The summer has been notable for the lack of humidity, most unusual in these here parts, but today made up for it. Perhaps I’ve gotten soft, but ick.
Despite steam bath meteorological conditions, Salt Peanuts continues. I am half way through sleeve #2, but will spare you a picture virtually identical to the one previous. I need a better name for this – charming as La’s is, (OK, trying to find the link I Googled "salt penis" - probably not wise, but hey try it, learn something new), I haven’t (yet) reached the level of rage that would make it work for me. I see it with jeans, boots and my 600 carat turquoise belt buckle – sorta southwestern, but not.
Still like this yarn, but damn, it is a sneaky little devil. Get careless for a little minute, start fudging the-put-it-down-and-let-it-hang-then-pick-it-up motion of the purling, and Boing! Boing! Rows popping out like the button on one’s jeans when, ahem, one is retaining water.
Everyone I know seems to be suffering from ennui - or possibly just generalized Bush-induced depression. Which is to say, it was a dead weekend –mostly just gym and knitting, hence the shift from ½ a sleeve to a sleeve and a half. Oh, and I cleaned the crap out of my house. It was bad enough that I panicked about potentially letting the doll ladies in, but when I refused entrance to my oldest friend Sunday, I knew it was time.
Somehow, I can only do this in the wee small hours. I’ll spend a whole day procrastinating about cleaning, then about ten pm, boom, motivation. Trash to the street at midnight, folding socks at two am. Turns out I have a table in my dining room – who knew? Repeat after me – I will not keep house like my mother, I will not keep house like my mother. I don't think I saw the dining room table 10 times during grade school.
Exciting stuff, eh? That what keeps ‘em coming back. Swear to all the muses, in real life, Juno’s a very funny girl. People laugh and everything.