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Threading a tablet loom
I've been threading a tablet weaving loom in an attempt to keep from destroying the room or myself (I guess I'm lucky Sarah didn't get my refill of clonopin). Crochet isn't enough anymore, it's too mindless, I can do it on auto-pilot. After all, Crafting is what we do to stay sane, right? >.> Right? And I can't get my embroidery patterns to behave themselves.  This is what tablet weaving looks like when you can spend less than $10 on it.

I was supposed to go to a SCA event this past weekend, which would have let me be around like-minded people, take some classes (exercise my brain), visit lots of friends and make more, and maybe most importantly, get out of the house. /sigh

But Sarah decided, at the last minute, that she'd rather sleep in. This, after I had stayed up late making her garb. Despite the fact that it was the only thing I'd be able to do on my birthday weekend, and throughout my life my birthday had been ignored or belittled. Despite the fact that I was enrolled in a brewing competition and several classes I really wanted to go to, and I really can't drive myself.

Despite the fact that I'd told several ride offers that I wouldn't need them, since Yay! My spouse was coming!

I was very upset. But it was really only the camel's straw.

Our landlady has been getting worse. She doesn't seem to understand that my titrating a medication like Topamax means that I'm really not up for much. Towards the end of the week, when I'm getting used to the new dose, I can get some work done in the garden (and it's looking good!). But I can't handle the dirty looks, and her telling me to get more done, or to just DO something, or to take a walk (especially on bad air days, when I wouldn't be able to anyway).

And she sits me down and orders me to tell my spouse to act more masculine. I'm sure she's telling Sarah the same thing, and the stress is getting to both of us.

I've looked, and we can get a studio or a 1-bedroom for the same or less than we spend here, heat, hot water, and electric included, but that would mean somehow getting a deposit, which would take months more of dealing with her, and dealing with her method of 'paid heat' (we cut & stack green wood, and tend the wood furnace).

I feel so trapped in this damned bedroom, and so fucking guilty for it, but what else am I supposed to do? Deal with her yelling at me when she's mad at her daughter?

I just want to run away, or go away, or have it all stop. I'm so fucking tired of always being in pain, of never being normal, of never having quite enough.

Damn it, if there was a Conversion Bureau, I'd take it.

Originally posted to Lorelei who now lives in Maine on Tue Jul 17, 2012 at 06:30 PM PDT.

Also republished by House of LIGHTS.

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Comment Preferences

  •  I love card weaving (7+ / 0-)

    the way the pattern emerges and the number of variations to each pattern.

    One of the things I have found is I like the finished pieces best if my main color is the pattern and the other colors make up the background.

    It is odd because in most fiber arts the opposite is true.

    It is the heart that makes a man rich. He is rich according to what he is not what he has -Henry Ward Beecher

    by PSWaterspirit on Tue Jul 17, 2012 at 07:42:33 PM PDT

  •  I'm so sorry Lorelei (8+ / 0-)

    Sometimes life just sucks :(

    "The scientific nature of the ordinary man is to go on out and do the best you can." John Prine

    by high uintas on Tue Jul 17, 2012 at 07:57:13 PM PDT

  •  Hello Lorelei... (8+ / 0-)

    ...I started a thread for you over behind the scenes at House of LIGHTS.  If you like, we can do some brainstorming there.  I am so sorry things are so hard for you right now.  {{Lorelei}}

  •  If it's any comfort, you aren't the only one (15+ / 0-)

    whose spouse has sabotaged their SCA fun.

    Money must be saved for gas to go to the event. Cue spendthrift whining.

    Baking and cooking must be done so we have food to eat. Cue whining that he wants to eat it now, or that he wants (say) fried chicken for supper, or some other meal that takes up all available working space, which is currently taken up by making meat pies, and I'm not available to laugh at his jokes and look at pictures in the office.

    The vehicle must be loaded. I have to do this, as he has bad knees, a bad shoulder, and COPD. Due to the burgeoning arthritis in his hips and his weight, a little stool to sit on will not do. The requisite chair is quite heavy.  Remember through all this I have bad feet and ankles and fibromyalgia....

    We must wear garb. Cue whining on the level of a seven year old boy at a wedding at having to wear a tunic and trews instead of a loose shirt and sweatpants. (Other SCAers will see the humor in that.) Cue extra whining for being told he has to wear something other than Crocs on his feet. He has normal, if wide feet. Unlike me, and I wear MY shoes, damn it.  Cue bitching at me because I am taping my hair up the night before and can't fetch a soda.

    We must get up early and go. Cue Mr. Won't Get Out Of Bed, who gives me a dirty look for wearing my gamurra (though not the giornea or the sella) I am old enough at this that being looked at funny by the people at McDonald's doesn't faze me. And he's been reenacting longer than I have.

    We get there. Bitching about the distance to walk from parking to day camp. Bitching that I have to make several trips to carry our gear. Bitching that I can't set up the camp with a click of my fingers.

