Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Back to the Cheerleader

It’s Wednesday morning and I am completely locked up. I couldn’t get my tongue, lips and jaw to move properly in order to speak to Leon. So what do I do? Burst into tears. Maybe because a couple of significant anniversaries are coming — and no, I don’t mean the birth of the baby, Jesus.
Yesterday I had a 10:00 am appointment with Dr. Shoja. I came home right afterwards and did absolutely nothing all day. I even had a nap — in my bed. That is not at all normal, but I think I come home from all my appointments with her tuckered out.
I had a frightening emotional experience two weeks ago and I still have no idea why. She said that it it’s part of having C-PTSD. But she promised that next week we will discuss strategies for coping with these rapid and sudden-onset glooms. I have no idea how to get out of them.
I only see her twice in December, the devil’s month. But the good news is that for the rest of my life she’ll be at the other end of the phone. Life jacket!
Detectorists on Netflix is absolutely delicious. I love every quirky character! The star/writer/director, Mackenzie Crook, is a genius writer, perfectly matched to my sense of humour. And, oh my God, Toby Jones! He is hilarious and touching; at times he had me weeping in the arc about his secret  “girl friend.” The man is one of the most talented actors ever. Every episode of this show is pure heaven.
Having rejected the needlework for the apron, and because the black aida cloth won’t be here for a month so I can start again, this time white on black instead of the reverse, I’m back to the cheerleader outfit and the challenge of its bodice.
I’ve been churning over ideas to come up with plan A for them — the plan that so often fails. I’d have more fun doing the cheerleader pompoms, but figuring out how to get what I want is the challenge and joy of this project.
I surprised by how much trouble I have getting started. Doing the crest was a total joy — I will finish it today — and I am happy with the outcome. Doing the pompoms will be a treat too. But the jersey and skirt are always a challenge — I am afraid, every time, of failure even though, somehow, everything eventually works. Plus, once I get started, it overtakes me; the rest of my life falls by the wayside once I start but I have three days ahead of me with no obligations, rain predicted and all the materials I need to finish the cheerleader.
On the other hand, one aspect of this project that I like is that there is no deadline.

Tuesday, November 29, 2016

The time-killer

On the apron strings: "An apron is a cape on backwards."

“It’s imbalanced.”
“How so?”
 “He is all I have but for him I’m just a time-killer until someone better comes along.”
Truer said: He’s a straight fellow who enjoys my company between women.
His absence is hurting this time. It means he’s met someone. Sometimes he disappears for months; it’s been like this for a decade. But this time his absence is loud in my head.
Perhaps it's the season. I have a “hold your breath” feeling about this time of year — I always anticipate Margo Channing’s admonition of a coming “bumpy ride.” I plan to bury myself in my show.
This is the text for the bodice of the apron.

I was almost finished the needlepoint I need for the apron when I decided — it’s so easy to make tough decisions in the morning — to reject all you see and it’s attendant pain. I junked hours and hours of work that I’ll consider my research or practice. This morning I went online and found black aida cloth and I’m going to re-do this in white yarn. Sigh. But then I got into this wanting to kill time..
That’s me. The time-killer.

The incredible Leigh Bowery

Monday, November 28, 2016

Sunny Monday

I was wonderfully and positively affected by Monday’s glorious afternoon sunshine. I went out to UBC to return the cardiac monitor and walked much of the way home under a semi-cloudy sky. On the way home, I got another beret. I love berets and now I am old enough not to lose them.
I spent part of the afternoon tidying up for Robin’s visit. She came for drinks and then we went out to dinner. It was a delight cleaning in the bright low winter sunlight (that so effectively shows up winter dust balls).
Besides chasing dust balls, I discovered that I’m centimeters from competency. I tried to deposit some cheques using my iPhone app — I can barely believe I both wrote and can do that, I feel so technically challenged at times — but it didn’t work. The bank had changed their software.
“Fixing your problem is easy,” said a recorded voice, so I listened to her instructions that seemed pointless once I was underway and looking at unpredicted interfaces.
Eventually I got the new app downloaded and then I joined the multitudes sharing fish and wine on the hill. But then I couldn’t find all my music on iTunes.
What is going to happen? What’s it going to be like? Tick tock, tick tock: It feels like I have gone from wisenheimer to Alzheimer’s in one arrhythmic heartbeat. Soon I’ll be unable to do many things.
In a couple of days I am going to post photos of the needlework I have done over the past ten days. It is likely going to take weeks for my right thumb and several fingers to feel at peace with me. When I finish, I suspect I will celebrate by cutting the paper to make the cheerleader pompoms.
I’ve been collecting “things I wish I’d said” that may become part of a “regret” dress. And I’ve been contemplating a marijuana dress, so there may be twelve dresses in my exhibition.

My Limp

Once upon a time there was a little boy who loved to talk. Then, perhaps, the prayers of his friends were answered: I’m days away from having been unable to speak for eight months.
One day an active old man broke his leg. He was bed ridden for a couple of weeks and then he started walking with crutches and then with a cane and then, eventually, without support. But he had a limp. His doctors told him with time and exercise, his limp would go away.
But it didn’t. And then one day someone asks me how to find Bruno. I tell him Bruno is in the staff room and the stranger asks me, “How will I recognize him.” And I say, he’ll be the guy with the limp.”
When did Bruno become “the guy with the limp?” When do I give up hoping my “limp” will go away?
It was easy to quickly accept that the hair I was losing so quickly at age twenty-two would not grow back. It was not easy to accept that I was gay, that Mr. Happy couldn’t stand at attention like he once did and later that Mr. Happy became agoraphobic.
Is psychogenic dysfluency to be part of my life forever?
Whereas every other symptom of C-PTSD is less intrusive or gone altogether, my speech has changed neither for the better nor for the worse.
I don’t know any more why I stay home. Staying homebound began as a reaction to having seizures. It was necessary once for me to consider every venture outdoors but that isn’t the case any more. Yet I stay home.
I’m thinking I should slow down on the dresses/costumes and get out more. I think Dr. Shoja would appreciate the effort. I walked the seawall once recently and today there is supposed to be a break in the rain so I will try to take some kind of initiative.