"I feel like a fool for buying this"

So this is the subject of this post, but this bland yellow cotton skein of yarn doesn't begin to convey what the problem is.

I recently went into Michaels during a yarn sale and began to grab handfuls of this stuff, all different colours, because it was on for $1.50. Small as they were, that's still a good price.

Bought them. Then they were crammed into a plastic bag and sat there for a week. Then last night, when I opened the bag - 

It was a "what the - ?" moment. There was this - stink. It seemed to be clinging to the bag, permeating it. I thought of those horrible scent cards in magazines, the kind that make my eyes immediately start burning.

Only this was far worse. It was Cat House No. 5, a French perfume you'd buy at the dollar store by the gallon, something you'd use to disinfect the cat box if you really hated your cat.

At first I didn't know what the hell was going on. I began to paw through the balls of yarn. The smell was getting stronger and stronger, until I found the yellow, and - 

I came pretty close to gagging. I noticed that on the label, there was a tiny little symbol that said "scents", printed on a nearly-illegible red circle. It would not be obvious to a consumer at all, and if you were in a hurry like I was, you'd just grab it as if it were any other skein of yarn. I'm sorry, but it doesn't occur to me to pick up and smell the yarn before I buy it. It's like checking it for fleas - just does not make sense.

Even as I write this, a phantom headache threatens. I can't describe it. The smell has taken up residence in the lining of my nostrils, as only very acrid and overwhelming scents do.  It's Aunt Dorothy's cheap perfume, applied layer by layer because she didn't bathe very much. It's that headspinningly stinky Febreze furniture deodorizer shoved up your nose with a shovel. It's one of those reeking pieces of cardboard you hang up in the car to hide the smell of Junior's last heave. It's  - 

One day on the bus, I sat next to a very Goth-looking woman who obviously worked in a meth lab. The chemicals coming off her literally burned their way into my sinuses, which had to heal over the next few days. This isn't quite that bad, but why can't I get rid of the smell?  I haven't touched the yarn in hours! The rest of it, the stuff that was in the bag along with the "scents", have caught the contagion and now reek almost as badly. They just absorbed it like a sponge. I threw them all in the clothes drier and they've been in there for an hour, but -  

I don't think so.

I may well have to return the whole lot. But the problem is, Michaels is obviously cramming this "scents" yarn in the same bins as the regular stuff. By now, it'll all be pretty much permeated. 

Scented yarn. OK.  I'll try to wrap my head around the concept! If you, say, knitted a sweater or even a scarf with this stuff, your body heat would fully release its gagging, wafting ponk. It would follow you around all day and set off everybody's allergies, not just your own. You would move in a cloud of stink that blares "cheap! Cheap! Cheap!" all day long. And I doubt if something this obnoxious could be washed out.

Maybe it's like pizza crust, constantly being reinvented: stuff it, put hot dogs in it, chop it up into rippable bits, dunk it in some sort of sauce that probably won't improve the experience. But for God's sake, don't just leave it alone! Keep "improving" the product with bizarre innovations that fall down in the execution.

This yarn is booby-trapped. I'm not the only one who has bought it without realizing just how evil it is. Maybe they should put steel bolts into the skeins that shoot through your hands, nailing you to your chair as if you're Christ on the cross. 

I know I am within my rights to return all the yarn, but what new stink might I find in the bins? There are three or four of these "scents", including - gag - lavender. The one I mistakenly bought is supposed to be some sort of migraine-inspiring vanilla, but if you added a little Chanel No. 5 to skunk spray, you'd just about have it.

I find it gratifying, having dug up the few reviews of this product that exist on the internet, the degree to which other customers are on the same page with me. I feel vindicated and a little less shitty about the whole thing. I hereby quote a few of them anonymously:

I just bought this yarn not knowing it was scented. I like the colour but the scent was giving me a headache! My fingers even smelt after. I had to wash my hands when I was done knitting. I really hope the smell comes out in the wash. I will not be purchasing anymore scented yarn. Frankly, I don't understand the purpose of adding perfume to yarn.

No,

I do not recommend this product.
smelly

Bought this in creme white not realizing it was scented cotton. It is cheap, not a nice scent and I put it in the trash.

No,

I do not recommend this product.
Nice color, not so nice scent.

Purple is my favorite color and one of the reasons I purchased this item. I like the soft lavender color but I do not like the scent.

To me the scent smells like cheap soap. Luckily it's not too overwhelming (although it is strong), so it's bearable even though I don't care for the scent.

