With her permission, I give you the only work-safe campin’ photo I have, Kelly knitting. This doesn’t show the beer or the dog at her feet:
It is a little odd, this new home. Yarn-A-Go-Go. I write. I knit. I yarn. Brenna has fixed me all up, and you can officially update your links. Please? Yippee!
Okay, now I can’t think of anything I want to say. Huh.
Actually, there’s too much I want to say. I wrote today, in the sun, outside, writing for the first time on my garden swing. I KNEW I bought the one with a sun-shade for a reason. It’s my writing swing (and my reading and napping swing, too). Damn, it feels really good to re-claim what I know was already true, and give it voice and authority in my on-line life.
I never meant to have a knitting blog. Really. When I started blogging two years ago, it was just a place for me to write, to get my thoughts focused, to jumpstart the real writing. But I was a knitter, too, and I liked to read the knitting sites. When I moved to Typepad last year, it was easier for me to connect with knittin’ buddies, what with that elegant commenting feature ‘n’all. But I never joined the big knitting ring, never described myself as a knit-blog, although that is what I became. And I’m happy about it, too. I’ve made some of the best friends I’ve ever had, right here, because of the knittin’.
But really, I’m a writer. Yup.[Aside, does my kitty up there really look like he’s heaving up a hair ball? I’ll have to change him again….. Yes, my cats throw up yarn. Now there’s some yarn-a-go-go for you. Ah, well. There’s only so much playing around one can do with copyright-free graphics and not lose one’s mind…. I’ll do it later.]
Speaking of losing one’s mind, I canNOT focus today and track a single thought. I’m thinking about too many things. Right now, I’m primarily trying not to think about the fact that I’m trying to turn into a runner. I know. I don’t run. As Greta says, I’ll run only if something is chasing me. Or if the ice-cream truck is moving too quickly down the street. Why, oh, WHY is the desire to run taking me over right now? I called a friend on Monday and asked her to lunch, knowing full well that she’s my shopping buddy. I pretty much hate to shop, so whenever I have a shopping chore, she comes along. I told, “I need to buy running shoes.” Instead of snorting, which my other friends have done with much glee, she asked me to run a marathon.
Let me say that again: She asked me to run a marathon. In Hawaii. The AIDS marathon. In December.
I said yes.
It might be the most stupid yes I’ve ever said, and maybe that’s why I couldn’t think of what to write today, because I’m trying not to confess what I did to y’all, my readers, who might somehow think they should hold me accountable FOR RUNNING A MARATHON. Mariko? Honey? We need to talk. Mariko and her friend Hedi are marathon queens. Hedi told me recently, “I think I’m going to run a marathon in every state.” (I think I’m going to eat ice-cream in every state, is that kind of the same thing?) And they’re about the size of both of my cats put together. Now, I’m a healthy girl. Shall I call myself big-boned? Sure, why not?
A marathon? Cripes.
I’m reserving the right to flake. But I’m going to put my shoes on in a minute here and go for my second (ever) run. Training starts second week of June, and I don’t want them to know I can’t even run up two flights of stairs without turning beet-red. Good god.
See? As soon as I got honest with you, the tongue was loosened, wasn’t it? Oy.
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