Holidays

No matter what holiday you celebrate, Festivus, Yule, Chistmas, Giftmess, whatever, this day is usually set aside for family.

Movie marathons, Chinese food, turkey dinners with all of the fixin's, nothing but junk food, give time to relax.

It's a gift to you from you.

We so often don't take time for ourselves.  Society anymore sees it as a weakness.  It's not.  It's time to recharge, to breathe, to be.  So go, BE.   Breathe.

Watch cheesy movies with your family, forget the diet, forget the stresses for the day.  Play with LEGOs, play a game (but not Monopoly.  That game ruins relationships), watch Die Hard, indulge.

Act like a kid.

It's what every holiday is for, right?

Selling Handknits.

The shawl I made.  The shawl that drove me batty for who knows how long.  The shawl for my friend's wedding present.  The beaded, lacy heirloom I made her.  The something blue for lack of a better term.

It was handed over with clear instructions on What Not To Do with it.  Ever.

Then this happened:

"Why don't you sell your handknits on etsy?"

My friend has been inhaling way too many wedding fumes lately.

I'm sure, in fact, I'm almost positive that this happens to most knitters and hookers out there.

Yes, crafters do have their wares for sale on etsy.  But there's a wee little problem with that.

See, the shawl I made?  It was with fifty dollars of yarn, a six dollar pattern and over 100 hours of my time.

Let's break that down.  I used yarn from Verdant Gryphon, Eidos to be specific.  At $27.00 a skein.  I bought two.  The pattern I used was Promise Me by BooKnits.  It wasn't an original.  Therefore, I can use it for personal use only.  I can't make and sell.  I run into a large problem there.  LARGE.  I'd have to work something out with the designer.  And that would be a headache.  Then my time.

Someone once broke what the average cost of handknit socks are.  I think they broke it down to roughly $200 US.  That's if one pays themselves minimum wage for their time.

To place my handknits up for sale, I would either have to seriously have to undercut myself or price them to where no one could afford them.

There's a reason why I am starting to design and sell patterns.

Itch

Two weekends ago, we were out doing yard work.  It was a spur of the moment thing and I was wearing Birkenstocks.

That was a large mistake.

I'm thirty-four.  It's taken thirty-four years for me to have a run-in with poison ivy.  There's a reason for that.  Brother is intensely reactive to the stuff.  As in he can be several yards away from the stuff and still get a rash.

I was much, much closer.  All up and down the backs of my legs, feet to ass, is covered.  And on top of that, said rash is now infected.

The clinic has put me on prednisone and cephalexin.  I've spent the day rewashing all the bedding for the third time in a week.

And I have no brain power for The Shawl.  The Shawl that is, right now, six foot or so long unblocked.  The Shawl that needs to be done in a month so I can figure out how and where to block it in time for my friend's wedding.  That Shawl.

That's a twelve inch ruler.  Also, ignore the rings.  They aren't staying.

It's ALIIIIIIIIIIIIVVVVVEEEEE!

I feel something akin to Gene Wilder's character in Young Frankenstein (or would it be FRANK-en-steen?).  Either way, I'm torn between excitement and dismay.

Why?  Because I published my very first pattern.  I'm so damned afraid that no one will like the thing.  I'm sure other designers feel that more often than not.

But still....you know?

Mr. DJ had a large part in me making this pattern.  He was the one that encouraged me to try.  I was hesitant for one reason, I didn't know if I could.  The thought percolated in my head for several weeks before I had a picture of what I wanted.

And here it is:

 

Made with not even 130 yards of a superwash/sillk blend fingering weight yarn.  It smooshes down into almost nothing.  A soft nothing, though.  I can see someone wearing this on those early spring days that are sunny but windy enough.  Someone tested Gateway in a DK weight.  It looks so cozy, too.

Now it's a waiting game to see how it goes.  What can I say?  I might need some validation.

I have brownies cooling on the stove.  Want to know the worst part about brownies?  Smelling them while you wait for the pan to cool enough to cut.

Torture, I tell you.  And yelling at them to cool faster isn't working.  Dammit.

Imp is off for his first day at his new school.  I'm hoping that this one goes better than the old district.  I was getting the impression that they wrote my son off on the basis of his last name.  See, my brother and I went to the same district, and one teacher had the damned cojones to tell my brother while he was a sophomore that he was wasting time and should drop out.

Imp had a teacher last year to tell him to shut up, that he was just wasting time in class.  Needless to say, I saw red.

Anyway, news:

There is no way for me to get my student loans deferred.  And I'm still trying to find a job.  It's getting more and more soul sucking as I try.

It also doesn't help that the medications I take for my migraines are gone.  And I can't get more until the neurologist gets the paperwork for the patient assistant program sent off.

I'm also at a standstill with the ACA healthcare.  See, Illinois requires something called an 'RIN' in order to enroll.  The RIN is only found on a medical card.  Which, you know, I don't have.  So, in order to enroll for an insurance plan, I have to apply for a medical card first.  Just to get that RIN.  It makes no sense to me.  I'm still waiting for the medical card or denial.  Once I have that number, I'll be able to get insurance.

And while all this is going on, I'm trying to design my very first knitting pattern.

