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losing your sh*t gracefully

A few weeks ago, the sister-in-law was in town for the weekend and we took the baby to a class he was taking at Dance Alloy in Garfield. After dropping him off, we ran down the street to grab a cup of coffee. Garfield is an area of town that is currently being gentrified. The people involved in that community I’m sure don’t like that word and would rather I say that it’s being “creatively revitalized and resuscitated from the consumptive plague of urban blight through art” or something. Whatever, I’m not judging, since I obviously participate in it. I’m just saying that building modern, eco-friendly lofts next to a crack house rings a lot of gentrification bells. It’s cool.

Anyway, I noticed that the constant, low-to-mid-level pissiness that seemed to define my personality in my 20s must have tapered off. When we exited the coffee shop, I saw a parking meter that someone had yarnbombed and it made me irrationally irritated in a way that seems to have been absent. Yarnbombing, for those of you with the wisdom to ignore the antics of idiots, is sometimes called “guerrilla knitting” and is basically putting yarn around inanimate objects because…I don’t know. All I know is that I imagine someone saying, “I made this fence a sweater because I’m so full of life and appreciate beauty and yarn lulz!” and I just want to kick something because that is moronic.

I had to ask a homeless guy to get out of the frame so that I could capture my whimsy!

None of this has much to do with anything but I thought of it because I’ve had several shitty days in a row following a kind of okay vacation in Conneaut Lake with my family last week. Don’t get me wrong, most of it was really fun. There was just stuff like the mattresses in our cottage being from the Eisenhower administration, which sort of forced the husband and I to sleep on the floor if we were to maintain any mobility. There was also me taking steps to maintain my healthy eating but getting sidelined by alcohol and candy. Despite noshing on stuff like kale most of the week, around Wednesday evening I snapped and started being that person who’s like, “I’d like a steak a la mode,” and, “This Champagne would be really good with some chocolate covered pretzels in it.” Kind of gross. And I didn’t work out once and I gained like 8 pounds which just made me mad. I also got my period at a restaurant because I’m like 13 or something and can’t handle the bodily function that I’ve had every month for nearly 20 years. Are you there God? It’s me, diddy.

For as good as I’ve been feeling all summer, and as deftly as I’ve handled upsetting moments in recent months, I find myself looking at empty hands where coping skills used to be. Everything’s fine, or rather, everything that needs to be fine is (we’re all healthy and fed and whatnot). Things have just been pretty rough for me the last few days.

That’s all.

How have you been?

12 comments to losing your sh*t gracefully

  • Rackletang

    Dude, so feeling ya. I had a weekend made entirely of panic attacks, featuring a tearful trip to the hardware store and a post-breakfast fender bender with an angry Samoan. (Not the ’80s punk band, that would have been better.)

  • I’m sorry about the recent stretch of suckiness. I have been feeling rather blah the past few days and I have no idea why. I just want to punch everyone. No big!

    But I take great pleasure in telling you about the yarnbombing on the Schenley Bridge: yarnbombers wove stupid patterns into the tall chain link fencing, and during the G20, someone set fire to that shit. Love it.

  • Yarnbombing is unbelievably huge in Seattle, along with just general decoupagebombing—gluing little leaf and flower and vine cutouts all over street lamps and telephone poles, because some people I guess were like, “I’d much prefer these modern structures if they looked more like the telephone poles of Faerie.”

    • I guess arbitrary pleasant stuff just pisses me off. Because I’m thinking of people who wheatpaste posters that say either political things or are seemingly absurd and those don’t bother me. And I love graffiti (hate tagging, though).

  • My brother and I are in the midst of an epic argument that started with yarn bombing. So I appreciate this more than you could possibly understand. And I thank you for not making me feel like an asshole.

    • I mean, on a principle level, it’s not like I ALWAYS do altruistic things and am furious that someone would choose not to knit something for someone who really needs it. I’m selfish. I get it. I just really don’t get being an adult and making clothes for inanimate objects. And I know I don’t get it because I’m miserable or something and yarnbombers are more alive than me or something and fuck them.

  • betsy bobbin

    I confess, I just moved to a green penthouse loft that’s 2 blocks from crackhouses. BUT! There’s no yarnbombing! My loft, it’s so beautiful though.

  • Sara G

    The average price of a house in Garfield is still like $40,000. I think people have to be displaced for the process to be considered gentrification.

    Also, yarnbombing is actually a complex, esoteric form of communication between a secret society of foxy assassins, much like the loom in Wanted, but I’ve already said too much.

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