tavie.com

It's beautiful. Blocking now. Pictures later.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:31 PM | shower me with attention

After a year of on-and-off knitting, Yorick scarf, for Miss Peña, is in the machine right now, felting. I started it by hand and went at it for a good half hour, but it's just too long to do the whole thing that way, so I crossed my fingers, knotted a pillowcase and tossed it in.

The dimensions are a bit small and I'm nervous about it felting into a tube. Other people have had success, but I haven't felted anything since the slipper-sock extravaganza of '02, and I'm nervous. What if it felts in a tube? What if it doesn't felt enough? What if it's a disaster? Will I take another year-long knitting hiatus, in my grief?

Cross your fingers.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 4:04 PM | shower me with attention

Friday, November 30, 2007

Holiday events I probably won't be attending:

Bronx Zoolights. I did it once, almost a decade ago. I keep meaning to go again every year and keep... not. Will this be the year? Probably not. Who wants to drive me?

Aimee Mann's XMas Show returns to New York. I missed it last year, and I'll miss it again this year, as it falls on the same night as my company's holiday party.

Christmas Concert @ St John the Divine. Was pretty, went one year. Same night as Myers' "I'm Dreaming of a White Russian" soiree. That one has booze. That one wins.

Kiki and Herb: The Second Coming - A Christmas Concert. Can't afford.

The Nutcracker by NYC Ballet. Holiday tradition of my youth. Can't afford.

Make Me a Song: The Music of William Finn. Not Christmas-related at all, just another new show I can't afford.

And as usual, the lack of an El Vez Christmas show yet again disappoints me.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 5:24 PM | shower me with attention

Thursday, November 29, 2007

I've mentioned my struggles with finding a new psychiatrist to prescribe the Gleemonex's that's been getting me out of bed for the last ten years. Ever since my company changed medical insurances, and it seems that no one accepts the new one, I've had my game-but-insistent-that-I-get-a-psychiatrist-to-do-it GP prescribing my pills. So, finally, finally, in desperation, I went to the insurance company's website and made an appointment with the first doctor that returned my phone call.

My appointment was today. It was on the Upper East Side, as 98% of the psychiatrists in NYC seem to be. I'd gone online and did a touch of research about this doctor; she had two negative reviews from patients who said she was a drug-pusher who insisted they were bipolar and only accepted ungodly-early morning appointments. However, I was encouraged when making the appointment; her receptionist asked me if I was interested in starting therapy or just have medication prescribed; I chose the latter with much relief, as talk therapy has never worked for me and makes me profoundly uncomfortable.

I arrived early for my 4:30 appointment and had a sandwich in a local luncheonette. Not a diner, not a cafe - a luncheonette. Oh, Upper East Side. You and your overpriced roast beef sandwiches. I'm absurdly comfortable on the UES; my alma mater is on 68th and Lex/Park, and old ladies in $2,000 sunglasses accompanied by tiny, blonde children in Baby Dior jumpers are a common sight for me.

I arrived ten minutes early and the first thing I noticed was the sheer volume and variety of pharmaceutical-company paraphernelia adorning the place. Everything seemed to be advertising some drug or the other. The second thing I noticed were several signs proclaiming in bold letters, "You must cancel your appointment no later than 3 days in advance. Any canceled appointments after 3 days will be charged the full cost of the visit, not covered by your insurance company, plus the co-pay and a $45 cancellation fee." Um, woah.

I spent the next 20 minutes filling out an extremely extensive questionnaire, on a Celexa clipboard with an Eli Lilli pen, that seemed to lean towards the everybody-is-bipolar attitude mentioned in the online reviews. Hm. Then I waited another 15 minutes. When I got up to use the restroom, the receptionists seemed to remember I was there, and one of them said, "Come, I've been looking for you." She ushered me into a tiny, brightly-painted, dimly-lit office where I sat in one of two chairs facing a desk and examined the extensive wall of pamphlets in drug-company plastic holders for the next five minutes.

Finally, Dr. L. appeared. She is a small, middle-aged dyed-blonde with a slight Northern-European accent. She questioned me for about 15 minutes along the usual lines, focusing on my immediate family and their psychiatric/medication histories. I recognized the bipolar-leaning questions and answered them honestly. (I am not bipolar.) She seemed satisfied and very pleased that I'm so well-established with my current medication. Then, the true weirdness.

She led me into a little tiny closet with a chair and a tv/vcr combo on a shelf. She handed me a clipboard and asked me to watch the video and check off the answers to the questions the video would ask me. Then she turned it on and left the closet.

The video consisted of the fine doctor herself, in front of a blue background, rambling on and on about "bipolar spectrum disorders". She never asked a direct question, so I just checked off the answers in a pattern that was both honest and not-remotely-bipolar-indicative. (I really am not - I'm a clinical depressive with borderline tendencies.)

The video was odd, you guys. She mentioned at least four times that "the optimal sleep schedule for a healthy lifestyle is 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. Even 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. is not as good as 10 to 6, and 12 to 8 is worst of all!" It was absolutely the worst nonsense ever. Then she had a whole segment about how it's perfectly safe to continue taking antidepressants during pregnancy. She's just wacko. Wacko.

However. She wrote me out a prescription for my stuff, made an appointment for two months from now, and wished me happy holidays.

And. She takes my insurance and will continue prescribing the medication that lets me live. If every session can be as efficient as the ending of this one, I will be perfectly happy. Even if I do have to be on the Upper East Side at 8 a.m. every two months.

And even if she is bat-shit loony.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:29 PM | shower me with attention

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

And now, some disconnected thoughts, courtesy of Benadryl™.

America's Top Model tonight made me want to quit watching the shower. Forever.

I can't stop sneezing.

I can't stop looking at people's fall coats. They're so neat and pretty. My favorite is my boss's black wool coat with white and red embroidery up and down the edges. So pretty. Everyone has a smart wool coat. I have a wool coat; it was once smart; I got it second-hand from a friend about 3 years ago (or 4, I can't remember.) So it's old. And the lining is torn. And there's a loose button that won't stay tight no matter how many times I resew it. And it's pretty pilled, and long strands of my hair are always stuck on it and it bunches funny in the middle of my chest. So it's a shabby old thing now. I still like it, but I can't help but stare at the pretty wool coats that everyone else seems to have and wishing I wasn't always blowing all my money on ~~soda pop and records~~ rent and food and bills.

If I was rich and thin, this would be my fall coat. Or this; or maybe this.

I have some unfortunately thin, overpriced taste.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:58 PM | shower me with attention

Monday, November 26, 2007

My new phone arrived, is activated and charged. Number remains the same.

Yay!

Don't call me.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 11:03 PM | shower me with attention