Awful

I ordered 3 different yarns and they all smell exactly the same and nothing like the description for any of them. The scent is AWFUL. I don't even know how to describe it; it's just an annoying smell that is really strong and almost burns your nose and throat. I would not purchase this again, and unfortunately I have to finish my project so I don't have time to return it. I am just working a little at a time and taking breaks from the horrible smell.

Would recommend to a friend? No

smell horrible

Could not get by the smell. There is no words for it. Just no good. I thought that there would be much more little bundle of yarn. Just no good. Brought it back to the store. Waste of time and money

The skeins were a whole lot smaller than what I had purchased prior from another source. I thought they would be all the same size.

Top positive review

One person found this helpful

4.0 out of 5 stars Not quite vanilla, but not bad.

I bought it for the color & it is a good cotton yarn. The scent is not unpleasant, but it's not exactly vanilla - it is more reminiscent of a laundry detergent scent.

Top critical review

One person found this helpful

1.0 out of 5 stars  I feel like a fool for ordering this

Well, I feel like a fool for ordering this. It is a teeny, tiny skein. I kept looking in the shipping box for the rest of it. And it does not smell like lavender. at all. It rather...stinks. There goes $9 wasted. I expected more from Bernat. A teeny, tiny smelly bundle. lol. Not my usual joy in opening a package of new yarn !

Smelled harsh and chemical-y. Had to return.

i ordered this yarn and recieved this color yarn but it was not as described it was bernat handicrafter not scented at all

It's ok, very skimpy .not much of a scent wouldn't buy this again....

NEXT DAY'S REFLECTIONS. Second verse, same as the first! I found yet another review that resonated with me. And how.

Does not smell like vanilla

This yarn does not smell like vanilla. It is VERY perfumey. Bought it for a child hat but it smells like grandma's perfume gone bad. Additionally some of my skeins were stained with what appears to be coffee.

No, I do not recommend this product.

Visit Margaret's Amazon Author Page!

Mystery Drake

 

Shake a feather

Mystery of the Magpie Duck: still unsolved?

After the revelations in yesterday's email from the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology, we went to visit our newly-recognized magpie duck in Como Lake. There he was, fat and feathered and practically eating out of a man's hand as he threw seeds to the flock, which was waddling around on the lake shore.

But then I noticed something.

I noticed something I had sort-of noticed before. Our duck's plumage didn't exactly match the photos of magpie ducks, though they had the same general configuration of light and dark.

But our duck is brown.

Our duck has a brown breast and sides which pretty closely match the rich variegated plumage on the mallards (particularly the females) all around him. Magpie ducks are closer to solid black and white.

Then I realized I probably didn't fully understand what the Cornell Laboratory guy said: "It is a hybrid  of mallard origin" likely referred to OUR duck alone, not the whole species as I had assumed. I guess I thought his entire race had a mallard origin, like Thoroughbreds being spawned from ancient Arabians, or Bengal cats from wildcats, but probably not. Our guy is unique.

Though we can't know for sure because he likely won't submit to a DNA test, this is likely a mixed-race duck, a genetic puzzle, which is partly what makes him so special. That means either his Mummy or his Daddy was a magpie duck which mated with a mallard: a strange love affair, which might even have rendered him sterile, like the mule which results from a donkey mating with a horse.

Or not?

And why is he so big? He's nearly the size of a goose, for God's sake! It's hard to believe he was crossed with anything, let alone a duck so relatively small. We noticed his feet were at least an inch longer, as was his bill. But I tend to trust what the Cornell Lab guys say.

Today, when I was particularly eager to get a good look at him, he practically posed for me, his whole body out of the water, even turning to let me get a look at the other side.

Though the mystery has been solved, it hasn't been solved fully. The scenario is now more complicated: a magpie duck and a mallard producing offspring which has features of each, but is mostly magpie in size and configuration.  And what of "the other one", the second magpie duck which we thought we saw once? Did that mating produce more than one offspring which decided to stay in the safety of the lake rather than become someone's dinner? Or is this Bigfoot all over again, seeing what you want to see?

I wonder, too, why he posed for us on dry land like that. We've been glimpsing that duck for several years, in an "oh, look, there he is!" "Where?" "Oh, he's gone now" sense. Never has he stood there three feet away from us, preening and quacking into the camera.

