rue-madame's Diaryland Diary

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\"Hey, I am not here for rage. I'm here for revenge!\"

Thank you for the cashmere cleaning tips. My sweater is in a bag in the freezer right now. I will carefully pick off the wax once it�s frozen on the knit, and if that technique doesn�t work, then I�ll go to the dry cleaners. The ironing suggestion freaks me out�aren�t the cashmere fibers sensitive to temperature? Won�t they shrink or cook even at a low setting? Hmmm. I don�t have an iron so that solution will have to be tested another time.

Once the sweater is clean, I will send it off to a knit alteration place to have the moth holes repaired and the seams reinforced. My big fat head has weakened the seam between the turtleneck and the body a bit. It pains me to admit that I�m like George Costanza on that one episode of Seinfeld with James Spader. The one where he keeps expecting an apology for having been insulted by James Spader�s �You�re going to stretch out the neck� comment?

After work, I painted for 5 hours. Got home at 11, had some tea and decided to call my parents to check in on my father who recently had hernia surgery.

Boy what a mistake that was. My mother was in a hectoring mood and I was at a point in my exhaustion where I was too weak to let things roll off my back. She kept digging and interrupting me, and I totally fucking LOST IT. Like, fourteen year old tantrum LOST IT. I had called to see how my father was doing and I walked right in to a THING, one of those angry exchanges that causes your typical manic depressive borderline bipolar disordered mother to HANG UP THE PHONE and ignore her daughter�s future phone calls.

Yeah, and I�m the one behaving like a fourteen year old.

It really was not one of my finer moments and I am very disappointed with myself. I feel terrible that I got so angry because now they won�t even remember the reason I called; they�ll only remember that I was rude and (probably) need to apologize.

I actually said something along the lines of this: �I�m sick of this shit! I don�t think the harangue is funny and I don�t appreciate it anymore. It�s your fucking hangup to deal with so don�t put it on me. You need to get over it.�

That�s when I heard the receiver go �click.� My father was still on the line so he and I talked about his operation and their upcoming trip to Morocco, but it was awkward and miserable and I wanted to cry.

Thursday is Thanksgiving and this year I am thankful for living on the opposite side of the country.

10:59 a.m. - 2004-11-23

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