It's been forever since I knitted like it was my hobby instead of yarn collecting (which, I think, is my actual hobby). I have amassed quite the collection of yarns and tools and toys to pursue this 'hobby' that I don't do.
Tuesday, January 4, 2022
Thursday, December 30, 2021
Shitposting. Because I can.
You know, blogs are a vanishing art form. I miss reading my knit blogs -- it was always intriguing to see what people I didn't really know were doing in their lives I had no part in.
But the one thing about this blog that I love is tracking my life. I left my job in May of 2021 (handy for when I maybe one day perhaps think about potentially getting into taking notes for what may end up being a resume) because...lots of reasons. Nominally, it was because I wanted to take care of my mom through her knee replacement surgeries (both knees, done! On to bigger and better joints, I guess?), but mostly because the job sucked just that much toward the end. And it's true, but employees don't leave jobs, they leave management. I liked my manager, I really do like her. But her management style cut me off at the knees, and really...it's like it was designed to provoke me into curling up into a tight defensive ball and cut off emotionally. I suppose it works for some people, but, eh. When your only employee disengages after a year on the job, maybe it's time to reflect, yes? Maybe I should have been the one to reflect, but honestly, the number of managers I've had whose style actually made me give a damn is barely even a quorum of the group. I'm so used to management that makes me disengage, I had no idea it could actually be different. I've been thinking all along that I'm just bad at working, when I should have realized that it's not just me, it's me as a part of the system -- and the system is just as 'bad' in that equation.
I'd been planning to quit and take a sabbatical at some point, but then things took a turn and I cut the gig loose earlier than I'd considered. And it's amazing the way I feel better, physically. And then today I go looking through my blog and counted the times I discussed 'shit getting real' and 'stuff sucking' and realized... that was my job. Each and every time. I had disengaged not just from the organization, but from myself. That's not good.
I'm just exhausted by the thought of trying again at a traditional job. And, honestly, it's not a thing you can get to the core of in an interview, before you've actually tried a job, so you can't even winnow out if you will experience it again in a new position. You can ask about management style, but good luck getting a straight (much less honest) answer. And I've been burned so many times before by people who lacked basic awareness about how they manage their teams, I have zero trust in that process, anyway.
So, fuck that. I may take a part time position, to bring in income while I work on some personal projects, but I am done with office work. The politicking, the trying to keep busy but not too busy and not too slack so you're there 40 hours in a week but still able to get everything done on time, dealing with shared microwaves and office refrigerators and the bathrooms, oh, Gods, the bathrooms....
DONE.
Tuesday, April 7, 2020
Sympathy for the Donners
How's everyone enjoying being cooped up inside with your family? Or alone?
I'm...well. I haven't bitten or killed anyone.
Yet.
Ah, yes. An oldie gif, but a goodie. And I still pronounce that hard-G GIF, not jiff. It's a moving picture, not peanut butter!
But I digress. Between washing my hands almost to stumps and trying not to day drink (I'm working from home...mostly), I can honestly say it's been an adventure. My father died last October (thankfully for him; he'd have gone absolutely spare if locked up like this for any length of time), so it's just me and my brother here taking care of Mom.
You'd think that three people could handle being confined to a 3,000 square foot property without something absolutely tragic happening, would you? Well, 1,000 feet of that is a damp, chilly basement with a cat who does NOT want us telecommuting from his home, and each of us needs way more than 600 square feet of buffer space to maintain civility. It's been maybe four weeks since I started working from home, two and a half of which has been at the "no, we're not going for take out" level of isolation, and we started snapping at each other this weekend.
I fear for people who live with a domestic abuser, I truly do. We like each other, and it's this hard.
Anyway, I found some old yarn and have decided to make blanket squares. It's probably full of asbestos dust from when I used to knit at church (or maybe not; back then the church was cleaned regularly). Although if the fibers are that fine, I'm not sure it matters. Well, I may have 30 years or so to find out.
