Ehat

In an old episode of Everybody Loves Raymond, Ray finds out his mom used to read his childhood journal. In the journal he used a “code” where the last letter of the word goes first, so that in his little kid mind if anyone found the journal they wouldn’t know what it said. His mom is upset because in one entry he wrote, “I ehat my mom.” And, well, she cracked the code.

Personally, as a preteen and teenager I used to intersperse fake entries in my journal. If there were too many depressing ones in a row, I’d add in some random happy stuff for good measure. I guess it was just in case anyone found it and tried to institutionalize me. Or perhaps I suspected my mom might read it, and I had rathered she not worry too terribly much. These were my phobias.

Regardless, this code sounds like the dorky sort of thing I could have done when I was younger. Or now. For some reason when I have another frustrating day at work, I like the way it sounds to get in my car at the end of the day, slam the door shut, sigh, and say, “I e-hat my job.” Then I start the car and drive home and carry on with the obsessive knitting. And I watch stitches turn into rows and rows turn into scarves and hats and sweaters and blankets. And that helps me stay esan.