    Event begins. Bitching that he hasn't anything to do. (Please note that he makes exquisite miniature tools and dioramas, and does woodcarving, and does lovely scribal work)and could bring a small bench and tools or our portable scribal box. Also, that gate, scribe's point, and kitchen all could use a hand. Or, he could walk round and talk to friends, take a class, or watch the fighting.) Bitching that he hasn't enough money to buy what he REALLY wants from the merchants. Bitching that he doesn't have anything nice to wear to court. (Insert headpounding, because he didn't want to get out of his sweats five minutes ago.) Bitching that everyone wants to talk to ME, not him, about the feast I cooked or the entry I did at the last regional A&S competition, or the last class I taught, or could I please be a dear and do the lettering on some scrolls, they're in a pinch. Bitching that he set up in a corner and no one comes over. (Or, alternately, bitching that he isn't in a corner and everyone walks past and he can't hear himself think.)

    Court is called. Bitches that he doesn't wanna sit on the ground. Bitches when I ask him to carry his own chair. Bitches that he didn't bring enough drink, then bitches that he has to miss things because he had to go find the bathroom. Bitches because nothing is going on but people he doesn't know getting awards.

    Court over. Bitches that he hasn't done anything and so can't possibly get an award. Bitches that we aren't eating feast due to my issues with various foods. Bitches that I don't change before going off site to the steakhouse.

    Back to site. Bitches that he doesn't dance. Bitches that I don't dance, so why are we still here. Sighs and huffs while I say goodbye to my friends. Repeat morning bitching in reverse about tearing down camp. Bitches about the fact that I am tired for some reason and not as entertaining as usual, and the drive home takes for fucking ever, and why did we waste all this gas on this shit.

    Bitches, when we get home, about bringing the stuff in, and says leave it til tomorrow.

    Tomorrow, bitches about me taking the time to unload the truck and about the piles of stuff temporarily occupying the living room, at least until it's put away.

    And then he wonders why I decided it's just too much work to go any more.


    When you come to find how essential the comfort of a well-kept home is to the bodily strength and good conditions, to a sound mind and spirit, and useful days, you will reverence the good housekeeper as I do above artist or poet, beauty or genius.

    by Alexandra Lynch on Tue Jul 17, 2012 at 08:25:33 PM PDT

    •  Wow. Alexandra, that is (12+ / 0-)

      one amazing (and amazingly well-done) rant.  I think I'm here too late to send it to Top Comments, but wow, that is one Top Comment if ever I read one.

      To make the argument that the media has a left- or right-wing, or a liberal or a conservative bias, is like asking if the problem with Al-Qaeda is do they use too much oil in their hummus. Al Franken

      by Youffraita on Tue Jul 17, 2012 at 11:04:04 PM PDT

      [ Parent ]

      •  (((((Alexandra))))) & agree, Top Comment... (7+ / 0-)

        boy, that ... must be exhausting to live with. my heartfelt sympathies. I suppose it would be completely impossible to find him something else to do, and go on your own???

        we haven't been eventing much lately because of mingy health issues on all sides, AND our wonderful camp is HUGE for the two of us to manage (funny how it's grown over the last 20 or so years, 8-)...

        and weather here is so iffy, nothing like getting everything soaked and being short of somewhere to hang the tent parts to dry (cotton canvas roof & walls for a 20x30' wooden frame Norse "hog-back hall", built by my DH, I can't believe we don't have any photos of it on-line!)

        "real" work : a job where you wash your hands BEFORE you use the bathroom...

        by chimene on Wed Jul 18, 2012 at 01:21:31 AM PDT

        [ Parent ]

        •  Well, he doesn't want me to go without him, either (8+ / 0-)

          And I can only imagine the passive-aggressive bullshit that would get pulled when  I said, "Well, yes, I have X amount of money, but I was saving it to chip in on gas/gate fees/so I could do a little shopping at the event."

          Yeah, the other limiting factor is that I was at the point where the unspoken culture in the area is "If you're serious about your art, you won't be in a poly-cotton T-tunic any more." Need new linen gamurras. Need a couple more linen giorneas for the summer events when the velvet's too much. Garters and stockings to go with the dress. Sit down and make linen veils. Get husband into decent looking clothes (see rant above.)  Stop sitting on Coleman camp chairs and get or have made some period items for seating. Begin to show up steadily and noticeably (my fondness for Silly Hats helps this) at Kingdom events and play politics so the Laurels notice me and my art.

          All this takes money. Sometimes a fairly decent chunk of money. It's not that I am unwilling to spend it, but when we are wondering where we are going to get the cash to pay the phone bill, it's not the responsible thing to do.

          When you come to find how essential the comfort of a well-kept home is to the bodily strength and good conditions, to a sound mind and spirit, and useful days, you will reverence the good housekeeper as I do above artist or poet, beauty or genius.

          by Alexandra Lynch on Wed Jul 18, 2012 at 06:19:51 AM PDT

          [ Parent ]

          •  well, yeah, sigh... money & politics (3+ / 0-)
            to show up steadily and noticeably ... at Kingdom events and play politics so the Laurels notice me ... All this takes money.
            I'm lousy at politics; even if we become active again, the Peerage game here has changed so much (the last 30 years), I'll probably never get a Laurel to go with my birdy.

            "real" work : a job where you wash your hands BEFORE you use the bathroom...

            by chimene on Wed Jul 18, 2012 at 10:48:27 PM PDT

            [ Parent ]

    •  OK, I have to admit... (6+ / 0-)

      ...I needed to google SCA.  Do you folks have a group here at dkos?

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