You are Mohair.
You are a warm and fuzzy type who works well with
others, doing your share without being too
weighty. You can be stubborn and absolutely
refuse to change your position once it is set,
but that’s okay since you are good at covering
up your mistakes.
It’s kind of spooky how Mohair I really am. Perhaps this is a sign to get off my butt and work up the Grey Mohair. It sits in my stash, waiting patiently for me to find the right pattern and stitch combination. Soon, my love, soon.
This week feels extra weird. I think it may be that my hours at work have changed a little this week. Or I’ve been staring at the computer for 7.5 hours straight. Or the space-time continuum is warping and will snap back so hard it’ll fling me right off this planet, Donnie Darko-style (you don’t know–it could be happening right now). I’m pretty happy that tomorrow is a 9-5 day (sometimes I work 12:30-9pm) and that I don’t work over the weekend. Joy is in the little things, my dear.
Joy is also, apparently, in ripping out the baby blanket that one is making for the baby due in November.
It looked really nice, except… I got about 18 rows into the blanket when I noticed for the first time last night that the sides were warping (much like the space-time continuum) and there was nothing to be done but to rip it out and start over (dammit!). So, I took a few deep breaths and a few pulls from the Michelob AmberBock and began to rip. it. all. out.
I have come to terms with the blanket. I realized that I was asking something of the blanket which it did not want to do. Instead of being worked in rows, it wants to be worked in rounds, thus:
So, I have become one with the blanket and am blissed-out pretty hardcore (that phrase probably shouldn’t exist, but does, thanks to my bizarre little brain) because I have worked this particular pattern before. So I know how it all turns out in the end. And I can freak out slightly less now. Zennnnnnn…
Joy also exists in getting a new kitty, as my good friends Margaret & Wade did last night. Their new fur child came home last night, is a beautiful grey calico/tortoise-shell girl kitty (9 months old) who likes to lick Margaret’s eyelid and is named Sabaka. It means “dog” in Russian. My friends are funny that way.
There, I’ve found joy in four things today (well, two, if you don’t count the sarcastic finding of joy). That’s more than average (is there an average?) and I’m going to celebrate with malt liquor. Give it up for King Cobra.