April 13, 2011
i begin this post with a caveat; i’m in the hospital, on narcotics, and writing from my ipod. editors of the world cool it, k?
dear blogosphere. i have not forsaken you intentionally. at first, super secret knitting and subsequent lack of anything resembling knitting mojo kept me from writing. then it was the sheer gravity of the changes my life was soon to face. i found everything to be a bit much, and the writing stopped.
i surprised everyone by leaving natural stitches a month early. i’d saved enough to pay my bills and thought the time off would be good for me, give me extra time to hunt for an apt in nyc, and hang with the people i love in the burgh.
and that’s when i realized that i accidentally started settling down here. pittsburgh was always supposed to be a stepping stone in my life plans. somehow, after years of being a nomad, my desire to heed the north wind was greatly diminished. i no longer wanted to leave, and had made absolutely no way for me to continue living here.
i have an internship in new york, and position in the phd program i most wanted in my home state waiting for me in the fall.
and yet, i want to stay.
there are people i love here, people i don’t want to lose. people i want to continue knitting with, laughing over tacos or pho or brunch. gossiping, hugging, fucking.
you know. a happy life.
but love won’t pay my bills, nor secure for me a future i’ve been building towards for years. that’s on me.
not making a viable option for staying in pittsburgh is the first real regret i can point to in my life. i guess that’s not too bad for twenty six years.
then things happened that were totally blogable and slipped through:
my final package from my secret pal, a kick ass canadian with excellent taste in yarn (angora merino bitches!) and wool wash (eucylan is all i use). and my first two skeins of my first three ply yarn.
posts only ever written in my head.
just when the super secret knitting was getting close to being finished (about a week early even) so i didn’t feel bad about skipping a night of knitting to hit up my friend’s birthday party, my stomach hurt.
laying down seemed like the best course of action. then everything’s a blur:
calling home crying.
googling an emergency room.
trying to find it (thank you iphone).
your appendix maybe?
that bitch and I divorced ten years ago.
drove home on crazy drugs with rx for more, and instructions for what to do if things got worse/better.
frantic calls to get a ride back to er.
er now full of people clearly not in an emergency situation, but get treated before me anyway.
more scans with dye in me.
dye makes me feel like i’m on fire/wetting the bed.
more crazy crazy drugs.
it is my appendix.
apparently, it can happen.
i can never be normal.
almost a week later, after too many strangers have seen my cock, ass, and jiggly bits, after getting excited about farting, and taking the messiest shit known to man (and not being able to clean up unaided), after projectile vomiting sticky green goo all over myself not once, but twice, the long and the short of it is, something is keeping my pipes from fully getting started up again. this means more surgery to cut at scar tissue, and maybe remove some bits i rather wish i could keep.
this is serious. if the surgery doesn’t go well, and i don’t get flowing fast enough this time, it could be months of recovery.
no one prepares you for when the scary shit is gonna mess with *you* this time. luckily, i haven’t been alone in all this or god knows I wouldn’t have made it this far. i got two loving parents, a soul twin, a mixologist/driver, my mother/sister/aunt, two of the best men i’ve ever met to make me laugh and help me walk, and tweeters from far and wide to comfort my weary soul. not too shabby in terms of visitors and well wishers.
plus the person in the next room sounds way worse off than i am.
it’s the little things.