Irony, or my psychic powers at work

At work, I tease my coworkers and tell them that I have psychic powers. Mostly, this is because I've been there long enough that if someone starts to ask me a question I can usually tell what the question is before they finish asking it and nine times out of ten, I have the answer.

The posts about Grandma's box have been sitting on Blogger in draft form for months. My uncle sent us the box right before Christmas, but between the multiple computer implosions and moving and the suck that was the beginning of the year, I never got around to loading the pictures into the post so that I could share it. When I finally sat down to do it, it still took me three days because Blogger didn't want to load the images.

But that's not the point. The point is, after waiting months, I finally posted something about my mom's family, about someone who was dear to me even though I didn't get to know her as well as I would have liked. Most of the people on that side of the family are like that for me--I seldom get to see them, but our personalities just match.

This morning, I got a call from my mom. Her brother, my uncle, had a heart attack/stroke. She described it as "mild" though I don't know how a combination heart attack and stroke can ever be mild. I guess that's what the doctors call it when you're still alive to tell the tale and not permanently disabled.

Uncle Steve is probably my favorite person on the entire planet. He always makes me laugh, and he never takes anything too seriously. Unfortunatly, in the past couple of years, he's been dealt some really, really shitty hands (no other word for it) and hasn't been taking care of himself.

He's been released from the hospital. Evidently all of this happened on Wednesday, but because he doesn't have any friends or family to speak of near him, there wasn't anyone to call us until he got home.

I would give anything to be able to go up and see him right now, to spend a summer with him like I did in college, but that's not going to happen. I had to save for a year just to get to Cincinnati, and I'm still completely wiped out from that trip, financially speaking. It is unlikely Mom will be able to go see him, either. 

So do me a favor and hug someone close to you tonight, because I can't.

At Last

Currently Reading: Broken
Currently Watching: Pan Am

First, I moved. Then my camera battery died and the charger went AWOL. Then I had nothing to photograph on because my lovely model (aka, foam head) was still at my parent's house. And in between all of that, my subject itself went missing for about two months.



But at long last, I have finally managed to not only photograph but upload the pattern for my Qubecois Pride hat.

The pattern is available for free on Ravelry.

Anywhere but here

Sometimes, when I'm driving on the freeway into Columbus, coming home, or walking the few blocks down Cleveland or Grant to the library, I imagine that I am in Montreal, or London, or Paris. Even New York, so long as it's not Columbus, not Ohio, not the midwest. I can almost fool myself for about three seconds.

I've lived in a small Ohio town my whole life. Going to the city for school was one of the best decisions I ever made, but this town is so industrial, dirty. The people have been mostly rude. I can't walk through the park without looking over my shoulder. Every person around every bend is a potential serial killer or purse snatcher. I don't have dozens of keychains on my carabeaner because they're cute, I have dozens of keychairs because if I put my fingers through the carabeaner, I can swing it around like a short metal flail and inflict quite a bit of damage to an attackers face.

The other day I went for a walk through a local park. It's less than three blocks away. As I went through my route, no less than three times did I think someone would kill me.

Supposingly, Columbus has a fairly low crime rate. We're supposed to be a pretty safe city. But I felt so much safer in Montreal. I didn't know the language. I didn't know the layout. But as long as I was standing by the front door before the sun set, I felt safe. Up there, you see families on the streets and in the parks. Here, everyone but the homeless people and a few stray joggers stay indoors. People will nodd and smile to you on the street in Montreal, and here, you look straight ahead. Do not make eye contact, ever.

This city is stagnent. I want out, and I hope to God/dess that I get accepted to the Study Abroad program so I can get the hell out. I don't think I can take another semester in this city.