Thursday night knitting and a visit from roo
I'm not having the most pleasant writing session right now. My boss is here, asking every 3 minutes for someone's phone number or trying to provoke comments from me by yelling absurd, insensitive, and retarded comments. It's a distracting morning.
But we must have the Thursday night knitting report, mustn't we? Of course!
It was an odd Thursday night. I left early to meet M since she had to leave early to pick up Ph from the airport. So she wasn't there for most of the evening...and it seems she's like my Thursday night security blanket. I haven't had to be enormously outgoing on a Thursday night for a long time since I know all the regulars by now and newbies were rare through the summer. But last night, there were no less than 7 new people, possibly more. I couldn't remember all their names if I tried. I sat closest to a Courtney with a southern accent. But she's really the only one I can remember. The other closest one was knitting with some of softest yarn I have ever felt. It was Debbie Bliss Cashmerino Chunky. Holy hell! It was heaven! I tend to be a bargain yarn shopper, but I'm gonna have to save up for some of that! I think I'd like to knit a.....LIFE out of it! Yes please, an entire life in Cashmerino Chunky! I'm gonna be saving for a while. Anyone want to buy a vital organ?
I also sat next to JS, who can talk the ear off anyone. I like her a lot, partially because she's completely neutral. She'll talk to you but doesn't expect you to invite her to your wedding after a story about socks. She's comfortable and always good to sit next to if you're not feeling so sociable because she can monologue the whole evening if need be. I'm guessing she finds me to be abysmally dull, as most of them probably do since I'm always dead tired by Thursdays. She encouraged me to check out the yarnharlot blog which I did, and I'm pretty sure I could spend the rest of my week reading. She also told me all about her latest adventure north which was a knitting class that took place over a long weekend in an old house of Rudyard Kiplings. I think this is a picture of the house:
These stories of JS's always sort of make me want to be her, at least for a minute. Besides my classic low self-esteem to which anyone who grew up in the 80's can claim, I generally like being me. But once in a while, someone comes along that just makes me wonder for a moment, how it would be to be them. She's older, apparently been single her whole life, (at least she never talks of any sort of partner, ex or not) and seems to just be happily doing whatever the hell she wants. I mean I can just imagine Ph's reaction if M were to tell him she was going to take a weekend knitting retreat.
JS seems very free. But with that freedom it seems like there is detachment. She talks often about people she thinks are great or smart or talented, but I've never heard her express any actual feeling for any of them. It makes me wonder...and it makes me scared that maybe such a free life inhibits attachment and maybe even love. And maybe just vice versa...that maybe attachment and love inhibit freedom. And this is where my thoughts seem to be constantly caught these days in some shape or form...wondering just what is the balance between freedom and love that I haven't quite mastered. I love Little A more than one could possibly express. And having Little A has, of course, brought huge limitations in my freedom, as any child does. But with Little A, it seems to work. It doesn't cause me much consternation to know that I certainly would be in a very different place if she hadn't come along because that place could not be nearly as good as having her with me, getting afterschool hugs, morning kisses, and before beds talks and jokes. With Little A, the love just outgrows any desire for more freedom.
But then there's those pesky boys. And the big quandary begins. I love the freedom that single life gives me. I love being able to go where I want on my free nights, watch a chic flick whenever I want, stretch out in my bed, drink my morning coffee out of a big flowery mug in total silence, spend my money how I see fit, and on and on. The freedom is great, but it always seems to get to a point where it feels hollow because it's so absent of love. And that's what sends my searching to find the next boy. Inevitably, the boy limits my freedom so much that I start to feel suffocated, stifled, and like I've been swallowed up in his world, leaving mine far behind. I'd leave it to the grand quest of finding the right balance, as I believe that most of life is the quest for the right balance, but it doesn't seem quite right, or quite possible. Does that balance exist in romantic relationships? Or do I have to hold out for a love that trumps the freedom like it does with Little A?