Constructing heat.

I finished my first real knitting project that I've done as a gift for myself, a magnificent pair of long gauntlets, or bumgloves as I have lovingly deemed them. I tried to do them off of a pattern, but found myself getting bored to the point of frogging with it, so I went my own way, and found that they look superb, in my own humble opinion. Made with Cascade 220 wool.

Making something like these makes me feel really accomplished, I made something out of a strand of yarn that I can wear, that will keep me warm, that other people admire. It's an extremely pleasant feeling, one that I haven't often felt.

I'm working on a second pair, in a different pattern I wrote up, for a friend of mine. The yarn is an electric purple that she picked out, for a scarf, but I know she'll like these more. My mother even wants a pair now.

Thinking and I'm thinking til there's nothin' I ain't thunk.

About one in five times I go on Facebook I look at his profile. Maybe it's curiosity, mostly I think it's human kinds general gluttony for punishment, and pain. His girlfriend seems to be head over heels for him. So excited to be with him, to be incubating something she created with him. Every time I read a comment from her I remember what it's like to feel that way about him, and I remember every time he let them down. About trying to get pregnant, and during it, when we'd fight he'd occasionally kick me in the stomach. Laying in bed and looking at the bruise, wondering if maybe something had been in there and was extinguished by the violence. How he'd look at the bruises with shame and apologize and put his hand on it, tenderly. Forgiving him over and over, and mostly blaming myself for making him feel the need to...protect himself in such a manner? I consider telling her sometimes, rationalize it by means of protecting her, but mostly I think it's anger and an immature desire for revenge against him. If he could do it to me, why not her? Though I have the notion that he won't. I spend a lot of time wondering why. Why he could be so violent and heartless towards me, but covet her, and their baby. If maybe I deserved his treatment due to my actions or behaviour? If that's just insecurity and there was an underlying factor in our relationship that made him prone to attack, and not in theirs. If maybe her comments are just a veil, a way to mask hidden problems, her way of making their relationship beautiful and healthy in print if not in life, like I used to do when talking to friends and family. I don't miss him, or our relationship, but part of me craves what they have in theirs, wishes that he treated me the way he seems to be treating her, a desire to be part of that with him like it was supposed to be when I left home to be with him, and married him. To be with the man she's making him out to be.

Daunting: 101 ...or was it dating?

Thursday I was sitting on the bus, knitting a simple lace pattern scarf, when I suddenly realized I should probably call my mom to let her know of my surprise return home at such an early hour. Being that I lost my last cellphone, and have since decided that technology isn't for me, I tested the waters of human generosity, and asked the guy a few seats over if he perchance had a phone that I could use for a tick. The waters were warm, as was his response, and we ended up in a polite conversation about the adorable picture of a smiling curly headed little boy as his wallpaper, which turned out to be his son. A few stops later he pulled the cord...and to my surprise asked me if I would by any chance like a ride the rest of the way home...After an internal monologue ("He could be Buffalo Bill." "You're a fucking hitch hiker." "That's different." "You occasionally sleep under bridges." "That's different" "YOU NEED A SOCIAL LIFE." "NOT AS A LAMPSHADE." "Do it." "Fine.") I decided to take up his offer of a much quicker way home. He explained that he didn't want to drive his work truck all the way to his previous destination, two counties over, so he took the bus as a more cost efficient, eco-friendly, alternative; which jived well with me. When we got in he explained to me that he asked if I'd like a ride because he thought I was very attractive, but wanted a more personal environment, and more time to take the leap of faith of asking me on a date. We chit chatted the rest of the way, and finally in front of my house exchanged numbers and parted ways.

Today I was in a panic. Why hadn't he called? Is it too soon for him to call? Did he lose my number? Did he lose interest? Should I call him? Where the hell did I put his number?! Oh shit I lost it. Wait...no...No there it is, buried under the blankets at the foot of the bed. How'd it get there? Who cares. Do I call him? Refer to the beginning of rant. I finally got up the balls to call him...and found that he was having the same mental tug of war himself, not knowing if it was too soon to call, or if I was ever going to call him, and he was extremely relieved that I decided to.

After some exceptionally awkward chatter, laughter, and a couple silences, he told me he was definitely still interested in getting together, and would call me Wednesday to make date plans, probably for this weekend.

So. I have what is my first official date, since I left my husband, to look forward to sometime in the next week. My nerves are a little shot, I may need a beer, or a tranq gun, but in all I'm really excited, and proud of myself for taking the leap and calling him. For putting myself back out there into the dating world with confidence I never had before. I think I gained a lot of it from my marriage. After leaving someone whose favorite pet names for you were "worthless" and "useless", you realize that you are none of those things. If you can gather the strength to remove yourself from that situation, you have the strength to do anything at all.