The magpie is a most illustrious bird

Dwells in a diamond tree

One brings sorrow and one brings joy

Sorrow and joy for me

The magpie is a most royal bird

Black and blue as night

I would that I had feathers three

Black and blue and white

I saw the gentle magpie bird

In dusky yester-eve

One brought sorrow and one brought joy

And sooner than soon did leave

The magpie is a most illustrious bird

Dwells in a diamond tree

One brings sorrow and one brings joy

Sorrow and joy for me

Sorrow and joy for me

Sorrow and joy for me

SOLVED: the Mystery of the Como Lake Duck!

I've written about this guy before. He's an inhabitant of Como Lake in Coquitlam, B. C., a place we walk around a few times a week.

The lake is filled with mallards, various diving birds (even loons), and, sometimes, great congregations of Canada geese, but this particular duck is totally unique. To be honest, he doesn't even look like a wild duck. I've tried to find out more about him, but since I didn't have a name, only a description, I kept running up against a blank wall.

Over the several years we've seen him, I became more and more curious about this strange rogue duck, and then downright perplexed. Eventually, every time we spotted him I began to go nuts. Something was going on here! He was so big that he seemed like a domestic duck that had gone native. He was piebald in his markings, like a cowboy's pinto horse, and had that long, thick, curvy Donald Duck bill that you see in the barnyard.

A couple of years ago I found a magnificent site for the Cornell Laboratory of Ornithology. This is one of the best sites I've ever seen for sheer volume of content combined with ease of use. If you want to find anything bird, it's here.  It's truly user-friendly, with lots of descriptions and thumbnails of species so you can put name to bird, not to mention recorded calls and songs for every type of bird. This site helped me figure out what those eerie "whoo-whoot-whoo-WHOOOOO!" sounds were that I was hearing on summer nights (barred owl). The call is described on the web site as "who cooks for you?", which delighted me. The "youuuuuu" sounds exactly like a descending trill on a bassoon.

Finally it occurred to me that if anyone in the world could identify my mystery duck, it would be the Cornell Laboratory. I emailed them, attempting to attach a link to the video of it  (which may or may not have worked) and describing it as well as I could.

Some time went by, but not much. Then today I got this email, which delighted me no end!

Hi Margaret,

It is definitely a domestic-type — closest I can find is something called a Magpie Duck. It is a hybrid of Mallard origin.

http://www.zooenc.eu/en/magpie-duck/

Best,
Marc

Marc Devokaitis
Public Information Specialist

Now that I had something to google, everything matched up and I realized that it had to be a magpie duck. Apparently, these birds make good eating and are cultivated for their meat, a fact that had better not get around Como Lake. It's surrounded by avid fisher-persons who might just be up for a duck dinner. This guy is so friendly and hangs around the shore so much that he'd be an easy catch.

(Not our duck. Presented for comparison only.)

A couple of times we thought we saw a smaller duck of this type. A female? It's possible, though we didn't pay enough attention. I'm not sure why it's called a magpie, but that's his name, and he apparently has mallard blood, perhaps the way I have Spanish blood from the Spanish Armada. (Not. We were all dirt-poor Irish.) Some of the photos I've found show ducks with iridescent mallard-like patches on their heads. 

Well I'll be damned!

Meantime, though this song isn't really about my duck, it's very lovely and I want to include it here.

And one more barred owl video.

POST-SCRIPT: Since writing this admittedly-sparse piece, I've had some thoughts. Thoughts of the ugly duckling, of changelings, of barnyard ducks escaping certain death and flapping away from the hatchet. Of strange-looking magpie ducks who barely escaped being dinner.

This is why I like this duck so much, and why it drove me so crazy before I knew what it was. Though it plainly didn't fit in its environment and looked sort of like a turkey among doves (albeit a nice-looking, handsome turkey), it seemed so comfortable, so glad to be where it was. Its fellow ducks, mostly mallards, didn't seem to notice that it was different, but then - they're used to honkin' hundreds of Canada geese, not always the most hospitable creatures, suddenly descending on the lake and taking it over, doing weird things like swimming in big circles. One friendly-looking duck, one big farmyard-looking duck was not going to be a problem, and they all dunk and dabble the same way, ducktails up. Plenty of gunk and ill-advised tourist-food to go around.

But at the same time. . . I'm depressed today, not quite psych-ward depressed but down, and I wonder if it's because the air has been let out of a longstanding mystery. This weird, doesn't-fit-at-all duck suddenly has a sort of identity. He at least makes sense now. And I don't know whether I like that. I don't know whether I'll be so prone to saying, "Oh, look, there he is!" when he glides or waddles into view. Or maybe I will, but it won't be the same.

