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I wish I had a picture for you, but I don’t, but I want to show you the socks I’m making out of some Cormo handspun.

Dude. I spun wool and now I’m making socks. That’s WILD. (What is that the Yarn Harlot says about our obsession? At least we’re not this obsessed with cabbage. Thank god. It could be so much worse.) And I spun it so fine that even double-plied it’s about DK weight. Maybe a tad heavier.

And that Cormo is soft. I was skeptical while spinning, because it was such a pain in my arse, sticky and short, just at the edge of my spinning ability, but knitted up it’s pretty dang fine. (But I can’t think about Cormo without thinking P0rno, which is what Lala heard when my friend Deanna and I raced off to track it down in Maryland. The P0rno fiber. Oh, yeah, baby.)

This weekend: The Whoreshoes are playing the 5th Ave. Marina at the Oakland Embarcadero on Saturday afternoon. Come on by if you’re in the area, and hoot and holler a bit. I’ll also be relaxing. It’s been a long week, and I some TiVo to catch up on. Can’t WAIT. (Originally typed Can’t WATI, which is accurate. I don’t think I can wati at all.)

And I wrote. Woot!

See? I wrote.

Hooray!

Honestly, I wrote so much that I’m almost out of words. Okay, there are a few left, I think. I wrote when I woke up, as soon as I woke up, coffee in hand (and it was hard — I could see all those nice email comments waiting in the inbox, and I just wanted to click and read but I knew I’d never get back to writing).

Then I wrote at work, too, and got a lot done. Hot damn.

Well.

Yep. Words all gone. Whoops. Done spent ’em all. Shoot.

So here for fun is another 911 story. This one is great, and it was sent to me simultaneously from Christy and Jon:
Woman Calls 911 With Pizza Complaint.

https://rachaelherron.com/_see_i_wrote_ho/

Let’s write about writing, shall we? And how lately, I just haven’t? You’ve heard it before, I know. And in my defense, I’ll tell you that I wrote an article for a local rag last week, and I’ve got an article due next week for a national one.

But to the real writing: The Big Book and the little book and the one that’s germinating and about to poke a green tendril out of the ground…. That’s a lot of writing to be doing, and a lot of writing that I’ve been avoiding.

Honestly, it’s not even like I’ve been actively running away. It’s just that when I’m home and alone, I’d rather be spinning, because it’s the new addiction, don’tcha know. I could and should write in the wee hours at work. That’s always my goal. I get a forty minute break and I could get a good chunk of writing done then, but I haven’t been taking my break lately. I could get out my computer right now. It’s hiding below my work terminal and I just stubbed my toe on it. But every night, zero-dark-thirty rolls around, and it’s finally quiet, and I’m finally off the police radio, and my brain is zapped and I gape at the work screen instead.

Yeah, I guess that’s running away.

It is, isn’t it? Grrr.

Oh, my lazy, lazy self. And I think I’ve recently figured it out — I always do consider myself lazy even though god knows most wouldn’t. I knit a lot and I spin a lot and my house is always neat and clean (sick, yeah) and the bills are paid and usually I run some during the week, and heaven knows I sneak Lala in wherever/whenever I can. But when I don’t write I’m being lazy. It’s what I love best, what I want to do most. When I write, I can lie on the couch doing NOTHING and feel happy about it. When I write, I’m less driven in all other areas, and that can be very useful. Dust bunnies are our friends.

I used to get my writing done when I woke up. RIGHT when I woke up. I’m talking coffee in hand, computer on, tapping out words before the brain screams NO! Okay. I should listen to myself. Today, this afternoon, after my day-sleep, I’ll do that. No email, no blogs until the work is done. And I’ll tell you if I did or not. Damn, I should make a little chart with boxes or something and check them off on days I Really Write. Shame is a seriously strong motivator, indeed. I’ll use anything at this point. Only I don’t know how to write that kind of code.

Or I’ll just keep rambling on and on and on in blog-format and call it writing, which it kind of is, and kind of isn’t. Y’know?

Babble-off.

It is such a nice afternoon. I woke up early with Lala and took her to BART so she could go into the city and be all Buddha-ey, and I went home. I had all intentions of spinning, of cleaning, of organizing…. Lala and I have so little time together that we really try to spend the weekend together, which is fabulous for two lovebirds. Couldn’t be better. But the loner in me loved the prospect of a whole day alone in my little house.

So I got home, ate some raisin toast, drank a cup of coffee, stared out the window, and then fell asleep. For two hours. I’m not a napper, but I love those rare naps that sneak up on you and hit you in the back of the head with a heavy-ass skillet. I woke to the phone ringing — a pal wanted to go to brunch and to shop for a while, so I met her at La Med in Rockridge, where the mochas are to die for, and the brunch is surprisingly wonderful.

I’ve been living in this short wraparound skirt for two days now, loving it, and I think it would be easy to copy. So we went to Stone Mountain & Daughter, a big ole fabric store and got a couple of yards of orange and green fabric. I’m going to try a new latch mechanism — my old sewing machine (circa 1941?) doesn’t do buttonholes (doesn’t do anything but forward and, haltingly, back), and I thought about snaps or hooks, but rejected them for something I saw in their notions area. Bra hooks. What do you think? They come as if you’d cut off the last two inches of each end of your bra, and I think they’ll be easy to sew in by hand, and they’ll be industrial in strength. I always worry, wearing a wraparound. Not a time to go commando, if you know what I mean.

Which brings me to now — I’m supposed to pick up La off BART anytime now, and I was in the area of her place, so I came here instead of going home. I’m stealing her internet connection, and borrowing her dogs for company. I cleaned up the back yard, pulling out tons of nasty ivy and refilling the fountain. I cleaned off all the outdoor chairs so that people can come and visit. Maybe a barbecue sometime? I can feel that it’s almost summer, and while I’m not that big a fan of summer (too hot, too busy), I do love the warm nights on the back porch swing, looking at the flowers and tomatoes (I have four big ripening tomatoes on my sunny front deck, and Lala has five or six little green cherry tomatoes).

So now I’m listening to the birds sing, the traffic hum very far away. When I lived in this apartment, I loved the peace that it came with. My new home is peaceful, and I like to open the sliding glass door sometimes to the air, but with it open, the freeway roar is deafening. Here, it’s just calm. I do realize that I got nothing I meant to done today. I’m tempted to lie down again, but I’m so sleepy, that skillet might get me again. I’m waiting for Lala to call so I can pick her up and then go to my house, where we have last week’s Lost to catch up on. I like that we have two homes.

Yawn. Enjoy the rest of your weekend….

Have you seen these? Screw baby sweaters, I’m making THESE now for the preggers moms in my life. So cute I can’t stand it. I like Bronty the best.

Lala is funny today. She’s funny everyday, ackshally. Today I am not funny, mostly because I’m Tired. Not little t-tired, but Big T-Tired. Cats who keep their gals awake during the day when it’s time to sleep should at least be able to do dishes. Instead, Digit’s great talent is to throw up in dark corners where it won’t be seen until I tread in it going to the bathroom for the fifteenth time since lying down.

Yawn.

There. Did you? That’s a sign you’re probably not schizophrenic by the way. In case you were wondering.

But the good thing is is that I’m going to pick up Lala from work now, since apparently she’s NEVER getting her car out of the shop and I get to steal a couple of hours with her before I go to work. Worth being tired for, I tell you. Maybe I’ll get more coffee out of the deal, too.