Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Double Take

Yesterday I saw one of the most stupid vehicular decisions I have ever had the misfortune to witness. On the way back to the place I'm house-sitting this week, I came up behind an old, red, beat-up minivan that looked to be from the early 90s at the latest. It was going slower that I, and I was stuck behind it for a number of blocks. As it turned, I noticed that this old, beat-up vehicle -a van that had barely gone the speed limit if that- had a huge spoiler bolted onto the roof.
Wishful, wishful thinking.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Patched together

I have a pair of pants I love. Several, actually, but this one of one of my oldest. I got it in my freshman year of HS and it was a second-hand acquisition then. An upperclassman friend of mine whom I'd known almost as long as we'd lived in town and whose family at this time attended the same church as mine often gave me clothes she'd grown out of, and we were fairly good friends. Still are friends, but she just graduated from the local college, and we've drifted apart as people do.
Back to the pants, these were a comfy canvas pair of cargo pants, khaki and baggy and heavy. I loved them, and wore them often in the ensuing 5 years. Flower (who shares the name of the giver of the pants, incidentally) wrote in one of the zip-up slits in the side "I LOVE YOU!" as she and other friends have done on a few pairs of my pants.
Well, canvas is tough, but it is mortal. This past year I have had to re-stitch both inseams to various degrees, and mend a rip parallel to the inseam. However, the fabric itself gave up the ghost this last semester, and the resulting hole in the uppermost inner right thigh was large enough for my entire arm to fit through it. So today while HyperSpawn was in Summer program and KleptoSpawn was having MORE psychiatric evaluations (be afraid, be very afraid), I fixed up a patch from some canvas-y stuff (two, actually... the first was too small) and fixed my pants. I am happy and feel both accomplished and very, very frayed.
This last is probably due in part to the return of my cycle, but though I feel and look fine superficially, I feel as though I am a dark and angry river, frozen on the surface to mask the frustration and undirected anger below. I am ready to lash out and consume the first hapless passerby to disturb my fictitious calm. I am confused and frustrated; I hate this combination. It is what made math Hell for most of my classes, and did the same for much of my early social interactions. Maybe I just hate people. Misanthropy is a pretty word -- words are nicer than people.
I need to let off steam in a controlled way, not aimed at a live person. I have an idea from something I saw in a friend's LJ, sadly enough. I might go write anonymous angry things to myself until I feel better. It's worked before.

Later, hopefully not over a month again.