I took advantage of the time alone to write up a juicy list of all I hoped to get done and I'm proud to say I got through most of the list. I finished my socks! See?
They aren't perfect, but they're DONE. And naturally, I wasted no time casting on another pair:
These will eventually become my version of the "Spring Forward" sock from Knitty. I MAY even dig around for my Addi Turbo sizes 8 and 9 and begin swatching for Martha, although I'm not sure if I'll get to it. There always seems to be more to do than I have energy for. I did get a ratty old desk Noah used to use out of here. Got it all cleaned up, carried it out to my car and everything, ready to donate to Goodwill but even they wouldn't take it. Now I have this beast in my car and I have to go to the dump and pay their fee. Dang that's a skein of yarn. Maybe I'll wait until my husband isn't home, a weekday when nobody is around & smash the thing up & stuff it into the trash bin, bit by bit, as though I'm hiding some kind of crime evidence.
I finally made it to the gym & found a female employee who would help me. I must say that Corey appeared to have his head in a very dark place. When I arrived he looked at me, stared off and behaved like some kind of whitey boy gang member wanna be, too cool to acknowledge his mama in the grocery store, me being that mama in this case. I told the young woman that the professionalism of the place really stunk especially since I just plunked down some dough and it promptly sat in their bank account with no accountability to me and previous to then nobody even had the decency to offer to show me around the place. The good part of it though is that everybody who can afford the nicer gym nearby that has a pool, which is also farther away from here, is already going there and they can crowd it all up and be proud of their status of getting to go there, congratulate each other on whatever it is they want to brag about. I will have a nice slate-tiled locker room with tons of room to myself for the most part. I can't imagine it's always that empty of females, but I have a hunch the numbers are pretty low, what with Corey at the helm. But there were 3 really overweight guys in there trying to work off their load and I really respect them for being there. It made me happy that the place wasn't filled with buff roosters everywhere, although maybe the lack of such was the cause of Corey's state of mind, I dunno.
I've been thinking a lot about what has been making me feel so miserable about my life and I have a little list going now, one of which is that I am fundamentally a creative person (not saying it's "good" to anyone, just that a drive to do it is inherent) and I haven't had much in the way of opportunity to exercise that for most of the past year. I stepped into a little local gallery a few days ago and it was wonderful to discuss a little art with the owner. I'm at a place too where my understanding of what the visual expression (in this instance) is about is not necessarily good or bad, just an expression and it can be valid however deep or shallow it may seem. I'm getting to love the non-verbal again and frankly, this past year of working for the lab in many ways in areas of office type work has been so dry it's actually help accentuate the contrast enough for me to see what's wrong. So........ Now I must put together a plan for a remedy. I must or my entire family will pay with misery, and that's no way to live if you don't have to. I also have too many needy creatures around and in response to that realization, I called my brother-in-law and begged him to take my cat Roscoe:
He's the one who was hit by a car a year and a half ago, the one who dragged himself back home soaking wet after 3 days and who I had to give subcutaneous fluids to to help him survive and mixed up food-soup for him FOR A MONTH while he healed. His pelvis was broken in 3 places and he's still quite gimpy, but he's become such a bucket of need, wiping himself all over my legs because he wants his food fluffed up or some such thing, standing on the roof over my window and yelling into my room as I work, that sort of thing. And it's not like I don't give him attention. But Zeke, Zeke needs a cat. He has no woman, has no kids around, doesn't work, lives in a trailer with no responsibilities except his pet goat, and he does like to dote over a cat. In my desperation, I called, begged and he accepted. They've bonded now, so I'm told, and it's been 24 hours. There is hope. Now I only have THREE cats, two Saint Bernards, two boys and five chickens and a husband.
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