In other news, I have been making progress on my reading stack. Not reading at my record pace, but...I'm reading. I'll take that as a win. I've also been working on the bread baking. I made an oatmeal bread that probably shouldn't count, because while it rose and baked, I underbaked it, so it collapsed under its own weight. On the whole, a fail.
Ah, well. I still have a ton of yeast and a bunch of flour. I shall bake a proper loaf of white bread! I shall!
Here, have a pretty picture to remind us all that we will come through this!
I can't wait to go back there....
I'm...well. I haven't bitten or killed anyone.
Yet.
Ah, yes. An oldie gif, but a goodie. And I still pronounce that hard-G GIF, not jiff. It's a moving picture, not peanut butter!
But I digress. Between washing my hands almost to stumps and trying not to day drink (I'm working from home...mostly), I can honestly say it's been an adventure. My father died last October (thankfully for him; he'd have gone absolutely spare if locked up like this for any length of time), so it's just me and my brother here taking care of Mom.
You'd think that three people could handle being confined to a 3,000 square foot property without something absolutely tragic happening, would you? Well, 1,000 feet of that is a damp, chilly basement with a cat who does NOT want us telecommuting from his home, and each of us needs way more than 600 square feet of buffer space to maintain civility. It's been maybe four weeks since I started working from home, two and a half of which has been at the "no, we're not going for take out" level of isolation, and we started snapping at each other this weekend.
I fear for people who live with a domestic abuser, I truly do. We like each other, and it's this hard.
Anyway, I found some old yarn and have decided to make blanket squares. It's probably full of asbestos dust from when I used to knit at church (or maybe not; back then the church was cleaned regularly). Although if the fibers are that fine, I'm not sure it matters. Well, I may have 30 years or so to find out.
In other news, I have been making progress on my reading stack. Not reading at my record pace, but...I'm reading. I'll take that as a win. I've also been working on the bread baking. I made an oatmeal bread that probably shouldn't count, because while it rose and baked, I underbaked it, so it collapsed under its own weight. On the whole, a fail.
Ah, well. I still have a ton of yeast and a bunch of flour. I shall bake a proper loaf of white bread! I shall!
Here, have a pretty picture to remind us all that we will come through this!
Saturday, February 29, 2020
Monday, February 10, 2020
Sh!t Got Real.
Bad things have happened, worse things have happened, and I may have a chronic illness.
What better time to turn to yarn and food for comfort?
What better time to turn to yarn and food for comfort?
Sunday, March 17, 2019
Yarn Hangover, Bread, and What I Want Out of Life
Sorta sings, doesn't it?
Thank the LORD yarn crawl 2019 is done. I was busted by the time I got to the last two shops, but then I had my car battery go out -- when the hell did car batteries go from $50USD to nearly $200USD? And why? This one lasted half the time of the $50 jobbie in my last car -- and Rex has been to and fro the vet's, and all manner of money shit and shenanigans have gone down.
And today is St. Patrick's Day, and I made stew, and bread, and Mom made corned beef, and bread pudding. And I ate way, way too much of just about everything, and the stuffed feeling I have from the food is about the same feeling I have when I think of my stash.
I will be skipping the June fiber festival, methinks. Yarn producers in my home state will just have to make bank without me.
Which takes us to bread. I have been trying to bake a yeast loaf for years. Apparently the fact I cannot raise a yeast loaf means I'm a witch. If only I weighed less than a duck, too! So today I made a soda bread, which just reminded me that I have, for years, had a goal to make and raise a yeast loaf. I have the bread flour and two different types of yeast (quick rising and regular) and honey, if I want a honey-sweetened loaf. Now I just have to, you know, do it.
I think I'll clear a day out of my schedule next weekend to devote to the art of bread making. People have been baking risen breads for centuries! My own father is a retired baker! He is shamed by my lack of success in bread making! I must regain family honor and actually raise a loaf of bread, and then bake it into submission. I shall not fail you, ancestors. I will make a loaf of yeast bread.
