Betsy Phillips's Blog, page 25

Vacation Day

I’m taking today off. I’ve started my day by sleeping for ten hours.

The Book

I’m slowly working my way through the comments by my first beta reader, who did such a good job that I’m still kind of reeling from how much better my draft is in the parts where I’ve incorporated her comments.

I got asked by another group to come speak to them, but I can’t do it on the day they want, so we’ll have to see if that comes together in the fall.

It’s very satisfying, though, to see it slowly becoming better and better. Just this morning I was re-reading the first couple of parts and, shoot, it’s jammed full of things.

I really hope you all will like reading it. I have a shit-ton of footnotes, but I had to have some place for all the snark.

The Sister I Never Had

My parents have this friend. I can’t remember if I’ve mentioned her before or not, but she’s in her mid to late 50s and she calls them “Mom” and “Dad” and they tell people she’s their daughter.

I’ve met her a couple of times and she doesn’t strike me as a con artist, so whatever.

I made them an afghan a million years ago, back when I was learning. They gave it to her. Which, I mean, I gave it to them. They’re free to do with it what they want. That part, on a scale of “I have a hair in my mouth, but I can’t seem to grab it” to “I stepped on a Lego in the middle of the night,” I’m putting down at the stray hair end.

Y’all. They told her that I wanted her to have the afghan.

She was deeply moved and grateful and touched. Like I had made this grand gesture to show I also thought of her as a part of the family–which I do not.

That part has me so fucking irritated with my parents. I feel utterly misrepresented to this woman who, now, through no fault of her own thinks I’m very fond of her.

And then my dad had the gall to try to read me the birthday card she gave him, because he claimed she wanted him to. I told him that didn’t sound right, that whatever she wrote to him was for him and didn’t have to do with me. He seemed irritated and brought it up a few more times, but god bless, I’m not going to… I don’t know what. Be any more embroiled in the bullshit of this than I have to be.

And then, AND THEN, he sat here in my chair, in my house, saying how he knew that everything nice I did for him–like, oh, specifically making afghans–I really intended for my mom, so that I wasn’t doing anything special for him, because I didn’t care about him.

I said, “Yep,” which ended the conversation, because a.) I think he may really think that. Which is bananas and go get on an anti-depressant, sir. 2.) So I’m supposed to sit around and… what? …beg him to believe that I love him? That the nice things I do for him I’m actually doing for him? I mean, my god, I can just do shit for my mom if I want my mom to have shit done for her. I don’t need to go to the trouble of all that subterfuge. And I sure as hell can’t prove I love him through doing nice shit for him or telling him if, indeed, he believes those gestures and words are lies. So, I guess I’m just supposed to sink back into a dynamic where I try and try to do the thing that will appease him, but it never works, because nothing will appease him, but he feels a little better because all my focus is on him?

And I don’t like him when he sits around bickering nonstop with my mom or running me down or complaining about the state of my house or trying to rope me into friendships with his friends or whatever.

So, yeah, if he was picking up on that, he wasn’t wrong.

But to sit here and try to make out like I don’t love him? Why in the hell would I put up with all of this bullshit if I didn’t love him?

It’s like, dude, either this is love or I’m a fucking idiot. And if you can’t recognize this as love, then all I can gather is that you think I’m a fucking idiot.

I’m Here

[image error]

Working on an afghan for my pending niece. Trying to get my head on straight.

The Visit

My parents were here this weekend and I had a fleeting thought on Saturday that, if they wanted to move down, I could always kill myself before they came. And then I laughed, because, damn, that’s the kind of thought you have to call your shrink about.

I’m embarrassed to even write it out, but I want to remember that I had it.

But then I practiced my “what am I feeling?” exercises and decided that what I was feeling is unhappiness. They fight all the time, not even big blow-up fights, just constant sniping. They complain about their friends. They complain about their families. They talk constantly about people I don’t know, but never give enough context for me to know why I should care.

My house is never clean enough. I don’t have the right things they need for whatever. And they seem congenitally ill-equipped to understand that I have other things going on in my life. That I might have had plans this weekend. Or any weekend.

Which is all fine and manageable in small doses.

But the thought of that being my life, if they moved down here because they need someone to watch over them? I can’t do it. They’re going to have to go to my brothers. It was one thing when the Butcher and his family were also here.

But the idea of me, alone, trying to manage them while also maintaining my own ability to function and to have a life outside of them?

I love them and I feel like a really shitty child for not being able to do this for them. But, damn, I couldn’t do this for them.

The Yarn

[image error]

It’s funny to me how twisting it into a skein makes it look like a legitimate yarn, even if I can nitpick it apart like it’s my job.

I told my coworker that I was just going to be sad and weird all week and it made things better. I haven’t needed to be sad and weird, but I felt like I had permission to be so if I needed.

In that spirit, I’m just going to say that I don’t enjoy the afghan I’m working on, which means it’s dragged out into month three, when I should have been able to finish it up in four or six weeks. I’ve never put something aside before, but I’m so tempted to put this aside.

Or, frankly, maybe I have and I just need to admit it to myself.

This Single!

[image error]

I kind of want to stay home all day and just admire this yarn. I spun this half in a fractal spin, but I’m doing the other half in a gradient spin:

[image error]

Then I’ll ply them both back on themselves and end up with two different yarns in the same colorway.

I feel a little bad for people who spin for sweaters, because you have to try to get a lot of the same yarn. Where as I just get to dick around with smaller batches of different stuff to see what will happen.

Also, I bought myself a pound of bare wool.

[image error]

I’m having fun imagining all the ways I’m going to dye it. But I also put some aside to spin up just like this, because that also seems fun and cool.

A Little Too On-The-Nose, Universe

I woke up in the middle of the night with an ache in my lower back like I’d been driving too long. I rolled over and checked the time. It was 4:20.

The Butcher made it to Tucumcari last night. Phoenix today, if the snow isn’t too bad.

Sad, Continued

[image error]

I wisely gave myself a project–to make some yarn for my friend, K. She said she likes purples and reds. I made her this two-skein gradient. I may have overdone it on the shiny bits.

[image error]

The red is mostly BFL and some mystery wool, with some Merino. The purple is all Merino. And I still remain frustrated by Merino. It’s clumpy. It’d dense. I don’t spin it very well.

I just feel like there’s something I’m missing about it. Do I need to card it 100 times? Should I only blend it with things? People fucking kept these sheep secret, so amazing is this wool. Why am I immune to its charms?

Sad

Today I see the Butcher for the last time before he moves to Arizona.

I don’t really know what to say about it. I feel a sharp empty sliver in my chest. I feel alone in a way that makes me kind of dizzy.

I’m old enough to know all will be well. This is the feeling of driving to college for the first time, of moving to a new city. There is something on the other side. Good things on the other side.

But this part still feels perilous.