Nausea and sensitivity! I’m VERY sensitive right now! And not just to bright lights!

I’ve stopped talking about migraines around here for two reasons. 1. It occurred to me that I don’t really want to hear about migraines from anyone else, so why would you want to hear about mine? 2. My migraines have been under control for the past year or so, meaning any migraine talk would just look like this: Got a migraine. Took a pill. Migraine gone.

But, BLERGH! I’m currently on DAY NINE of a migraine, so I’m no longer playing by anyone’s rules—especially my own. Evidence: Because I decided to hang out in the shower so that the hot water could work magic on my neck and shoulders this morning, I took the time to shave my knees. In other words, it is 2001 once again. (I last shaved my knees in 2001. Marriage. Bang!)

Please know that my doctor is on top of things (steroids! anti-inflammatories! muscle relaxers!). All will be well. (Unless all isn’t well. BUT, all has never not been well before, so the odds really are (ever) in my favor.)

Here is a bulleted list of what happened in the past week! This might bore you!

  • I cried like a baby during Inside Out and it had nothing to do with kids growing up and everything to do with animals sacrificing themselves for the greater good. I can barely type these words without getting teary. (I’m blaming the headache for so many emotions. Bing Bong!)
  • Jeff and I attended an amazing birthday party for a friend, and despite the searing pain in my head, it was the best time I’ve had in a long time. (I feel the need to mention the headache in each of these bullet points because it has been an annoying little energy-sucking tick for the past nine days so it deserves a bit of recognition for nothing other than Tenacity.)
  • I had coffee with the woman who poked the tiny snowball that eventually grew into us buying our current house, and despite the fact that I was all ‘roided up, I allowed all four table legs to remain on the floor and it was one of the best coffee talks I’ve had. I have so many great people in my life.
  • I left the coffee talk and rushed home to talk to my health coach, and Man! I’m really loving the process of talking about my issues and getting healthy. Without providing specific details, please know that I know that I’m sounding all floopy with the health coach thing. Also know this: I talk to Kathy every two weeks, and she has given me the tools and encouragement that have led to me losing eight pounds. BUT, more important than the poundage? I’m totally feeling healthier. Stronger. (Psst! Let’s not mention the headache in this bullet point. My doctor said it’s 100% weather related and has nothing to do with the fact that I’m not eating sugar and I’m not letting the sense of taste feel more important than the sense of smell, touch, hearing, or sight. By not mentioning the headache, I just mentioned the headache!)
  • Wait. I can’t just sit here and type type type type about MY week, because this was a HUGE week for a LOT of people! Bree Newsome climbed a pole, removed a flag, and I love her. The Affordable Care Act was reaffirmed! Same sex couples were given a constitutional right to marry! I became deeply offended and hurt when the church in which I was married—the church in which Jeff’s parents have each held the position of president—the church I have attended for the past seven years—the church I truly love—was essentially spit upon and called invalid by MANY people, and two of those people are people who know me personally. What? Huh? Where did that come from? I know! I know. I didn’t attend church this morning (Have I mentioned my headache? I have? Well, okay then!), but I know exactly what I missed. Because of Friday’s Supreme Court ruling, I missed a celebration. I missed generosity and understanding and faith and hope and LOVE. (The greatest of these is love, you know.)

Anyway, you might not agree with me or the way I worship on Sundays and beyond. You might take time out to criticize how I carry on or you might try to school me on why your style is better or “more legit” than mine. I’ll try really hard to be okay with that (really hard, but it’s REALLY HARD, but I’ll try. I will. I’m trying! I’m trying.). But, Hhhhhh. It’s hard.

Here is my promise to you: I’ll never criticize your church or the way your mind works. Furthermore, I promise to hold an umbrella for you in the rain and I promise to give you food if you’re hungry and I promise to celebrate your victories and I’ll try my hardest to lift you up when you’re feeling not so great.

I promise to never use my words to make anyone feel not so great. I’ll be careful. Sometimes it’s so important to be careful.

Also, please know that I spend more time feeling hopeful than afraid, and I sort of love feeling my feelings, so there’s that.

I believe it’s time to take a break and knit on my current pair of socks. Comments are off because I have a headache. (Did I mention that earlier?)

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Business as usual is no longer acceptable.

