a reformed emotional basketcase loses it over a baby blanket. news at 11
Anyone who knows me well can attest that I used to be ridiculously emotional.
Back in the early days of our togethernessdom, before The Boy moved in with me, we used to have hours-long, long distance telephone conversations much to the shock of our checkbooks and much to the delight of the phone company. I would recite him glorious poetry (roses are red, violets are blue, my apartment is ghetto and my neighbor smells like shit!) (clearly I was still working on the rhyming thing) and attempt to coerce him into extracurricular sexy phone time activities.
One time and the emphasis is on ONE time…he was not in the mood to be flirted with. He let me know and I promptly freakedrightthefuckout, throwing the phone and screeching a wailing, can-only-be-heard-by-chihuahuas scream that managed to scare the hell out of the aforementioned shit-smelling neighbor. (An aside, holy CRAP look at that last paragraph. Grammar, thy name is flutter.)
I was the mistress of the subtle.
As I have aged *coughwheezetellmeiamnotoldcough* and certainly as I have been going through therapy I have mellowed, considerably. I have also learned to use my brain instead of my fear and to have appropriate emotional responses.
For example, “fuck you” is an inappropriate response to “can you pass the salt?”. Learning that alone has been worth every check I have cut to my shrink. Let it never be said that people can’t change.
So, the past few years have been ones of self discovery and beginning to use the logic that is inherent in animals with opposable thumbs. You might even say that I have developed one hell of a poker face. It is infinitely harder to get under my skin than it used to be. Except when I am in traffic. Traffic just doesn’t count.
I don’t easily rile, I don’t generally back down from standing up for myself and I cry fewer tears now than I ever have. So that made the events of last night even more notable.
I was commissioned to make some delightful baby blankets by a woman I know, who had some very definite (re: shitty) design requirements. I procrastinated on starting these delightful blankets until my ass was directly over the fire of the deadline. I was embroidering myself into a frothy mouthed stupor, completely by my own Procrastinaty McProcrastinatorson tendencies when, last night, I hit a wall.
A big, 4 am wall. I was up. At 4 am. Embroidering a dumbass red bird on a dumbass red blanket. I HAD to get it done to take to work with me and as I was bleeding from my thumb where I was pushing the needle. I could hear The Boy snoring, I had been up for 20 hours and my boobs were sweating from being covered by the delightful blanket that I was working on.
That awful, under the boob sweat which is completely avoidable when you don’t rip off your bra like a raging hippie the minute you walk in the door. I, however, have the one-handed unhook the bra clasp, whip that thing off without taking off my shirt and helicopter that sucker over my head and into the laundry pile thing down pat.
But as I sat there, covered in bits of embroidery thread, red and black fleece fuzz with a bleeding thumb, heavy lids and a seemingly endless amount of empty space left to embroider….my dam broke. My dam broke and I had no one to put their finger in the hole. *snicker*
I started bawling.
Big, fat, late night boogery tears. Those horrible, gasping, snorting tears that leave you blotchy and headachy. I cried and sewed and cried and sewed until I was done sewing. Then I just cried. My frustration over everything that has been boring a hole in my soul splattered all over that damned blanket, down my chest and mingled in with my boob sweat.
Damn, I am hot.
May 8th, 2009 at 7:49 pm
You need a more comfortable bra.
May 8th, 2009 at 7:51 pm
“Those horrible, gasping, snorting tears that leave you blotchy and headachy.” I know that exact cry…it doesn’t happen often, but I totally know of what you speak.
And this? “I had no one to put their finger in the hole. *snicker*” Well, my monitor is glad I didn’t have a drink in my mouth at the moment I read that one.
May 8th, 2009 at 8:10 pm
omg… we might be on the same cycle of freak outs out of nowhere. i had one last night. snapped at EVERyone. well, boyfriend and sister. sat on the couch and whined. whiiiined. sent myself to my room. cried pitiful crying tears. by myself. into my pillow, while watching the dog whisperer.
i almost sent you an email yesterday… your shared google reader items was lacking.
oh, the boob sweat. made only worse by the “rub the t-shirt under boob” swipe.
hugs.
yo
May 8th, 2009 at 8:27 pm
Truly? Are you sure? I find “fuck you” to be an appropriate response to everything. I’ll occasionally add a “muthafucka” afterward for flavor.
May 8th, 2009 at 8:28 pm
I meant to add that I’m sorry the stupid baby blanket made you cry. You should’ve wiped your boob sweat with it.
May 8th, 2009 at 8:30 pm
Ummm….are you PMS’ing by any chance? Sounds VERY PMS’y to me. And I don’t think therapy can help with that. But wine certainly does!
