1. One of my goals for the weekend to finally, finally, FINALLY complete my body donation information for the University of Tennessee Forensic Anthropology Center.  I need to send in photographs with the paperwork, and I’m wondering if I should give myself a facial beforehand.

1(a). I think I’ve been having more fun playing around with online photo-editing than with trying to select acceptable pictures of myself to submit to UT.  Click for bigger version, if only to see the tombstones on the darker background:

1(b). Once I mail everything off, I will treat myself with a UT hoodie.  I look rotten in orange, so I’m thinking this one or this one.

2. Even though I sometimes complain about how busy I am at work, I truly enjoy meeting and talking with many of my clients.  I had a retired professor suggest that it would be a wonderful idea if you could designate a person in your Will who would be responsible for finishing all the unread books you have in your library when you die.  This adds new meaning to the words “literary executor.”

3. Teh Husband and I bought enough Halloween candy yesterday to pacify ten busloads of preschoolers.  I’m not even going to count the bags.

3(a). 29, not counting the mini Butterfingers for me and the mini Almond Joys for him.

3(b). Something tells me we will have enough chocolate in this house to last until Epiphany.  The number of trick-or-treaters we get at our house is dependent upon the weather.  I remember Halloween in Michigan.  Sometimes we had to wear parkas over our costumes.

4. I’m knitting a pair of mittens for me.

This will eventually turn into a pair of mitered mittens.  One mitten down; one to go.  Thumbs are for last so I can match the colors from the leftover yarn.

The pattern is from Elizabeth Zimmermann’s Knitter’s Almanac, and I’ll do a full write up with yarn info and such when they’re finished.

5. Here’s a photo of Christopher.  Just because.

It’s really more righteous indignation than anger, but if it’s enough to get me off my butt and write a post, I’ll take it.

There are two things that push my Anger Buttons:

• Intolerance in any form, from your garden-variety racism to intolerance based on a person’s sexual orientation, religion, social class, etc.
• Stomping on someone’s civil liberties.  I’m a proud, card-carrying member of the ACLU, and Teh Husband and I send in a monthly contribution via automatic withdrawals from our checking account.  I believe his main concern is privacy issues, while mine is the straightforward First Amendment stuff:  Freedom of speech and expression, freedom of religion, and freedom of the press.

If you’re paying any attention to current events in the United States you will know exactly what I’m talking about.  I’m not here to write a post discussing the issue in detail, I just need to say this:

If you’re wrapping yourself in the flag and claiming what a “real American” you are for opposing Park51, it’s painfully obvious that you have no concept of the principles set forth in the Bill of Rights.  None.  You are a “faux American.”   Pathetic.  My suggestion to you is to grab a Sharpie and write “IGNORANT BIGOT” on your forehead in really big letters.  That will save us the trouble of having to listen to you.

When…everyone was competing for airtime, I felt invisible and became over-stimulated and anxious.  My anxiety was not about the pressure to socialize; there were more than enough bodies to take care of that.  I became anxious because I couldn’t think, and, without my own mind, I felt like I was disintegrating….In my solitude, I could regain contact with myself and become solid again. Laurie Helgoe, PhD.

That is the most apt, most accurate description of the life of an introvert in an extroverted world that I have ever read.  Truly.  When I read it, I felt as if I had the breath knocked out of me, almost like I had been punched in the stomach.  Someone understands.  Someone gets it.

I haven’t been showing up here too frequently because I haven’t been able to recover very well from my work.  For whatever unknown reason, my work load has doubled in the past two weeks.  It is utterly insane.  It’s not my boss dumping stuff on me; he is as gobsmacked as I am.  By the end of the day, I’m ready to curl up in the fetal position and eat ice cream for dinner.  I find that I’m needing more and more time to regroup so I can go back to the office the next day.

I’m around.  I am basically okay.  I’m just not feeling very chatty lately.  I’ve been knitting and reading and watching documentaries.

I’ve been rebuilding myself daily.

One post would be a righteously indignant screed concerning the utter stupidity of the public and the media in their interpretations of the latest recommendations on mammograms for women between the ages of 40 and 49.  Honestly, people; get a grip.

