Argh And Also Erg And Stuffs.

Ok, so there's supposed to be a post here. Yep, and it's supposed to be entertaining and such. Yep. Hmmm....by the way, you people are a hoot. I lurv my commenters. Blogger really needs to make it easier to respond by email cuz I feel like a total dork weed commenting on my own blog to reply to the comments.

So anyway, not much going on. There's some knitting and crocheting, of course, but nothing worth reporting on at the moment. I mean, yay, I knit one more row! Or, yay! I made another granny square that looks JUST LIKE the last 20 I showed you. Not exactly inspring. Also, is it bad that I am beginning to resent work? Cuz it sooooo takes away from time I could be knitting or crocheting. See, right now I knit during my lunch hour (I work while I actually eat lunch so I can have more yarn time) and I hate having to stop, put away the yarny goodness and go back to work dealing with people who whine. Every time I end up with a bitchy customer I can't help but think "Hmm....I could so be knitting/crocheting right now but nooooo" and I'm afraid it may come across in my voice.

Maybe I can have myself committed to the bouncy castle and they'll let me knit and crochet all day as therapy and then I can write a book about how yarn saved my mind and kept me from going totally mental. It will sell millions and then I can stay home to knit and crochet and write a book about how yarn and the previous book kept me from going mental. It'll be great. It would be a funny book too. Cuz dammit, I'm funny. Also, serious isn't in my DNA. That gene skipped me completely.

Is it selfish to want to stay home and knit/crochet all day and design patterns to make googobs of money? Or maybe not even googobs. Maybe just enough to, you know, pay bills and fly around the country stalking. Cuz stalking isn't crazy at all. I could go to fiber festivals and be an attraction! "Come meet Stalker Angie! She's totally batshit! You'll love her! Don't get your fingers too close to her yarn, she bites." I'll be in the stall between the sheep and the llamas. I'll be the crazy chick playing with yarn and rocking back and forth. There might be drooling.

So T thinks I am stressing myself out too much. I'm not sure where he is getting the idea really. So I get nauseated and lose my lunch daily. Doesn't everyone? No? Well damn. Part of it is worrying about money, the house, T's health, my health and not enough yarn time. The other part of it is work. No, I'm not stressed about work in the traditional sense. It's kinda hard to explain. Cuz I'm weird, that's why.

See, most people hate deadlines and they hate having 100 things thrown at them and they cannot abide chaos. I thrive on chaos. If you hand me 3 projects to do and tell me they are all 3 due in a week, oh and you need these 5 reports done by then oh and this customer has an issue you need me to help on, then my brain clicks into happy mode and I excel at my job. If I have to sit here with X amount of time between calls and very little else to do in between, then tell me I can't play with yarn on the clock, I go into stress mode. I cannot handle boredom at work. I feel like excess baggage. I don't want a lot of down time at work.

Also, I love the nit-picky shit. Don't hand me the obvious. I love researching issues and finding a resolution. I love when my yarn is knotted, too. I know. It's not contagious, I promise. When I worked retail and got over stressed, I headed down to accessories and got out the bin of tangled necklaces and worked on them until I was calm again. I play a lot of puzzle games. Not word puzzles, but visual puzzles. Mental puzzles. For a mental person. So yeah, I'm the only person I know that can be bored and totally stressed because of it. Now if they would let me KNIT OR CROCHET at my fucking desk, problem solved. But nooooooo we have to find new projects for me. *sigh* At least my supervisor cares enough to understand me and try to find new reports for me to do and find other projects nobody else wants.

So the point of all of this random rambling form the mind of a crazy person, is that T is trying to turn me into an alcoholic. Seriously. See, I'm not a drinker. If we go out to lunch and everyone orders margarita's, I'll be the one with the iced tea. Others drinking doesn't bother me, I just. Don't. Drink. I've been drunk maybe 5 times in my whole life. When T started having a lot of stress issues, the doctor actually recommended ½ - 1 beer a day. It says something when you go home, open the fridge and stare for a full 5 minutes before you yell, "There's beer in our fridge!" and the hubby replies with, "Damn, you are observant, baby." And you wonder why I marvel that I have let him live this long.

So anyway, stress, blah blah blah, bored, blah blah blah, alcoholic. T seems to think his "prescribed therapy method" (Yes, this cracks me the hell up everytime he says it) would work for me. I don't care for beer. I'm so over wine having worked in an import wine store and going to wine tastings all the time. Hard liquer is so not me. I'm flabbergasted by beer in my fridge. Can you imagine if I found Jack Daniels in the house? I might faint dead away. Or hell, I might cook with it. MMmmmmm. Oh sorry. So the solution he came up with is wine coolers. Ok, I can handle a wine cooler. I hope. I am gonna feel so damn stupid if I go home tonight, open a wine cooler (a wine cooler for fuck's sake) and get totally sloshed. From one.

Oh, and the reason I don't drink? I am a mean drunk. A seriously mean drunk. As perky and happy as I am sober, you get me drunk and I will punch people in the face for no reason other than I think it's funny as hell when I am drunk. This has been proven many times over. Drunk Stalker = Mean Stalker. Bad stalker. No yarn. I'll let ya know on Friday if T has become a battered husband. *cringe*

P.S For someone who didn't have shit to post, I sure can ramble.