May 8th, 2009 at 8:57 pm
Oh, dear. Am I supposed to be laughing at you or crying with you? I think I did a little bit of both. And yes, that blanket would be appropriate for a grown man, not a baby.
May 8th, 2009 at 9:54 pm
Oh, sweetie. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.
It takes a talented woman to write something simultaneously heart-rending and hilarious. (And by that, I mean that you are a talented woman.)
I’m glad the damn blanket is done. Sorry about the damn dam breaking.
May 9th, 2009 at 12:15 am
Is it wrong that I just laughed at you?
May 9th, 2009 at 1:21 am
YOU ARE HILARIOUS, GIRL!!! Please stay off twitter and get some sleep! Lots of it!!!
XOXO
May 9th, 2009 at 4:21 am
Oh love, I’d give you a hug but in your boogery sweaty condition…I hesitate. But damn, this is funny! (Is that a baby blanket, you said you were making? Shit, that thing is going to lay some complicated emotions on that kid!)
May 9th, 2009 at 5:16 am
Oh, Flutter, you make my heart flutter indeed with your wit, and your pain – I know the wracking sobs of which you speak, and sometimes wine can help one forget, as your commenter said, but for me, it sometimes makes the sobbing deepen more, as I mull on life’s injustices and losses…
A baby-blanket is not worth your tears, my dahlink – Be well, and thank you for making us laugh and sob with you too x
May 9th, 2009 at 6:32 am
honey, there are triggers in all of us where sometimes the boob sweat just breaks the camel’s back. this was a poignant and funny post, and i send you love, both to the “fuck you” self and the part that cries at baby blankets. both parts? are okay.
May 9th, 2009 at 7:05 am
Boobs sweat sucks.
And you ARE hot and NOT old and LOVELY.
Fuck that baby blanket!
May 9th, 2009 at 8:40 am
“Embroidering myself into a frothy mouthed stupor”
Verbal gold, dude.
May 9th, 2009 at 9:31 am
I believe there are times where we all benefit from tears mingling with our boob sweat.
May 9th, 2009 at 11:47 am
Laughing at Kat’s answer.
I do the same thing – break down in the oddest moments, usually of frustration that I have created for myself, like creeping too close to deadlines. Or today when I spent the entire Saturday cleaning and cooking and laundry with no fucking help and I just wanted to cry, was just waiting for a “please pass the salt” to let the tears of fuckery flow.
May 9th, 2009 at 12:36 pm
“mistress of subtle” with the under-boob sweat, you have made me laugh by calling to attention one of the lesser known facts of hangy down boobage — yes, they do sweat. too funny. I will be thinking of this post for many days to come.
May 9th, 2009 at 12:40 pm
But did it make you feel better? Sometimes it’s a good thing. But a baby blanket made through blood, sweat and tears . . . hmmm. I hope the recipient appreciates it!!!
May 9th, 2009 at 1:39 pm
I will never ask you to make anything for me, as I would hate to be the cause of that boob sweat and tears concoction. Procrastinaty McProcrastinatorson, I know thee well.
I do love the ‘the one-handed unhook the bra clasp, whip that thing off without taking off my shirt and helicopter that sucker over my head and into the laundry pile thing’. I call it the ‘girl trick’. Very liberating. And handy.
May 9th, 2009 at 1:53 pm
i just want a ruling here… qt asked if you were PMSing… now if i had asked that question, would that have been offensive?
i’ll just stick to the hand farts.
May 9th, 2009 at 2:12 pm
flutter, i just love you and your boob sweat.
May 9th, 2009 at 5:45 pm
From my boobs to yours…you needed that cry.
There’s just nothing (nothing anyone else wants one to do, for sure) worth being up for at 4 a.m.
May 9th, 2009 at 9:45 pm
No words of wisdom- just stopping to say I hear ya.
Did you feel any lighter after the cry or are you still carrying it?
May 10th, 2009 at 8:17 am
Yep. I get it.
Once it was a dog food commercial that set me off. Me, of the cold, black, frozen heart.
Wait until you start having hot flashes, then you can enjoy boob, and crotch, sweat several times a day.
<3
May 10th, 2009 at 11:24 am
I believe you and I look the same when entering the house. Except occasionally, I add in a ‘yeehaw’ and the bra sails through the air. <3
May 10th, 2009 at 1:22 pm
It’s really strange what can trigger a person when they’re vulnerable. Once, I completely lost it over a crayon in the dryer. Really, it wasn’t that big a deal. It wasn’t a large load and nothing terribly new or valuable had been ruined. But it was just the last. Goddamned. Straw. I sat there on the floor in the laundry room crying and swearing and pounding my fists. We all have our Waterloo I guess. Sometimes, you just can’t be philosophical about defeat.
