I’ve had a spell of time–an entire summer, really–where the Ugly really got to me.
That’s not quite right. It wasn’t one Ugly, it was all the Uglies. A torrent of Uglies. A cascade of Uglies.
When the Uglies rally, they form a tight circle around me and lock arms so I can’t get out. They hum, horribly, so no other sound gets in.
What does a person do when surrounded by Uglies?
In my case, the same things I do when they’re not there. I kept knitting. I kept teaching knitting. I walked the dog, bought books, made supper.
I figure I look and sound pretty normal to most folks, even when I’ve got the Uglies. But most folks don’t look or sound normal to me. They go all flat and pale, like faded paper dolls. Everything fades. Yarn. Books. Sometimes I buy more of both, too much of both, hoping to spark enough energy to chase the Uglies away. It doesn’t work.
I went for the first time to a national weaving conference. The Uglies came with me. I thought a few days in a new city, away from work, would shake them off. They met me at baggage claim.
There was a lot of cool stuff at the weaving conference. I was with nice friends, looking at pretty textiles. There were looms and books and (of course) yarns I hadn’t seen before.
People kept asking if I was having fun. I said yes. I bought yarn and books. Everyone and everything seemed further and further away. Harder to see and hear. The world was in the dark at the other end of a long tunnel, or behind dirty glass.
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