January 24th was my Dad’s birthday. He would have been 65 years old. That seems impossibly young, or at least too young to just drop down dead. I’ve been the most ridiculous mess
my whole life for the past week or so so instead of blithering on about this, I’d rather talk about any other damn thing.
This is the sweatshirt blanket I made in 2012 and I love it SO MUCH. I blanket stitched the edging on but now after 2 years of constant use and almost weekly washing, it’s falling apart. I’ve spent a fair amount of time in the past week ladder stitching it like normal (read: how it should have been done the first time).
No where on the prescription did it list ‘assholery’ as a side effect. And yet in the past week Wendy has pooped in the house TWICE and JUMPED UP ON THE COUCH TO PEE RIGHT ON THE MOTHERFUCKING COUCH! The fear and anxiety is ruining my life. I feel like a terrible pet parent because I am at my limit with this. MY FUCKING COUCH WHERE I SIT AND DO COUCH THINGS.
In other, less awful news, school is going well despite a complete and utter lack of motivation from all parties. We’re chugging along, and Miss Creepy did the most adorable thing while practicing rhyming words and drawing: