michelle. We tried to meet up, but I was foiled by a very very slow transit system that kept chewing at me for more than an hour and a half before spitting me out at Osgoode. I wore my very noticeable bunny ears at first so she could recognize me, but aside from entertaining a number of small children, my ears did not serve much of a purpose. But.

The run itself, because I was alone, was so clarifying, so uncluttered. Instead of using my precious ergs of energy on chatting, making friends or announcing my weirder impulses or observations, I just kept it all for myself. All of my jokes, all of my ironies, all of my chafes and all of my problems; they all began and ended with me alone and that was incredibly freeing. Without a run buddy or buddies, I was like a lone tourist, and I was able to be open to so much more of the world around me. I talked to strangers and asked them for help. I took pictures of who and what pleased me without announcing my intentions and without the risk of appearing trivial or vain. I stopped and started and persisted, listening to the workings of my own internal clock. I knit, walking steadily, for at least a kilometre. And the best part was that it was all for me; I was watching and laughing and pondering each thing as if it was just one more installation in my own personal Matin Blanc.

How do you walk 5K on 5h? Maybe you just need to be in a huge crowd of happy, purposeful people on a beautiful morning, with the freedom to experience each thing on your own terms. And maybe the bunny ears help too.

Bonus! Something about being very overstimulated and very tired made me come up with a poem last night, as I was going to sleep on the futon. Here it goes:

Thy name is woman

Dave once told me that
"there would always be
an Aleta-sized hole
in his heart."
We haven't spoken in years
but I still wonder
if that hole
is still there.

And if,
by some miracle,
I could manage
to shake off those extra pounds
that dog my vanity,
would I still
fit in that hole?
Or would I
stick,
like the wrong key in the right lock,
able to slide in
but unable to turn usefully?

He's not the only one with
the impression of me
in him
like a noble seal
on good red wax.

And vanity aside,
I know that I have made holes
inside a good many people,
holes that
still expect me
to lie down quietly inside them
and unhole them for a time.

We haven't spoken about this, but
I sometimes wonder if
my teeth were straight and
my neck unstooped, if
my jaw was obvious and
my moles a fond memory,
would I still
fit into the place
I made inside you,
a snow angel in your memories?

Or would
the new me,
the beauti