Catch and well needed release.

Not even brand new, sinfully luxurious, chunky baby alpaca in a deep saucy crimson could keep it from finally coming to a head. I curled up like an infant around the warmth and loyalty of my sweet dogface and muffled my sobs in her flank, overwhelmed with the feelings I've been denying myself, perhaps since I wiped the last tears, and final heartbreak of my marriage, off my face on the plane from Buffalo to San Jose, over a year ago. Primal envy that it was supposed to be me that he's so over joyed to procreate with, even though I'm eternally grateful it's not. Appall that he's carrying on his cycle of pathological lying to his new girl, even though she's pregnant with his baby, and I was just his wife and we were so young, and the unsinkable notion instilled in me, not only by his actions but by my own insecurity, that maybe it was just me that was unworthy of his honesty, his sincerity, his humanity, or his love. Even sick satisfaction, and the coinciding shame, of realizing outwardly what I've known in my ever more confident, and intelligent, subconscious; that it never was just me. Jealousy that he has someone to hold at night, to hold him, to defend him, to soothe him, even if he did have to pay the price of jumping into a relationship and ultimately being tied to it for the rest of his life, even after the shine rubs off, due to his own irresponsibility, it all poured through me, and hopefully out of me, in the...paws, of someone who cares. I do know true love. I found in a dog what I could never find in my marriage. Loyalty, security, and someone that will let me cry on their shoulder, even if they're scared. Even if they'd rather go chew the eyes off of a stuffed owl. Even if they're old and crotchety and I'm getting their coat wet.

After I got up to make myself some chai, and decided instead to document the current state of my emotional affairs a la the 21st century, she began to whimper in her sleep, tucked under layers of blankets in the bed. I pet her head, told her it was a bad dream, and returned the favor.

Widmertastrophy.

Three pink lemonades. Two Singapore Slings. Two pitchers of the Hef. One Sex on the Beach. Two fresh 21 year olds. And a Karaoke Bar. The recipe for a magnificent celebration of being single, young, and not pregnant.

I woke up in yesterdays clothes, scrapping the taste of fermenting squirrel off my tongue, to a set of pictures commemorating getting far too drunk in public, around microphones, and an extensive list of nostalgic songs from the 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's, and 90's. Flashes of memory include singing energetic (and crowd pleasing) renditions of both Baby Got Back, and Bohemian Rhapsody with male strangers, the latter of which was a duet with a tall young college student that was fond of pulling me close for prolonged singing into each others eyes, and apparently pelvic thrusted at my leg when I closed my eyes. Leaving the Karaoke bar with my best friend and ...galloping like horses back to her house... to wait for my DD to pick me up.

I didn't puke in the car.

Unacceptable use of pop culture references.

As per usual on chilly Sunday nights, tonight I found myself swathed in a heap of blankets, feet nestled cozily into the gratuitous under belly of an immobile lump of dog, with a pair of knitting needles in hand and a movie on in the background. The making of a fine evening if you ask me, so I guess I really only have myself to blame for ruining it by checking my Facebook (aka StalkerRoster). On my news feed were the not quite immortal, not quite verbatim, words of Chris Rock a la Lethal Weapon 4, "My baby is having my baby." Next to a picture of my (semi)recently separated from husband. Separated for just over a year, we haven't talked in the past six months, and all of the information I've managed to squirrel away (i.e. the addition of a new girlfriend, and now apparently a baby a'brewin) has been gathered through Facebook, where I keep watchful eye on him, just in case I ever needed to spring a surprise divorce on him since he still lives in Canada where I left him, our old number has been changed, and he refuses to respond to e-mails. Well, the time is apparently now, tacky, yet slightly emotionally satisfying, I left him a public wall post (Welcome back to high school, please enjoy your stay!) that said congratulations, and I think it's time for a divorce, and left him my number. I feel slightly justified in doing such a cuntastic thing in that I tried to call his cellphone, and received a woman's answering machine and thus really had no other choice...except to maybe not do it publicly, but honestly if I have to find out such drastic things about someone I'm still legally bound to through an internet social network, I don't feel as if I should give him the benefit of keeping my distaste and interest in starting divorce proceedings a secret, something that in the given situation he should be initiating. As my friend said, "Having a baby out of wedlock is one thing. Having a baby in wedlock with someone else is entirely different, and fucked up."

I dedicate the rest of the night to Dirty Dancing, knitting, chain smoking, and shoving my face with 99 cent Jack in the Box tacos, also thanking the ever sweet baby Jesus that it's not my womb.