Which leads to the 'what I want out of life' bit. I miss the days before all-consuming social media in my life, you know? When I actually wrote and baked and cooked dinner and did stuff. I miss that. I didn't realize how much head space digital media took up until I started thinking about abandoning it. Maybe if I hadn't gotten into Facebook and Instagram, I would have actually managed to raise a loaf by now.
And it's pernicious. You start to think that your presence there is important somehow, that you are necessary to the people you follow or watch. But on the whole, it's not. They'll tick along without you.
Humility is a thing, you know. And it's an understanding of how insignificant you actually are in the grand scheme of things. It's amazing, really. Being so small means that you can vanish here, turn up again there, do anything you want because even if I run away tomorrow -- pack my little hobo bundle on a stick and take Rex away to Somewhere Else -- there will be people to pick up the slack. I'm not irreplaceable.
I need to let people take up the slack. I've gotten in the bossy bitch habit of pushing things through because I think I'm the only one who could possibly do things, and it's more stress than I need to put on myself.
So I'm 'running away'. I'm ditching a lot of social media, going back to knitting and baking and reading and writing and trying to cope with having a dog that's smarter than me.
And honestly, no one will mind. No one but me, and I don't mind any of it. I'm looking forward to the peace and quiet, and I think it will only do me good!
And today is St. Patrick's Day, and I made stew, and bread, and Mom made corned beef, and bread pudding. And I ate way, way too much of just about everything, and the stuffed feeling I have from the food is about the same feeling I have when I think of my stash.
I will be skipping the June fiber festival, methinks. Yarn producers in my home state will just have to make bank without me.
Which takes us to bread. I have been trying to bake a yeast loaf for years. Apparently the fact I cannot raise a yeast loaf means I'm a witch. If only I weighed less than a duck, too! So today I made a soda bread, which just reminded me that I have, for years, had a goal to make and raise a yeast loaf. I have the bread flour and two different types of yeast (quick rising and regular) and honey, if I want a honey-sweetened loaf. Now I just have to, you know, do it.
I think I'll clear a day out of my schedule next weekend to devote to the art of bread making. People have been baking risen breads for centuries! My own father is a retired baker! He is shamed by my lack of success in bread making! I must regain family honor and actually raise a loaf of bread, and then bake it into submission. I shall not fail you, ancestors. I will make a loaf of yeast bread.
Which leads to the 'what I want out of life' bit. I miss the days before all-consuming social media in my life, you know? When I actually wrote and baked and cooked dinner and did stuff. I miss that. I didn't realize how much head space digital media took up until I started thinking about abandoning it. Maybe if I hadn't gotten into Facebook and Instagram, I would have actually managed to raise a loaf by now.
And it's pernicious. You start to think that your presence there is important somehow, that you are necessary to the people you follow or watch. But on the whole, it's not. They'll tick along without you.
Humility is a thing, you know. And it's an understanding of how insignificant you actually are in the grand scheme of things. It's amazing, really. Being so small means that you can vanish here, turn up again there, do anything you want because even if I run away tomorrow -- pack my little hobo bundle on a stick and take Rex away to Somewhere Else -- there will be people to pick up the slack. I'm not irreplaceable.
I need to let people take up the slack. I've gotten in the bossy bitch habit of pushing things through because I think I'm the only one who could possibly do things, and it's more stress than I need to put on myself.
So I'm 'running away'. I'm ditching a lot of social media, going back to knitting and baking and reading and writing and trying to cope with having a dog that's smarter than me.
And honestly, no one will mind. No one but me, and I don't mind any of it. I'm looking forward to the peace and quiet, and I think it will only do me good!