It's going to be a lacey cowl called 'Gateway'.  I'm knitting it on size six needles with fingerweight yarn from Larkshead.  Who just happens to be my LYS owner.  It's a colorway called 'worn in' of 85 sw wool/ 15 silk.

And it's soft.  I'm hoping to have enough left over to try something else in this yarn.  Right now, I'm about halfway through knitting it.  At least one of my testers finished it.

Suzie Homemaker and Me, the twain shall never meet.

A while back, quite a ways back really, a friend called me Suzie Home-maker.

I reacted somewhat violently to that moniker.  I do not like that title.  I don't fit that title.

Even though I probably do damn near all of the things under that title.

Let me explain:

In my mind Suzie Home-maker evoke images of June Cleaver and Martha Stewart.  And honey, I am so fucking removed from those two that I'm on a different planet.  Perfection doesn't mean much to me.  I don't wear make-up on a daily basis, my hair is the bastard offspring of an English Sheepdog and an Elder God that I sacrifice copious amounts of conditioner and hair ties to, dresses are something I wear to fancy shingdigs not to wash the damned dishes.

I knit.  I have two sewing machines that are older than me.  One of which you will pry out of my cold, dead hands.  I need to get them looked at to make sure they still work and figure out what in the hell to do with machine number two.  Because I don't need two.  Not with the one I'm calling Bertha around.

Part of me wants a small(ish) garden.  Why?  Have you seen food prices lately?  It's gods-be-damned economical to grow somethings myself.  It's a project for later.

I am not, nor will I ever be a Suzie Home-maker.  You're more likely to find me in men's cargo shorts and some sort of t-shirt blasting Flogging Molly at close to concert levels--it's nice living with a man with DJ equipment, over cooking a four-course meal in pearls.

Do I hold anything against Suzie's?  Nope.  It's just not me.

Sisyphus had it easier

As my last post stated, I got accepted into a local university.  I'm still in shock over that.  I applied on a whim, not thinking that anything would come of it.  Same with financial aid back in....January.

And therein lies my boulder.  A $737 boulder of student loans.

Let's back up to 1998 when after graduating from school, I went away to college.  I had a scholarship through the school that paid for a quarter of my tuition.  I got financial aid that paid for the rest.  Until someone lost one important piece of paper that my parents and I signed.

Alright.  We have a copy of it.

Oh, no.  We can only accept the original.

I'm not exactly too sure how long my parents argued that one.  All I remember is the possibility that I wasn't going to be able to finish my freshman year.

It came down to getting a couple loans.  We were less than happy, dammit.  We had done everything right.

Due to a massive case of depression and migraines run amok I was asked not to return.

Then my son was born a year or so later.

And my college plans were put on hold.

I've paid off the vast majority of the loans.  It's taken time, because most places don't understand what migraines are.  I've come to accept that.  I deal with it.  I don't want pity.  I don't need pity.  I want a fucking chance, though.

I'm taking a chance on trying to go back to school.  The past three years, I was at the local community college trying to get into the occupational therapy assistance program.  My chances are slim to nil.  My GPA just isn't good enough.  However, most of the classes I took for that program (the generals) also will transfer for a teaching degree.  Hell, I've been teaching my son most of what he knows about English anyway.  Why not?

I can't get financial aid, though.  Not with the $737 student loan hanging over my head.  The university, when I called, said they can't help me get it deferred.  They sent me to a different place.  Oh no, they only deal with financial aid.  Sorry.  You have to talk to the people who hold the loans.  Well, do you know who that may be?  No.  Great.

The system is set up not to help.  I have a rock that I'm pushing.  And the system is trying to shove me back.

Momentary lapse of....something

I'll be back later when I'm more coherent and after battling with the website.

A new normal sound for life.

It took just a few days to fully transfer Imp and I less than two miles from one house to our new one.  So far, things have gone fairly smoothly.

In fact, as I type this, Imp and Mr. DJ are sprawled over their bits of the living room playing some hack'n'slash game on the PS3.  And Mr. DJ just tickled my foot.  The asshole.

I'm not saying that the house isn't still a disaster zone of 'what in the hell are we going to put this' but that will take time.

Side note: I can't find my knitting needle gauge.  I have no damned idea where it went during packing.

The cats, so far, have ignored my knitting.  Lily, the smaller of the two, has claimed my lap as Hers.  Lister, the large black ball of befuddlement kind of ignore me.  Occasionally he'll lay over an arm as I try to fill out an application.

Personally, I'm waiting for the weather to get and stay warm for more than a day or two at a stretch.

I keep my sanity in a box. Somewhere.

Hmmm, bad blogger, bad.  No comments for you.  I swear I didn't forget about this, really.

What can I say?  I've been...not busy, but busy some.  School for a while.  And depression played a part.

Let me rewind a couple decades for you.  I was diagnosed with depression when I was around sixteen or so.  I've had ups and downs ever since.  I've been meaning to call someone about it, but it keeps slipping my mind.  It's on the list.

A little over a year ago, I got bored and created a OkCupid account for giggles.  Almost immediately, I met someone.

Not the best picture, but it was taken with a cell phone.  He and I have been together for over a year now.  Imp and I are moving in with him.

Excuse me while I try to find my sanity in the mess of packing.