Good News: I found that cool Haloscan comment/trackback thing I've admired so much on other blogs. Now people can leave email addys with their comments (all those comments... um, yeah... like Calico Cat and my Secret Pal) so I can answer them via email, should I wish, instead of carrying on the running public conversation in the Comments. I like that.
Bad News: Installing the cool Haloscan comment/trackback thing erased all previous comments. So it looks like nobody's ever commented on anything.
(So, Secret Pal? I got your comment, the goat was scary (thanks for liking me enough not to make me one) and I did approve your comment. And answered. And got eaten alive by Haloscan. So don't hate me 'cause I'm technologically challenged. And don't make a goat. Thanks!)
And that (the loss of comment, not the goat) is harshing my buzz. And it's taking my funny away. I hate that.
Let me take you through my thought process (oh, you're gonna love this):
Did you ever take Econ, probably in college? The concept of "worth" is different in economic application than it is in colloquial denotation. Worth is exactly what someone will pay for an item. It has nothing to do with perceived value. So if you say, "$600 for the toenail clippings of Flavor Flav? No toenail clippings are worth $600!" you may very well be right in the everyday, people-on-the-street way. But economically, if someone pays $600 for Flav's toenail clippings, they are WORTH $600.
This is all background to a very unpopular idea I'm about to lay on you: I am only worth what other people will "pay" for me, emotionally, temporally, physically, cold hard cash (it's never happened, but I'm still dreaming of the day I can be a kept woman).
I know in a self-help aisle, touchy-feely, new age world, I shouldn't base my worth on number of blogcomments, number of men, volume of phone calls and fabulous party invitations, the love of a cat (for fuck's sake)... but I kinda have to.
Now, self-worth is its own separate entity. I'm a hell of a chick. Cute, funny (remember: *I* think I'm funny), brighter than a searchlight (dorkdom and Calvin tendencies don't count against that), EXCELLENT taste in cars... but that has to be averaged in overall with the idea that if nobody else thinks good stuff about your dear ol' AntiM, her net worth goes down.
To bring it all 'round, full circle-like, I feel worth slightly less with all my comments gone.
To take it even elsewhere, I take a serious hit to my worth when a nice someone whom I like shuts me out of his/her life. It hasn't happened all that often, but it feels like it's happened a lot lately.
See, Kelly has disappeared. She kinda blew me off for going out Saturday, told me she'd call Sunday... and that's the last I've ever heard. And, yes, I can do the math. It's only about four Kelly-free days, big deal, but remember what her best friend did. And keep in mind her best friend (The Boy, for those of you scoring at home) may or may not be OK with her hanging out with me at all, and may put the kibosh (I've never written that word before... did I spell it right?) on all Kelly/Marin contact. In my head (and it's a little dark in here, so I'm not seeing all that clearly), I'm sensitive and I have reason to be.
Link that to those old issues with The Boy... added to the fact that I had large, sweeping, epic dreams about The Boy last night (I almost never dream about people in my life. Sometimes about people I haven't seen forever, mostly about people I don't even know, but almost never about my real peeps)...
My brain wants to kill me.
Who do you think is going to win that battle?
[SUMMARY: Marin had disturbing dreams last night and now she's gone off the fucking deep end, imagining very personal attacks in everyday stuff. She may be down one new best friend! (and only 237 to go!) She's not funny at all. Except maybe that Flavor Flav thing.]
Good News: I got ESPN radio streaming on my computer at my client's office. I have been trying for WEEKS to figure out how to listen to Colin Cowherd and Dan Patrick and NOW I CAN! It's like the March Madness gods are smiling on me.
Bad News: Duke still sucks.
Good News: I knit a little something on *every single UFO in my collection* last night.
Bad News: I knit one row on the right side of the Stupid Blanket and headed back the wrong side row to complete a round and got way more than halfway down the wrong side when I realised I'd screwed up the right side. I looked at it for a good five minutes, trying to justify leaving the error. With one side being so dependent on the other side for the stitch pattern... well, it looked awful.
Unlike other OCD knitters, I have no trouble leaving very small errors that a non-knitter would probably not notice.** Apparently my O is pretty lenient under some circumstances. Is it the C that makes me clean around the kitchen faucet with a toothbrush for two hours, trying to get every bit of gunk, visible and in-, out?
Anyway, this was weird and lumpy and had that shit-in-the-punchbowl quality I generally try to avoid (both in knitting and in life). Realising I was looking at the ripping and re-doing of a couple hundred stitches, I had a little conversation in my head wherein I explained to everybody at a random, imaginary baby shower how I'd purposely put in an error (kinda like the rugweavers of Kabul do) so as not to anger the gods and bring the wrath of perfection down on the head of some poor, unsuspecting infant.
I finally tinked the whole thing out and just did it right.
Good News: I didn't check the validity of this, so just go with me: there is apparently a bill in congress that would mandate women who have mastectomies be able to stay in the hospital for two days, rather than being treated as outpatients.
Funny News: The email under which I got this information had the subject "Mastectomy Bill in Congress," which I read before I had coffee, thus seeing it as Mastectomy Bill -- like "Buffalo Bill," only with more boobs -- a Congressman. I figured it might be a cartoon or something. In my head, it got funnier the more I thought about it (both in terms of my own dorkitude and in terms of the concept of "Mastectomy Bill, Congressman").
I'm sure that's wrong, but I'm already going to hell for laughing during the Lord's Prayer so I might as well relax and revel in my own special wrongness.
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): Non-knitters may not *see* the tiny little errors, but you can be damned sure I point them out. I don't know if that's sheer dork or if the O rears its ugly head.
**FOOTNOTE WITHIN A FOOTNOTE (unasterisked): How often do you think you'd hear a woman say "...the O rears its ugly head"?
[SUMMARY: AntiM** is apparently a sports fan. Also, she's a little funny again. And a pervert.]
**FOOTNOTE (asterisked): When did I start talking about myself in the third person? I may just stick with it -- it's kinda like having my own Greek chorus.
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