I agree with the poster who said that you should have wiped your boob sweat with the ugly blanket.
May 10th, 2009 at 1:51 pm
you are not old
and boob sweat is way sexy
May 10th, 2009 at 2:11 pm
Salty dawg!
May 10th, 2009 at 9:01 pm
I can’t even try to be smart or really explain myself here…but, well, I just want to say, write more like this. Write more like this. Something here is more YOU than the posts you sometimes write, where you’re wading through things and trying to sort things out. I guess I mean you are really YOU here, unfettered, just feeling and being–not wondering how to feel or be.
Yes, I ramble, but I also want to say that it’s really interesting to see your Twitter tweets and then read the fuller story here. So cool.
May 10th, 2009 at 9:21 pm
Hey, I can’t embroider at all. You totally win. I would say fuck you if someone asked.
May 10th, 2009 at 11:05 pm
4am is brutal. And also embroidering weird red birds on a baby blanket. Sounds brutal. Boob sweat. All of it. I hope the cry helped. Sometimes, when you don’t cry as much, you really need those crys that are keening and almost violent in their nature. Sending huge hugs your way.
May 11th, 2009 at 6:55 am
What is it that would make you happy? Most of all. What is it, honey? Write it down on paper and then read it back, and that do it, get it, make it yours. I believe in you.
And, I totally get the line about the fuck you not being an appropriate response. I’m still working on that one, myself.
May 11th, 2009 at 9:20 am
For what’s it’s worth – I’m as impressed as hell that you actually know how to embroider.
May 11th, 2009 at 9:24 am
Methinks the baby blanket was just a symptom of the real problem (something I learned in therapy…) Well that, and you need a better bra…OR perhaps you should just embroider topless with a fan blowing on you…thus getting rid of boob sweat, extra blood, and left over thread…It’s really just a breeze away!
May 11th, 2009 at 10:38 am
Darling, you have never been hotter than you are in this post. No, seriously. I love it when you make me laugh, because when you are hot, like you are right now, stand up comics look punily unfunny and desperate, knowing you are in the world.
May 11th, 2009 at 11:33 am
I hate that kind of crying.
But: “For example, “fuck you” is an inappropriate response to “can you pass the salt?”. ” – these are words to live by.
May 11th, 2009 at 11:48 am
Is it really a problem to cry like that? I think it’s awesome! Life can be incredibly frustrating, annoying, and unfair. Why not cry about it? I love that kind of crying. It always makes me feel better.
May 11th, 2009 at 3:07 pm
I really, really loved this. Tears, dumbass blankets, boob sweat and all.
May 11th, 2009 at 8:38 pm
I had to read this aloud to my dear husband. The comment about the salt was gold.
Love you, Miss flutter.
May 12th, 2009 at 8:36 am
That kid, whoever he is, is going to have some outrageous nightmares sleeping under that blanket.
May 12th, 2009 at 11:55 am
My boobs sweat on occasion . . .
Glad you got in a good cry. They’re fun, no?
May 12th, 2009 at 1:18 pm
Cries like that are required. It’s good to cry like that every now and then.
May 12th, 2009 at 6:21 pm
I detest commission work, maybe I need a better bra?
May 13th, 2009 at 3:17 am
That bra thing? Yep, I do the same thing — only one step further. Home for the day? On come the pj’s.
May 13th, 2009 at 6:03 am
Damn, I know the boob sweat way too well. I also know the crying fits. Usually I have one every 6 months since over the years I learned to not cry at the drop of a hat but instead hold it in for months until it explodes.
May 13th, 2009 at 12:24 pm
Boob sweat is hot. (didyagetit-didyagetit?)
That was a news flash on the inappropriateness of “F-You” to “pass the salt”
I agree with the no bras after 5:00 rule that is apparently more widespread than I thought.
That kind of crying at 4 am when you’re doing something you didn’t want to do to begin with is “appropriate”. Kudos to you for bothering to do it to begin with. You’re a better person than I am.
May 13th, 2009 at 1:37 pm
You have no idea how this resonated with me. As a person who engaged in self-harm as a ‘coping’ mechanism, it’s been a long road learning to stifle those extremes and find a more suitable outlet.
And I’m sorry I’m ignoring the humor here, because this was also very witty. Weepy eyes and breasts and all.
May 13th, 2009 at 9:40 pm
Oh, baby, I’m so there so much of the time. I love you big.
May 22nd, 2009 at 11:24 pm
Maybe you needed a fan.
I’m just sayin’
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