I spent several hours last week going through the Fluid Pudding 2001-2008 archives and cutting and pasting entries into one big 650 page document. In other words, I’ve written a book. Like many books, it’s not very interesting. It’s entirely too heavy on the I Hate How I Look and entirely too light on the What Can I Do to Help You.

I’ve read more than 100 news stories and blog entries and tweets about last week’s attack on the members of the Emmanual AME Church in Charleston, and I feel sick. I’ve heard the victims’ family members offering forgiveness to the monster who killed their loved ones, and the funny thing that’s actually not so funny at all? I would not be able to forgive. I wouldn’t. I can sit here on my big blue corduroy couch and twist my WWJD bracelet around (I don’t really have a WWJD bracelet, but I DO have one of these, which is certainly close) and tell myself that I’m doing my best, but: No. I can’t forgive a killer and I can’t forgive my own silence. (What would Jesus do? I bet he wouldn’t make a fruit fly trap with vinegar and a mason jar. I bet he wouldn’t color his hair out of a box labeled Natural Black Natural. I bet he wouldn’t treat himself to an iced caramel macchiato. These are the things I’ve done in the past week. Business as usual for a middle-class white lady with edgy peaches, stubborn greys, and a lingering headache.)

Sadly, I’m like a child when it comes to sorting out my thoughts. I can see my big picture want list, but I can’t articulate my strategies on mountain climbing. (If you’ve been coming to this website for very long, you know that I’m speaking the truth.) I often have to look toward my heroes for help and guidance, and for the past several years, two of those heroes have been Kelly and Karen.

Kelly wrote Let’s Get To The Work of Anti Racism.

Karen wrote Say Something.

Please read these two articles and then read them again and then love thy neighbor. Radically. Actively. Even that neighbor down the street who you’re not so sure about. Feed them. Literally and figuratively. Express your fears and then ask if anyone needs help. And then help. And then twist your own bracelet and then do it all again. And again. Until it becomes your life. And don’t be afraid to ask for help. Never be afraid to ask for help.

I hate feeling that things aren’t getting better. I hate it on a small scale, like when I have fruit flies hovering around my peaches. I hate it on a medium scale, like when I’m struggling to find freelance work. Most of all, I hate it on a hugely vital scale, like when I see people being treated inhumanely and killed for no reason other than the way they look. The color of their skin. And because I’ve walked only in my own shoes (clichés are rattlesnakes, yet I dance with them), even saying something like “I hate feeling that things aren’t getting better” feels so wide-eyed and unconscious.

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Things I’ve felt but I’ve never said. You said things that I’ve never said.

This morning the television told me that a jumpsuit must be paired with heels. The models wearing the jumpsuits expressed their fear about jumpsuits, and shortly afterwards I prepared Tamarind Ginger Lentils, although I had no tamarind or ginger. (I was unafraid.) If I EVER purchase a jumpsuit (and I most likely will NOT, although I’m not necessarily spooked by them), I will also not wear the unlikely jumpsuit with heels because heels make my elbows hit the sidewalk. (The lentils didn’t need tamarind or ginger.)

This week has been my favorite summer break week. I’ve managed to spend at least an hour with four of my favorite people, Meredith attended a seven hour birthday party at a friend’s house, and Harper has two days planned with her best friend from the old school. Meredith is enjoying her job at the library, I’ve now finished spinning three different braids of fiber in less than a month, Jeff plays the guitar and makes us laugh every evening, and Harper is creating material for a potential YouTube channel.

That is the 17%.

If I grabbed a fork from the remaining 83%, we would have to discuss the migraine that forced me into bed yesterday afternoon and how I’ve been a huge emotional jar of goo since November. I would also whisper the fact that I haven’t had a decent freelance job in nearly three months and how the girls constantly yelling “Stop!” at each other is going to drive me straight to Mom Loses Her Shit Avenue.

In other words, despite how I tend to sing, we still trudge. And no one can begrudge a trudge, so trudge we do.

When I pull into the garage, I drive until I make eye contact with Einstein. A few inches past eye contact will find me running into the lawn mower.

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This afternoon we’ll be having lunch with my mom and my nephew. I’ll be enjoying a baked potato with steamed broccoli and will then eat a bowl of lentils when I get back home. 4:30 will find me yelling questions at Alex Trebek. I’ll be in bed by 10:00, and will try to stay awake by reading until Jimmy Fallon comes on, but I probably won’t make it.