It's as if he's been operating under an alias, or has been The Duck That Has No Name, and is now "named", or at least species-ed as a magpie duck. Odd name, that - one would think it would be harlequin or something, with those mixed markings. The only association I have with magpies is Heckle and Jeckle.

I've done a bit of digging into the breed, not a lot mind you because that would bore me, and I can't find reference to it being any kind of hybrid. The YouTube videos I've found feature pet magpie ducks, not obviously being fattened up for the kill.

The magpie duck is maybe 50% larger than the mallards, heavier-bodied, with that cobby build and waddly proportion that aren't common in wild birds. Yes, the mallards have large breasts, but they're mainly floats, a way to keep themselves upright in the water and protected from cold. This guy is just solid, man, carved out of alabaster, or plain wood like a decoy bobbing around in the water. There probably would be some pretty good eating there, with some orange sauce on the side.

Ducks, swans, all that stuff, it's the material of fairy tales and legend. I have a mystical attachment to birds, which is why I went into such deep mourning at the very premature death of my beloved Paco. I hardly had any time with her at all before we found her dead in her cage, for no reason anyone ever understood.

The fact my back yard birds have fled is a mystery, and also pains me. Last year the yard was teeming with species, including loud, arrogant, impossibly gorgeous Steller's jays who would swoop in and empty out the feeder. We also saw juncos, chickadees, wrens, thrushes, towhees, sparrows, and - every once in a while - the magnificent visitation of a flicker burning bright.

Now, they've all gone. Where? and why? Is it because we have a cat now? Because we never expected to have a cat. Bentley is a hunting voyeur only, and is not allowed to go outside and become catmeat. But he does spend considerable time peering out the back window.

And yet, last summer, the first summer we had him, the birds still teemed.

When I go to Piper Spit on Burnaby Lake, blackbirds literally flutter down out of the sky and eat out of my hand. I feel like freaking St. Francis of Assisi. They turn their heads this way and that, their eyes like obsidian beads, their feet freaky black leather twigs. What are they thinking?

Birds do seem to think with a single mind, like the Borg. They exist as collectives. Like humans, they're flock animals, only far more clever than we are. Certainly, they are better survivors. When it all collapses, when the day of reckoning comes, will some of the birds make it? Hitchcock portrayed them as freakish and merciless, and yes, there is that aspect to them. The fat pigeon that took over my hand at Piper Spit weighed about twenty pounds, and I realized as I looked at it that, close up, it was as hideous as the dinosaur from which it evolved.

POST-POST. I felt bad about this, about mentioning Bentley as one of the reasons the birds fled from the back yard. Because it might not be that, at all. We've noticed how dramatically bird populations wax and wane, even week-to-week. Those first couple of visits to Piper Spit were so bird-heavy that I assumed it was always like that, a teeming bird paradise. Then, one week we went and there were only sullen-looking heaps of geese (geese not being my favorites - they have a habit of hissing at you, before they lower their heads and charge). No more magnificent sandhill cranes or iridescent swallows or gorgeously-plumed wood ducks or or or - . But next time we went, about 2/3 of them were back. I don't know what drives them, I don't.

But it's not Bentley! Bentley is like a second child born after tragedy, especially beloved. He is just the best cat ever.

UPDATE from 2021! This post has so many post-posts that I hesitated to add this addition. But since I just got a comment from someone about the Mystery Duck, I thought I'd post a link to a collection of YouTube videos I shot over the past five years of the ducks we came to call Bosley and Belinda. Haven't seen Bosley in several months however, and we are getting worried. https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLv59M8aSlCSb4R7FRY7jsB__G0fj4Odt4  

The tiny movies of the heart

Tiny movies.

Captured movements from the day

the horses        day smells

sounds nothing like the now

with its jacking hammers and scream of traffic

why are we so stressed and despairing?

I won't ask myself, or them.