I threw that idea out because I really don’t have the energy for righteous indignation right now.

The other idea for a post was how I find myself thinking more and more about my own mortality.

I have to point out — here and now — that this has nothing to do with my chronic depression or chronic pain, nor is it anything suicidal.  I’m not getting all emo-gothy-weird — I don’t have the wardrobe for it.  I’ve just been thinking thinking, and I feel myself Running Out of Time.

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker

There is so much I want to see and do and experience; it’s really not so much of a memento mori thing as it is a sic transit gloria mundi thing.

In any event, that’s where my head is — for what its’ worth — and I’ve just reminded myself that I really need to get around to reading the annotated The Waste Land that’s been sitting on my to-be-read bookshelf for the past twelve months.

Damn.

I better get up on that.

Yes, it is at bad as it sounds.  A blog post every day during the month of October.  If you feel compelled to point out to me that today is October 3rd, thank you.  I already know that, and the “rules” say you can begin on any day, including October 30th.

I’ve been in this gray, inchoate place in my mind with regard to blogging.  I think of things to write about, certainly.  I  never actually work up the energy to craft a post, or it just turns into a Facebook update. I’m growing weary of this and figure I need a kick in the pants to get me up and running, or rather, blogging.

I’m hoping I will be able to write a few things this month that aren’t “what I had for lunch today” posts.

“You lack faith,” said Candide.

“It is because,” said Martin, “I have seen the world.”

– Voltaire (Candide, Chapter XXIV)

Checking in — Not necessarily because I have something to say.  I’m hoping if I start typing something, anything, I can get out of the not-blogging rut.

For the insatiably curious:  I have played 350 games of that 1-win-in-200 solitaire game without winning a single hand.

For the knitters:  I finally finished the Black Rose socks.  I have rechristened them the “Thorn in My Side” Socks.  10 weeks of knitting.  It’s not that it’s a difficult pattern or that the yarn was hard to work with.  It was all operator error.   I ripped back the second sock after I seriously goofed the heel turn and tried to fix it.  I frogged four-weeks’ of progress in a fit of pique.  I don’t have a decent picture to show you yet , though.  My photography skills, such as they are, are failing me.

For those monitoring my mental health:  Let’s just say that if I wasn’t on Wellbutrin, things would be Extremely Bad.  On the Wellbutrin, it’s Merely Bad in General.  Hate summer.  Hate light.  Hate heat.  I’ve been trying to make a list of “positive” things about summer.  Let’s see.

• Lots of time sitting in an air conditioned house working on big knitting projects. 
• Thunderstorms.
• Fresh home-grown catnip for the pusses.
• Nectarines, my favorite fruit, are in season (and sold in lovely air-conditioned produce sections at the store).

That’s it.  The rest of it is all sweat and humidity and mosquitoes and People Who Really Shouldn’t Be Wearing Anything Sleeveless.

Enjoy your weekend, cats and kittens.  I’ll be sitting on my couch, watching documentaries, and ploughing through 4 inches of 1×1 ribbing.  On 220 stitches.  Pictures may or may not be forthcoming.  I’m just happy to keep my head about water right now.

There’s a wonderful article on the history of the metaphor of The Black Dog here.  I wish I had the energy to absorb it all, but I may need to wait until my Black Dog Season goes away in the fall.  The incongruity there is not wasted on me.

If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.

Ernest Hemingway

I’ve been juggling two alternatives in my mind this morning,  whether to (a) dive back into blogging after a long absence and a Paris vacation, or (b) vacuum the floor of my study, which, in the light of day, looks like it has been covered in enough cat hair to knit half a dozen cats.   I’m choosing the first of the two, but I need to remind myself every now and then not to turn around and look at the floor because it really, really needs some attention with The Cat Sucking-Up Monster (i.e., the Dyson vacuum cleaner).  Distracting, that.  It’s best to pretend that the cat hair just isn’t there.

There certainly isn’t anything that I can add to all the words ever used to describe the City of Lights.  I can easily romanticize the city, but my words seem meager, paltry, and few.  I’m  completely inept at photographing a cityscape, and it seems as though people are more interested in “What museums did you go to?” or “Did you see this, that, or the other thing?” than in hearing about feelings or impressions.