I rarely do.

Carry on.

Knitting and Spinning with a Brief Mention of Food and Shoes

Now that we’re getting ready to shake hands with the hottest part of the year, it’s time to start thinking about heavy cardigan sweaters.

I have this yarn.

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I’m thinking of using it to make either this or this. (I’m leaning toward the Iba.)

(The quality of the yarn is slightly compromised because I was using it for a cardigan back in 2011 and when I sat it down to answer the phone, Henry destroyed my progress. Thank God he now has an eggplant.)

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Jeff was in Boston for the first part of the week, so instead of eating everything in the house (my normal response to his car being at the airport), I spun.

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Above is a merino/silk/bamboo blend called Salt Marsh by Lisa Souza. It has been on my wheel forever, which is an exaggeration. Below is merino (Belly Beans by Lisa Souza), and it was on my wheel for less than 24 hours because I was all stressed out and emotional so spin, Spin, SPIN! It’s currently hanging to dry in our office, and it’s possibly the happiest yarn I’ve made.

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I started a Tiller Scarf in May, and the goal is to add one skein of yarn each month until it’s finished. (It takes five skeins of Cascade 220. The photo below was taken after one skein was used up.) Imagine how warm this thing is going to be once it finally starts snowing again. I wish I lived in Wyoming. I wish I was Lenny Kravitz.

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What else? Adventures with the Health Coach are going very well. As I mentioned before, I’m currently eating low carb/high fat/high protein, and although the pounds aren’t dropping quickly, they ARE dropping. PLUS, this morning I saw a glimpse of myself getting into the shower and it seems that I may be changing shape a little. Maybe. I’m eating a lot of avocados. And eggs. And fermented sauerkraut. No sugar (except for in my powdered chemical coffee). No processed foods. (Confession: I *did* have a blueberry doughnut last weekend, but one doughnut in three weeks is a world record for the world in which I’m the only person, so I’ve forgiven myself and will probably have another doughnut in a few weeks because life is short, so why in the hell wouldn’t I have a doughnut in a few weeks? I would much rather worry and stress about finding strategies that will enable me to remain patient until September 8th. (Tomorrow is National Doughnut Day.)) Eating healthy feels good. I love baked sweet potatoes almost as much as I love painless dental appointments.

Let’s see.

This morning my mom met us at the mall, and she let the girls pick out a pair of shoes for the summer. Meredith went with these, and Harper went with these, and I’m going to spend the afternoon watching Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee.

I’ve once again become very bad at responding to comments and e-mails, and I apologize. Also, the person who had our telephone number before us is named Ellenbach. You have no idea how often I walk around the house chanting “I ain’t no Ellenbach girl…” (It’s often. Now you know.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It’s drizzling outside, so we’ll go without spaghetti squash for another day.

When I was in the third grade, my Sunday school teacher told me to not get too close to people who didn’t practice our religion, because I wouldn’t see them in Heaven. I had many friends who were Catholic, and as a nine year old, I felt so bummed for them.

When I first started hanging out on the internet nearly two decades ago, I became obsessed with the journals written by people who were planning to amputate an arm or leg. I had no idea that amputation planning journals were a thing and I loved following along as these people I had never met were researching and planning ways to cut off their own limbs. (I know!)

Did you know that there is more than one artist collective made up of women who create paintings using their monthly blood?

Sometimes I get really bummed that I’m 45 years old and I still have so many books to read and so many people to hear about and see!

I once knew a guy who stuttered only when he wasn’t high. I knew another guy who would attend parties as The People’s Poet, meaning he carried little pieces of paper around and delivered on-the-spot poems to anyone who inspired him. A friend once wrote my name on Jim Morrison’s grave when he left college for a semester to see Père Lachaise.

I once took a Wicca class with my best friend where we vocalized our energies and then ate mint chocolate chip ice cream served to us by a woman with a Vulcan haircut. I once acted as a bodyguard for that same friend as she ambled around in a big tiger suit during a fraternity street party.

People. So many wonderful weirdos and reluctant wizards and I hate how often I don’t leave the house.

We all need to create more good adventures. It’s June 1. Let’s get on it. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>