But it rained!

"For the rain it raineth everyday"

--Feste, Twelfth Night

Enjoying the JC rainshower.

Enjoying rereading Feste's closing song. My favorite character in the play.

Dr Scholl's costs me a 'dime' and more

I've learned my lesson and that means no cheap shoes for me ever. Come to think of it, everything I buy at Wal-mart turns out ruinous in the end...so I got these fruit of the loom knickers at like throwaway prices...but I'm shocked...at how scratchy the fabric is. I've worn their tshirts before and my husband uses their vest. they are generally so soft..but these are a major let down. hope washing will soften them up a bit.

I got these Dr scholl's mary janes at about $20. should have known it was too good to be true. They ate away at my skin, kept rubbing it off and in 15 min, rubbed off a dime sized circle of skin. I'm not kidding. Sadly.

Gauged for a pain or socks in knitpicks 'playtime' colorway. 8 st=1". Will cast on tomorrow on DPNs.

Must learn magic loop!

iblock

Blocking mats, wires, hundreds of T-pins and plenty of finished objects. All soft and squidgy and smooshy. I like soft things. Fuzzy-wuzzies which I can press my cheek to, fluffiness which I can sink my feet in and cocoon myself in comfort. Knit, purl, purl, knit. What a life, and what an art. Wearable as well as creative, so sucks to you, grandma, for calling me old fashioned and my art ‘old housewives sitting on the front stoop with nothing better to do than clack needles and tongues endlessly.’

My stash is threatening to take over my apartment and UFO’s in various stages of execution lay about here and there. A couple inches of ribbing on the sofa, an unpaired sock on the table, a poochie sweater with ends not woven in. Frogged (sigh, it took me so long to do that much) sweaters lying in an ignominious heap inside the telly trolley. And yarn everywhere, fuzzy ends on the floor, tangled and untangled and detangled cakes piled about just anyhow. From creation to chaos and from chaos to a cosmic (well almost) state of new creation. Such is life, as I said before, and here I am, with the fruits of my labor draped about me, cloudy trophies of my art.

You doubt my art, ma’am? Since it seems plebian to you, well everybody can knit of course and everybody, they say, can dance and paint a picture. Everybody is me, and yet, not-me, because I am everyone and I am no one. Sometimes I am an average Someone, point for point an ordinary little homemaker with few ambitions and some fulfilled desires. More often, I am no one because my writing and my words are me and if the well runs dry, then the bucket ceases to exist. Meaningfully, that is. Words and thoughts swirl away as the water does and whispers fade into the air. You don’t believe me do you? All right then, give me back my lost words. Words that used to be and may still exist in some dark, dank corner of the internet. Can you find them and bind them together? I thought not.

Blocking mats and pins and shiny little points, prick my finger and feel the sting. I wish I could block the kinks off myself and be what everyone wanted to be. Frog that. Wish I could block myself into what I wanted me to be.