It’s about 7pm in New York City in January. And its a balmy 65 degrees. And Ian and I have taken Wes to Central Park even though its dark because I secretly like Central Park in the dark. And we get our shoes covered in mud and we find the “sexy scary tunnel” (which is a joke, by the way, because tunnels aren’t scary) and we see raccoons limbering slowly up trees and then we turn a corner and come upon the reservoir. We had kind of forgotten about the reservoir, and there probably could have been no more perfect and accidental sight to show off to our friend and no more perfect night than that one.
Besides great sights, the weekend was filled with more dining and drinking out than I should have indulged in. Sadly for me, we went to Hunan Delight and Souen, and both places offered very little for me to eat. Admittedly, I expected to be greatly challenged by the mock fried goodness at HD; it nearly brought a tear to my eye to order the seaweed and bean curd soup while Ian and Wes dined on sweet and sour mock chicken and General Tso’s. Actually, I cried when no one was looking because I have deprivation issues. And then I ate as much of the mock duck appetizer as I could. After dinner we spent a few hours at the Larry Lawrence, one of my favorite unmarked bars in Brooklyn, and a somewhat quiet evening turned into The Most People I’ve Ever Seen At This Bar within a few amaretto and cokes. Unfortunately, the mock duck began to hate me so hard, and I had to go home, super sick. No attacks; just general misery. That was Friday. On Saturday I knew a little better than to buckle to the awesome charm of the miso-dressed veggies at Souen, because they were sauteed in oil. As was nearly everything. Of course, once again Ian’s dish was way more succulent than mine. Wes had sushi so I didn’t try it. But the carrot leek soup was nothing to sneeze at. And I freaking love the pastries there, which never give me any problems, so the night proved far less of a wash for me than Friday.
Now its back to work except for the fact that my surgery is in 6 days and I don’t feel great. Unfortunately its going to have to be one last doing the minimum just to get by kind of weeks, hope upon hope, the last doing the minimum to get by kind of week. I’m terrified of the surgery but yet strangely ready. I can’t really remember, besides my birthday celebration, which was wonderfully fun, but was the kind of fun we were bullied into having by our friends who wouldn’t have it any other way….really, I can’t remember the last time that Ian and I set foot in a bar or restaurant. We’ve been far too poor and I’ve been too sick. It was more than disappointing to have to leave the bar with my pants unbuttoned, shamed and nauseus and so so sore, over an appetizer a few hours before. This isn’t the kind of life I signed up for. I’m going to do everything I can to avoid it.
As mentioned earlier, endoscopy went well. Nothing too out of the ordinary, just a few “pre-ulcerous” spots, and a prescription for Nexium. The anesthesia hit me hard, leaving me exhausted for about three days, and so I feel a little more prepared for what I’m in for, tired-ness wise. I’m also more than ready to ask everyone who dares come near me in the hospital on Friday to prove that they know what procedure I’m going in for. For a great set-up, my doctor sent my pharmacy a colonoscopy prep. You can imagine my surprise when I went to pick up what I thought was going to be a slip of paper basically telling me to fast after midnight, and instead was presented with a $20 box of colonoscopy prep. The next day as I’m lying on the stretcher waiting to get my IV and go in, one of the nurses comes to introduce herself. She tells me she’s going to be giving me my IV, and begins to give me instructions like, “Just go on ahead and lift your bottom up there, that’s right,” and starts undressing me. “Why are you doing this to me?” I asked her. “Because when they turn you over for the colonoscopy they’ll have to get to your bottom!” Needless to say she didn’t give me my IV; she was too busy walking away as fast as she could.
I knitted until they asked me to get on the stupid stretcher. So the Irish Hiking Scarf carried memories of not only being abused by overworked nurses but also of watching Reanimator while doped up on anesthesia, and taking long, cold, sundrenched train rides to JFK and 110th Street to see the Harlem Meer.
This is my first attempt at cabling anything beyond owls, and it went well. I still don’t own a proper cable needle. For most of the scarf I used a stitch marker to hold my CF stitches and then slip them back onto the left needle. I got the idea a little late in the process, but to speed things up I finally just started to use a small dpn. It was Wes’ Christmas present, although he is Scottish, but like almost all my Christmas presents, it wasn’t finished in time. It was kind of fun to knit it while sitting on trains and watching movies with him and Ian, though. It kind of fused the process with the purpose with the end product. I haven’t knitted for many people yet, so maybe its always like that; I guess I’ll know soon enough. He really liked it though, and I think he looks just great in it. I highly recommend this scarf to anyone who has only recently learned cables, and wants some practice through repetition. I used 2 skeins of Wool-Ease in Chestnut Heather and US8 needles like the pattern calls for.
I’m really sorry its feast or famine here lately. And I haven’t even gotten to our other houseguest, or the fact that I haven’t smoked in over two weeks. I’ll get there.
February 27, 2008 at 10:27 am |
your very ugly