Sunday, March 3, 2019
FML
Well, I still have a job. I'm conflicted about it -- it's stressing me right the hell out, and it's not meeting my needs anymore (and that's totally my fault), but. It pays well, and the bennies are fabulous. I guess I need to figure out how to meet my work needs elsewhere? I mean, lots of people work jobs that don't inspire them just for the money. And the work I need to do to feel purpose doesn't pay (and I work for a not for profit -- think about what i'm saying here and weep), so unless I hit the lottery, I need to learn to suck it up, do my job, and just deal.
It's also the height of yarn crawl season. But I have a job and it pays money, so...yay?
AND WE'RE ONLY HALFWAY THROUGH.
I'm going to be so poor, aren't I? But...yarn makes me happy. Yarn and Rex and Olaf and home and tea.
Which leads me around to the topic I need to write out. Life, living it, what I want out of living it, and where I want my focus to fall. I follow lots of dogs on Instagram, and lately two of them have become sick with cancer and are either still keepin' on keepin' on, or have been let go for their comfort and happiness, and it's ridiculous how much I'm grieving over dogs I've never met, never will meet, and how this grief is distracting me from the dog I have sleeping right next to me.
In order to preserve my mental health (stop laughing), I'm going to have to stop with the Instagram, like I stopped with Facebook. I can't handle it; the immediacy and false intimacy of seeing into people's lives that way.
I mean, I'm sorry for those dog's humans. But it just reminds me that I need to focus on Rex, and enjoy Rex today, because tomorrow is no guarantee.
Even though he just let out a fart like you would not believe, he is my sweet baboo. I want to enjoy him -- and my life, such as it is -- while I have him (and it), and I don't think modern social media is conducive to that. She writes in her blog, but let's be honest, I'm my only audience. No one reads blogs anymore. So it's more like a journal, a place to organize my thoughts, and therefore is a safe space in which to write them, air them out, feel the shape of them on my fingers and understand if they fit me or not.
Humans are visual beings, and I think it's that window into the other people's lives, the photographs, the videos...they give you an immediacy and a feeling like you know them. But you don't. You can't, not at the level of interaction Insta or FB give you, you have to reach out and communicate in other, deeper ways, but that illusion is still there. And I think it is that illusion that is what is distracting me from the joys in my own life.
Even if that joy just farted AGAIN. Ugh. What are we feeding him?!?!?
It's also the height of yarn crawl season. But I have a job and it pays money, so...yay?
AND WE'RE ONLY HALFWAY THROUGH.
I'm going to be so poor, aren't I? But...yarn makes me happy. Yarn and Rex and Olaf and home and tea.
Which leads me around to the topic I need to write out. Life, living it, what I want out of living it, and where I want my focus to fall. I follow lots of dogs on Instagram, and lately two of them have become sick with cancer and are either still keepin' on keepin' on, or have been let go for their comfort and happiness, and it's ridiculous how much I'm grieving over dogs I've never met, never will meet, and how this grief is distracting me from the dog I have sleeping right next to me.
In order to preserve my mental health (stop laughing), I'm going to have to stop with the Instagram, like I stopped with Facebook. I can't handle it; the immediacy and false intimacy of seeing into people's lives that way.
I mean, I'm sorry for those dog's humans. But it just reminds me that I need to focus on Rex, and enjoy Rex today, because tomorrow is no guarantee.
Even though he just let out a fart like you would not believe, he is my sweet baboo. I want to enjoy him -- and my life, such as it is -- while I have him (and it), and I don't think modern social media is conducive to that. She writes in her blog, but let's be honest, I'm my only audience. No one reads blogs anymore. So it's more like a journal, a place to organize my thoughts, and therefore is a safe space in which to write them, air them out, feel the shape of them on my fingers and understand if they fit me or not.
Humans are visual beings, and I think it's that window into the other people's lives, the photographs, the videos...they give you an immediacy and a feeling like you know them. But you don't. You can't, not at the level of interaction Insta or FB give you, you have to reach out and communicate in other, deeper ways, but that illusion is still there. And I think it is that illusion that is what is distracting me from the joys in my own life.
Even if that joy just farted AGAIN. Ugh. What are we feeding him?!?!?
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