A shiny horse

moves into view, a horse

almost supernatural

in its beauty

in its stillness

in its oblivion

in its centrality to their existence

not just a car but a beloved beast

cared for

not by oil changes

but a curry comb

and gentle words

I can hear it whuffing and whickering

and responding

and smell its superb

glossy hide

it is animate

and capable of relationship

it is not just a dull means

of transportation

People file and hustle and hurry

off a train or boat

all their faces are different

as faces are always different

but faces were different then

each person's demeanor their own

anxious faces

bored faces

tired faces

one woman is skipping

a man adjusts his hat

(or does he tip it to the camera?)

most are businesslike

but give the appearance

of going home

A smooth skim along a beach, carriages sailing across the view 

as the camera tracks, perhaps on wheels

some people vaguely aware that someone is cranking a thing at them

do they know what it is?

Those moving pictures.

Imagine me in a moving picture!

and all those horses just standing, standing patiently

it must be very hard to stand so patiently

waiting for what?

Are these cabs for the rich? 

A man twirls his umbrella as he walks with his woman

everybody's making love or else

expecting rain

Think how long all these people are dead.

Think of their descendents.

Think of them begetting them

and birthing them.

It's crazy and frightening

to think of this moment

of sand and smells

gulls

and sea creatures dead for more than a century

but their descendents still gasping for their existence

in a sea now foul and choked

that heavenly vista

likely gone for good

Me with old cars

A protean figure: Big Otis and Kellogg's OK

Early cereal ads on TV had no idea how to pronounce the word protein.

It always came out "PROTE-ee-an", or something like it.  I don't think people knew or cared much about nutrition then, though the ads always claimed the cereal caused children to grow to almost supernatural heights.

I knew "protean" had something to do with Proteus, a character from Greek mythology, but couldn't remember anything about him. So had to look it up.

Definition of proteus

any of a genus (Proteus) of aerobic usually motile enterobacteria that include saprophytes in decaying organic matter and a common causative agent (P. mirabilis) of urinary tract infections

Proteus: a Greek sea god capable of assuming different forms

Definition of protean:

of or resembling Proteus in having a varied nature or ability to assume different forms

displaying great diversity or variety

Protean is not to be confused with protein (a member of a large group of chemicals necessary to and found in all living things).

But I also found this astonishing fact:

PROTEUS An elderly Sea-God who was the son and seal-herder of Poseidon.

How can the son of someone be elderly? This is full of mystery, and I don't feel like exploring it because it has nothing to do with Kellogg's OK, an obsolete cereal of the '60s. I did try very hard to find a picture of Proteus, and all I could find was Poseidon. All right, they didn't make any cruise ship disaster movies about Proteus, but I SHOULD be able to find a picture of him!

And how in God's name do you herd seals?

News flash!

OK, I JUST FOUND THIS:

This is, supposedly, Proteus, though he does not appear to be herding seals. In fact, maybe the thing with the tail is Proteus! And he certainly isn't elderly, but who is elderly all their lives?

And, even better, I found this picture of Poseidon. So Otis isn't the only one who likes to dress up funny.

Pretty useless gifs

Frozen in the headlights

The Canadian Press
Published Friday, July 15, 2016 12:39PM EDT
Last Updated Friday, July 15, 2016 1:09PM EDT

http://www.ctvnews.ca/canada/pm-trudeau-says-canada-will-work-to-fight-terrorism-1.2988472

CALGARY -- Prime Minister Justin Trudeau says Canada is thinking of "our friends in France" and will work to fight terrorism.

"We had a terrible attack last night and our hearts go out to the victims and their families," Trudeau said Friday while in Calgary to attend the Stampede.

"Canada stands with France as a steadfast ally and we will work with the international community to fight terror to ensure that we live in a peaceful world."

There were no reports of Canadian casualties. At least 84 people were killed when a truck full of weapons plowed into a crowd of Bastille Day revellers in the French resort city of Nice late Thursday.

Public Safety Minister Ralph Goodale said the federal government has no information that would necessitate a change in Canada's terror threat level, which is currently at medium.

Still, Goodale urged Canadians to stay vigilant and alert.

"Canadians can rest assured that when the security and intelligence sector receives credible warnings on a specific threat, they work with the appropriate government partners to ensure the safety of Canadians," Goodale said in a statement.

Goodale noted that while in Paris in January, he signed a declaration with his French counterpart, Bernard Cazeneuve, to work together on terrorism, organized crime and irregular migration.

OK. I'm not saying these guys are bad. I'm not even saying these guys are negligent or don't know how to do their jobs.

I just think these guys have run out of things to say.

I think they're having a harder and harder time helping Canadians feel safe. It's no longer going to work telling us they'll be sure to to warn us if something bad is about to happen.

There were no such warnings in Nice.

