Not very pretty.

Occasionally, nasty little things emerge from the depths. Most often these little unpleasantries are things like a months-old tupperware full of god knows what (a bitchin' mold garden is what) lurking in the 'fridge behind the brown sugar or even a badbadbad paper that blindsides you when you're innocently trying clean out your bookshelves. But sometimes--and these times are always the worst--that nasty bit is a piece of yourself you forgot was there. I'm not talking about living without a mirror for years and then suddenly rediscovering that you have saddlebags. . . I'm talking about a dormant, not-so-flattering portion of your personality that occasionally rears its head as if to say, "YOU ARE NOT ALL NICE".

I think I made my neighbor cry today. I wasn't trying to make her cry, I wasn't even being mean. I was dealing with a situation and I suppose I forgot that I can be a bit pushy and stern, though if you ask me I'd prefer to call it it 'businesslike'. I've always been businesslike; in fact, my new roommate told me that I am the one person she knows who can reliably get what I want/need. I take that as a compliment, and that facet of my personality comes in especially handy when, say, trying to coerce a landlord into fixing something they really don't want to spend money on. Unfortunately, today I found out that that part of me perhaps isn't the best bit to use when dealing with a really sensitive person (even if that person trying to screw me over).

I dealt with the neighborly parking dispute like a true lawyer; if you went over the transcripts of the conversation it would show that I was unbearably polite yet direct and used unquestionable logic and arguments. I was textbook "Miss Manners". In the end got what I wanted-- no unauthorized vehicles blocking our driveway. Still though, seeing the tears well up in that girls' eyes as our conversation drew to an end took some of the sweetness of my victory from me. It left me with a bad taste in my mouth, and the thought that though I might be a great lawyer or cutthroat businesswoman, if I ever want to be able to live with myself I better steer clear of those professions.

Though my Printed Silk Cardigan can't quiver its lip and get all glossy eyed on me, it too is bringing up some dark personality traits of mine. I'm a little angry at myself for messing up several inches after I inserted my lifeline. Now not only do I have to *gasp* FROG, I have to frog more than I need to. Grumble grumble. . . there goes a few hours of work. My error and subsequent frogging resulted in my boycotting the project. I'm getting flashbacks to when I was a kid trying to master any of the five or so instruments I cycled through. I can remember sitting at my cello frustrated with myself and it because my tone was not like Pablo Casals'. I reasoned, "I'd practice more if I sounded good". Talk about silly logic; how are you going to get good if you don't practice?

Years (and one respectable degree) later I catch myself using that same logic on my knitting. Only thing is now that I'm older I can see my blame-the-inanimate-object-and-abandon-it cycle and stop it. So, even though I want to banish the Printed Silk Cardigan (and those aspects of my personality I find less than sweet) to some dusty corner or shelf, I understand that I will eventually find it again and, like said unsavory personality traits, it'll assert its presence with a bold, embarrassing HERE I AM smack across the face.

So here's to happy knitting, and hopefully happy neighboring.