I joke that I need to leave the United States every few years.  The U.S.  is too loud, too brash,  and too shallow.  It’s all about SUV’s, “bling,” trashy celebrities, bad television, the Super Bowl, Wal-mart, Starbucks, and the never-ending dumbing down of the media with its non-investigative, non-challenging journalism and 10-second sound bites.  The banality of culture.  The poverty of thought and expression.   I could go on, but I’m only agitating myself.  Let’s just say that if you can’t understand my need to get away from the United States, my reasons for traveling to Paris aren’t going to make much sense.

I go to Paris for the human scale.

I go for its antiquity  — America is so very, very young.

I go for the bread, cheese, chocolate, butter, and wine (and, that in a Paris restaurant, “slow service” equals “good service”).

I go because it is a city of museums, even though I didn’t go to a single one.

I go because it reminds me that I really need to get around to reading Voltaire. 

I go because “the older woman” is still valued.

I go because it is perfectly acceptable to have a glass of champagne as an apéritif.

The best of America drifts to Paris. The American in Paris is the best American. It is more fun for an intelligent person to live in an intelligent country. France has the only two things toward which we drift as we grow older—intelligence and good manners.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

Oh, of course The Husband and I did some of the Tourist Things, and we have pictures to prove it. Well, he has pictures. All I really wanted to take pictures of was Père Lachaise and I did that. In spades.

The whole set can be found on Flickr, and I may (or may not) pretty them up some and publish them here.

My neck hurts, and my head hurts, and I’m still working on adjusting back to my usual hours — which aren’t that usual to begin with.  Later, cats and kittens.

Say fromage –

9. Depression. This goes hand in hand with #10 above.

8.  Lack of bloggable material. I’ve started a few posts in my head, but none of them have come to fruition.  I have one idea — using the Seven Deadly Sins to write about knitting and yarn addiction — but that’s inchoate at the moment.

7.  Facebook.  Yes, I finally got my sorry butt on Facebook.  I’m there as Laiane Wolfsong if you need to look me up.  

6.  Other Internet addictions.  Besides Ravelry, that is.  I’ve gotten most of my financial stuff up at Mint.com and I’ve been known to waste a lot of screen time with StumbleUpon.com.

5.  Worry.  I’m concerned that Emma, my 14-year-old tuxedo cat, is developing feline diabetes.  We’re going in to see the vet Thursday, and I’m doing a lot of reading up on caring for a diabetic cat.

4.  Morrowind.  I’ve said before that this game is the best computer game of all time, and the primary reason is its re-playability.  I’ve been a Morrowind fan for years, and I keep coming back to it.

3.  Knitting.  One thing I do not suffer from is Second Sock Syndrome, if only because after I try on the first sock off my needles I want the second sock ASAP so I can wear them both.  I’m cranking out the second of a pair done in this lovely Socks That Rock Lightweight from Blue Moon Fiber Arts.

This is the Haida colorway from the Raven Clan series, and it’s going to turn into a pair of Lenore socks.

2.  The Prisoner.  I hadn’t heard of this 1967 television series until The Husband mentioned it.  After Patrick McGoohan died earlier this year, he mentioned it again and we decided to order the series on DVD.  We’re more than halfway through, and I know I will need to watch it again to catch more of the subtlety (You know, foreshadowing, allusions, symbolism –  all that “literary” stuff that gets me excited).

1.  Too much cat help. A picture is worth a thousand words.

But anyway.

I’ve been completely lost for blog post topics. There have been a few ideas flitting around my head, but nothing that takes on actual substance. I’m chalking it all up to my Reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder. I’m looking at the months of June, July, and August as being similar to a prison sentence; there’s a part of me that wants to “x” out each day on the calendar with a black Sharpie. I’m about ready to dig out Apsley Cherry-Garrard’s The Worst Journey in the World, crank the air conditioning, and camp out on our sofa until the leaves start to turn and I feel like a normal human being. A relatively normal human being, that is.

You’re going to have to bear with me until I have the energy to think and compose coherent sentences. You may have to put up with a few memes and a LOLCat or two in the interim.

I’ll be back. Before September. I hope.