By the time we learned about Melatonin, the magic elixir that makes Olive sleep, it was too late for me. My ability to fall asleep naturally and stay asleep was forever impaired. Fortunately, there was that new sleep aid that begins with an A but whose name I won't type lest I subject myself to eighteen comments from various overseas manufacturers of said sleep aid. Many of you have no doubt heard about how A makes one feel at liberty to eat things not on one's diet, and soon after being introduced to this drug I fell prey to this side effect. The next morning, I woke with debilitating stomach cramps. I didn't know why at first, and then snatches of memory came back to me: a vision of me, eating a large bowl of Total cereal with raisins.
It's embarrassing to go to the ER as a Crohn's patient who ate something she knows is wrong: my gut doesn't do high fiber, iron fortification or raisins in anything but small amounts. It's even more embarrassing when you have to say, with a straight face, that you are not hung over nor did you overdose on black tar heroin. Yes, you're in the ER on phenergan and IV hydration because you ate what most would call a healthy breakfast.
Well, this unconscious eating was a problem easily solved. If I'm going to have a night-time snack, I choose it before taking the A. Unfortunately, there are other ways to consume.
Yesterday afternoon LB called me from work and said, offhandedly, "Are we done buying yarn for awhile?" I affirmed we were, wondering why he would ask that seemingly out of the blue.
Then, I had a very hazy memory from the night before: me straying from my book project and visiting yarnmarket.com. I had gotten an email from them a few days earlier indicating they were having a sale on Rowan, and had forwarded the email to my pal Leslie. To be nice. Because Rowan rarely goes on sale. I had no intention of buying any myself. Or so I thought.
This arrived today.
What was I thinking?
I mean that literally. What was I thinking? The configuration of yarn I bought imply I had a plan.
Why, for instance, did I choose seven skeins of Kidsilk Classic in deep red? What was the project I had in mind?
And the fine tweed: four skeins in green, and three assorted. Obviously I was thinking of colorwork, but what? I had left no other clues, like pattern books open to various pages or new online bookmarks to Ravelry projects. The obvious solution is to open the page to Yarnmarket's pattens and books section before taking an A tonight, but I'm guessing LB might object.
Anyways. I have been taking my afghan (it's going to be for Sabina to take to college in the fall) project with me everywhere, including Dr. Bowtie's office.
I arrived at his office early today, and another woman in the waiting room was flagrantly breaking the "no cell phone" policy, despite the big sign. After fifteen minutes I knew all about her unhappy marriage, and how various couples therapists had thrown her and her husband out of their offices because her husband was "verbally abusive." She used the phrase verbally abusive many times, and finally wrapped up her monologue with, And you know me -- I never complain and I'm always in a good mood.
After she hung up, she placed another call: this time to a delicatessen. She ordered a bowl of matzoh ball soup for pick-up, but she wanted it to have two matzoh balls in it. This was important: there should be soup for one, but matzoh balls for two. Then she said, "I also want kreplach," except she pronounced it 'kreplock.' She paused, then again said, "Kreplock." Another pause, and then: "I said KREPLOCK!"
I winced, because her tone had indeed crossed over into "verbal abuse."
Finally she yelled, "Put someone on the phone that speaks English!"
After she hung up, she looked at me as if for the first time. (I suspect my knitting made me invisible.) Then she said, "I know you're not supposed to talk on cellphones in here."
I just stared at her blankly, having already decided to pretend I didn't speak English. Now I'm wishing I'd said, "Kreplach," to her, slowly and carefully.
Today was not my day for waiting rooms. Joan got her cast off this morning and while I was waiting to pick her up at the vet's office, there was a man also waiting to pick up his dog. The receptionist was trying to schedule a follow-up appointment for him, and offered February 15th.
The man said, "On February 15th I'm usually recovering from being the best husband in the world! Hehehe."
It occurred to me that he could just as easily have not said that. I wondered if he'd made a conscious decision, weighing the pros and cons and then thought, Yes, I must make sure that my vet's receptionist and that woman over there knitting know that I intend to have sex on Valentine's Day. Yes, this is the right thing to do.
On a more appetizing note, Joan's leg has healed and her x-rays are perfect. Right now she's sitting next to me wrapped in a blankie and feeling quite fragile, with her left leg all skinny and unsupported. Every now and then she presents her nose for kisses and I tell her she's going to be just fine without her billy club, and that the fur will grow back. We all know what an emo little cavachon she is, and how she always needs to be by my side.
I don't know what she'd do without me.