There was only a split-second of "warning", then chaos and death as 84 people were ploughed down, their lives ended in mid-breath. Nobody expected it except the killer.

So Justin Trudeau is called upon to, as usual, say a few words aboaut the latest atrocity. And this from the Calgary Stampede! I'm not against the Calgary Stampede, though I really hate how the chuckwagon races seem to kill at least a few horses every year.

But it's the juxtaposition. Horrendous carnage. Calgary Stampede. And bland, predictable words from the son of a "great" Prime Minister who was vilified all during his very long tenure (which was very long ago).

We grab at the familiar, in hope. We gasp for reassurance.

None of us gets a warning. We don't.

Many people are now thoroughly sick of "our thoughts and prayers go out to --- ", especially with regards to mass shootings. But this has become an "insert atrocity here" statement, and we're hearing it practically every week.

My daughter, a seasoned TV newswoman, believes the world is doomed. It was alarming to hear her talk yesterday. In my worst moments, I agree with her, though even in my own blog I have to be careful how I write about it. Of course it can be said that she's right up against it every day, reporting on all the worst stuff that happens worldwide.

But the worst is getting worse. The bland is getting REALLY bland, and stretched pretty thin.

If a real disaster happened in Canada, I'm not sure how Justin Trudeau would handle it.

"He's like a deer in the headlights," my husband likes to say.

Let us hope we never find out. But how can we know for sure?

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To an unfriended asshole

This was one of those tiresome Facebook situations where someone (a "friend", i. e. someone you know next-to-nothing about) jumps all over you for a fairly innocent and likely misunderstood comment. Somebody posted something about the whole All Lives Matter issue by some "rich white guy" (known to be a rich white guy) claiming to know more about it than most people by dint of the fact that he was a rich white guy. My comment was something like "who IS this guy?" I honestly didn't know who he was, but the poster, and I'm damned if I remember his name because I am trying so hard to forget it, took it really literally and even personally and sent me one of those long, long, twist-and-turny replies bristling with sniping hostility that I did not even read, I was so eager to get to "unfriend"! Then later on, somewhere, under some post of MINE, he made another snarky comment about my unfriending him. Gee, why did I do THAT, I wonder? Such a swell fellow! He was ripping into me for not wanting to be his "friend" any more. 

Not for him but for me, I began to gather my thoughts about all this and write, then thought they might be worth posting here because they sum up a lot of "where I am at" (as they used to say) right now. By the way, the reply would not post because he is no longer my friend, so he will never find out what I thought about the whole thing! But the guy was an asshole anyway, who needs him? I have even had to cut loose from some long-time friends who had wandered off into a mental wilderness that was very dark, too dark for me to enter into. And social media can be a jungle.

Is it sad? I suppose it is, but it's also a lesson in what really matters. Anyway, here is my comment/"reply" to the unfriended asshole, which he will never read because he is no longer my "friend". 

My FB policy now is if I feel ANY stress at all from ANY interaction, I just have to get away from it. I don't even think about it for too long - it's a reflex. My mental health is too valuable to subject it to any unnecessary stress. I'm pretty much on the verge of bailing from the whole FB thing. It's not too enjoyable, and I have to ask myself, often, what am I gaining, and/ or what is the other person gaining from all this? 

I mean, what is the real benefit, if any? Was I all withered up mentally before social media, was I starving or lacking or was I "not myself"? It seems to me that life was richer and that personal interaction was richer and more considered when you had to go find a stamp and carry the message to the mail box. If this is to have any meaning whatsoever, I need to be able to say what I think or feel, but it's starting to seem like I get jumped on if anything too "real" comes out. Then the feeling is: can't you stand up and defend yourself, then? Why? I honestly did not KNOW who this guy was - still don't, and felt tired by another stream of commentary, tired of the whole thing, of people killed and blown up, of endless comments, comments, COMMENTS when it leads to exactly nothing!

I was never meant for this, only got into it to promote my book (ha!) because that's what you do, and fell down a rabbit hole which has been mostly unpleasant. I unfriend now without giving it much of a thought. Why? These aren't my friends! No, they aren't, my friends are my friends and most of these people are just something else. I was naive and really blundered into it in a wrongheaded way, having no idea how to do it, thinking that amassing a lot of writing/publishing associates was what I was supposed to do. Jesus. What I am supposed to do is write from the heart, put it out there and forget about it, then, the next day, do the same thing over again. This process du jour is what gives me joy and is never boring, no matter what anyone says about it.

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