People are idiots.

Jeezy Chreezy. This getting dark at 5pm is bullshit and the only solace I can find is that the solstice is only a week away. 

In the recent past, I found myself angry. Jaw clenched angry. I was angry all the time. I would lay awake at night being angry. I wrote this on a piece of paper: 

Why am I so angry?

  Because people are idiots.

Which people?

  I named two people. Fucking, unhelpful idiots.

What else makes you angry?

  Having a board that does fuck all. Who have no initiative at all. Who wait for me to make every goddamn call.

What can be done?

  Leave the Arts Council.

Then I visited my cardiologist. I told him that my A-fib acted up when I was under stress. What causes you the most stress, he asked. The Arts Council. 

My therapist told me last summer that I needed to get away from the Arts Council. See where I’m going with this? 

At the last board meeting, after I chaired a particularly fine meeting, I announced that I was stepping down as president and also from the board. It was a hard thing, but I have had to do hard things before. I told my first husband that I was leaving him, for fuck’s sake. The controlling bastard who made me feel like shit. Who read my mail! Who once complained that I chopped the onions into too large of pieces. But I digress. 

It felt good, though. I am not responsible any more for press releases, updating the Facebook page, maintaining the website, giving presentations, meeting with the city fathers, buying the bottled water, finding bands and writing up their contracts, and for a million other things that I did on a volunteer basis. Done! I am no longer in charge and boy, do I feel good. I mean, 4 years is enough. And I am happy! A nicer, more cheerful person, even.

One day, even before all that, I decided that I needed to do something about my pudgy body. Did you know, YouTube has a video on everything. I searched for ‘exercise for seniors.’ I started doing some work outs that had me sitting in a chair doing some pretty basic stretching and then a little exercise for 8 minutes. I hurt so bad the next day, which took me aback. I really was out of shape! But now, 6 or 7 weeks on, I am doing 15 minutes with 5 pound weights. Each week I keep pushing it, and I work out 5 days a week. My pants fit better. Yay me! I make it a part of my morning, working out after coffee and before I walk the dogs. Yeah, yeah, I know I shouldn’t do it after coffee. So sue me.

I brought up the rigid heddle loom from the basement and I made a thing or two. I have been spinning. I knit a Deer Fucker hat. Not a Deer Stalker hat. A Deer Fucker hat. 

I made a sweater and hat. From a fleece that I spun, then dyed with natural dyes, then knit, from my own pattern.
Look how cool I am with a fucking camera. 

I put a wreath over the front door. I even sent some presents to my brothers and Sweetie’s mom and sister. Because I have so much shit I have made and have not sold I am giving it away. I closed my Etsy store. I have always said, I have that leftist disregard for commerce. God I hate grubbing for money. I am not a sharp dealer, and I don’t like bargaining. I hate putting a price tag on things I have labored over lovingly and happily. I had stress, guilt, and the burden of two large bins of scarfs, pins, hats, and all sorts of little bits and bobs sitting there, lonely in my fiber room, looking at me reproachfully.

I feel as though I have come to some sort of fork in the road, a turn around, two roads diverging in a wood so to speak. I’m on a better path.

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