Cooler than You: Stupid Things I Say and Do

1 May . . . the day in the sewing world, online voyeurism enclave, of the start of Me Made.  In that regard, I guess I've been doing Me Made since 2013 now.  That being said, I've made no quiet voice about the disdain of selfies . . . and the body image notations one makes during the 30 days of Me Made. Though, in 2013 I was nearing a year of being married, and what most now know is that my marriage was already on a very painful death.  That actually started six weeks after I do.  I'm not going into that here, but let's just say I stayed and held on for as long as I did from shame, status quo, and fear.  None of them are good reasons to stay . . . Though, looking back on the pictures the memories come back, in floods and spoils, about the incredible amount of begging to get him to take a photo, to partially engage in something I do (which, being a writer and with someone who doesn't believe in it  . . . ), and the skill changes. There was clear escapism ...

In the end, it is always about those left behind.  This we always know, but as the throws of life prove to us (every time) we never remember it until an end has arisen.  Every. time. In 2013 I met a woman named Barb, and when I met her she was recovering from just having discovered a cancer the size of a football in her leg.  A football.  A fucking football.  Barb with her three kids, a widower herself, a new husband with two nearly grown teenagers, and a suburban house.   When we met, she was just starting her home daycare up again . . . her Dad got certified so he could help her, and her family moved the daycare chaos up to the main floor since the surgery and cancer made walking up and down the stairs to the basement difficult on a good day and near impossible on most. I hadn't been married a year, when Barb and I met.  After that January meeting we saw each other again in the spring, after I helped moved a friend up there.  There was a par...