Crabfest

We rocked it. It was great. Still collecting pics from people, but here's a couple to get started with...

She's crafty....

Beastie Boys aside, here is some of what has come out of my creepy little head of late...a box for Sparrow, at the top, and the beheaded cherub shadowbox at the bottom.

Reconnecting

Mine is a nomadic lifestyle, and with that comes the inevitable parting of ways with friends I make en route. Last year I made a friend, who became a great friend, who stuck with me through my own personal crisis, never asked me to be anyone but who I am, and always made me feel valued. Sometime after Christmas, this friend drifted off, dropped off my radar. I knew she had some complications in her life, and I didn't want to intrude. I let her disappear from my life, and I never checked upon her. Not once. She lives about two blocks away. I failed her. I have always felt that I am not as good a friend to her as I could be...and I am working on that (see blog about another friend I neglected below). Yet this to me is a gross failure on my part, and I am so, so grateful to be given another chance.

She called me this week. We are back to where we were before, I think, with no permanent damage done. I don't deserve it. She is a kind, generous and good person, far better than myself, and so here we are, pals again. I don't think I realized how lonely I have been without her these past few months. Maybe it was good that I have learned to appreciate her fully.

Sadly, we are reunited just in time for her to pack up and move away. She leaves in about a month. It figures. I'm glad we reconnected before she leaves, and I am excited at the prospect of spending time with her regularly again. And I am sad that she is leaving, although it will be a good move for her and her family.

I will miss her. So will my dog.

It's different when they're yours.

I have no children. I will not be having any, either. I don't like them. I really don't. I don't see the cute. Evidently I have negative points in the maternal skill slot. I didn't like kids when I was a kid. They're noisy, whiny, annoying, messy, needy. They take up space and time. Their stuff is ugly and plastic. They smell funny. They are always underfoot. They always, always need something.

I know, it's funny when I say it like that. You're thinking, she's just being cranky, to make me laugh. I'm not. This is truly how I feel.

I do not understand the appeal of parenthood. So, you get knocked up. What's next? 9 months of misery. You get fat and weird looking. Something is feeding off your body (this is parasitic behavior, people! Gross!!). Then you have the damn thing, and your genitalia is all stretched out and flappy, so sex isn't like it used to be. Oh, yeah, and then the breastfeeding. This is the most disgusting practice ever. Really. And I see women do this right in front of me! Ohhhh. So not necessary. Following that, your tits are all saggy and distended. Great. At least they match your crotch.

So what are you stuck with? A shitting, puking, crying lump of barnacle. You can't go anywhere without it. You never, ever, ever get time to yourself. Everything is a big drama.Just getting into the car is a major undertaking. it whines. it cries. it interrupts conversations you try to have with real people.

Then it gets older and there are all the things you have to do for it. Get it off to school, pack it a lunch, take it to soccer/dance/scouts/whatever. When do you do what YOU want to do? Never again. And all that stuff will make you broke.

Then there's college. You send them off, pay their way, and for what? They're busy smoking, drinking and fucking anything that passes by.

I. Don't. Get. It.

Where's the fun in this? What's the reward?

Oh, and the thing that I hate most. I am female. Soooooo, that means I want to hold your foul spawn? No thanks. Get it the fuck away from me. Your kid is not welcome in my house. Ever. I don't want a picture of it, and I don't care what it did on its field trip last week. Get it? I DON'T CARE.

So the wives say, "I know you SAY you don't like kids, but it's really different when they're your own."

How? How is it different? Aside from being worse? Do you really think, knowing I detest children, that I will have a kid and then love it because it came out of my body?

If, by some freak chance, I got pregnant, I would commence to throwing myself down every set of stone steps I could find until it dislodged and got the hell out of my body. really.

And then there's the last one. This is the big one. "You don't know, you don't have kids." Well, thanks for pointing that out, Sherlock. Might not have put that together on my own. The genius of this statement is that it is applied to every single issue that arises.

Neighbor says, "I wish it would quit snowing."
I say, "I don't mind the snow so much as the 150 mile an hour winds."
Neighbor says, "Yeah, well you don't know, you don't have kids."

...and therefore all my opinions are not valid? Whatthefuck?

Final note to all you breeders: I hate kids. Keep them away from me. And my not breeding is unrelated to my ability to come to logical conclusions. And for the record, I hate you too.

Rage

I have a horrible temper. Comes out of nowhere and kablooey, it's bad. I destroyed a room today in under a minute. Furious. Hate-filled. Unreasonable. Terrifying to be on either end of it. No telling what will set me off. It's never what you might think. Today it was a stack of papers sliding off a shelf above me while I was sewing. Not a big deal, really. Today, though, I threw things in all direction, cleared off my work surface with one arm while throwing things long-range with the other. Broke all kinds of stuff. Dead silent. Left the room at that point and huddled on the couch, hiding in my hoodie for awhile until the boiling sensation left my veins.

It's awful. Sadly, I had an audience today, and found myself tearfully apologizing a few minutes after the event. Shame he had to see that.

I don't know what causes these rages. It's the same thing that led me to scarification and self-mutilation as a teenager. Had to let the evil out somehow. Scary stuff, though, let me assure you. The only positive to this is it happens so very rarely. I'm probably good for a few months, now.

Always

A box called Always. I put this here for Six. (Can you see my box NOW???)