Spinning, Knitting, Crocheting, Organic Gardening, Living off-grid, and chasing sheep - because- I'm, like, NOT SANE!

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

The reasons I love you

This will likely not be a sappy post, as I suck at sappy. However, as I am wrenched, chewed up and spit back out by this lovely little plague I've been enduring - who knows? But - when someone makes you feel REALLY good when you really needed it, or really bad when you really deserved it - note needs to be made. That is why, my dear Rabbitch, I forgive you for hating me. It is well deserved. I have far too much adoration and respect for you to have stabbed you in the back and finished my sweater with little or no mention before hand. I offer this truce - we could work on the underclothes for Marq together - like friends?

Alinda rulesnd Linda - girl, you are really high on my list of very decent people right now. I haven't brushed my hair in two days (man, they could have cast me as Dianna Ross) and none of my clothes match. My face is ghostly blue-green and I have cold sores all over my mouth. This is why I didn't take a pic of myself wearing the awesome shirt you sent me - I didn't want to scare you. But, man oh man, did I smile wide (had to put some lip balm on first to get the ole lips to move in a flexible manner without cracking) when your package arrived today. Background for everyone else out there - Linda was 'gifted' with some of my yarn by a loving family member over the holidays and because she is awesome (women firefighters- Yah!) and also really kind, she sent me a shirt. A real shirt. Like, if I wanted to don it tomorrow and run around the farm with the water hose frightening the kids, it would seem kinda real. For me, at least. Give me a break, people, I'm practically brain-dead.

What was I saying? Oh, the reasons I love you. I was reluctant to start a blog. Like every southern gal, I have a tendancy to run my mouth and embarass myself often. Like every Cancer, I tend to try to prevent this by hiding in my home and averting the gaze of strangers (can you say, freak magnet?). Also, I am a writer. And when I write, a sort of 'freedom' comes over me and I tend to say exactly what I am thinking - which in my case is hardly ever a good idea. So, the blog thing - scares the heck out of me, still, to be honest. I worry, I re-read, I fret, and have been known to 'delete' a blog out of sheer panic that I have stated some sort of opinion at times. My angst is nothing, though, to the awesome experience of this network of knitters that pick each other up and keep on keeping on. It can almost make a fool bold.

So, Mercury, I know your reign of terror continues for another week at least but here me say, kiss my arse. I read that I am not supposed to start new projects because your pesky little self enjoys wreaking havoc on the innocent and creative. Pewy on you. I know you shorted the wires on my house and almost burned it down, broke both of my cars, and have generally been robbing me of a good night's sleep for two weeks, now. Lick my shoe. thing 1's bookish vest Thing 1 turns the whopping 14 in about a month and I am jazzed beyond your ugliness and want to make her many things. A skirt in some fabric she fell in love with and I bought behind her back, a cute little crocheted top we saw in a crochet mag last week, and this 'bookish girl' vest in her favorite color yarn - honey gold. I'm not too keen on the fair isle pattern so I may substitute it with either a cable or another pattern - I expect no cooperation from your evil self. This is where we put our gloves on. This is where the rubber meets the road. Some of us have more work to do than dance around the universe backward, you know.

I cannot write a post with this title at this time without a peck of sap for dear hubster. Granted, he is flawed. And there are many times I fantacize about laying trip ropes all over the farm and getting a cup of something good and a cozy chair and a book I am pretending to read just to watch his slow suffering (truth is I don't do it because he's very agile and would likely not trip. I would then forget about the ropes and trip over them all myself - know your limits). But, when the chips were down and mum was drooling on herself and mumbling whist walking around with her freaky hairdo, hubster was cooking dinners, helping things 1,2, and 3 to bed every night - and generally trying to deserve my affection. Thanks.