Well, you'd think that without the little Yorkshire Terrier running around trying to be the boss of me, and getting under foot and causing all kinds of chaos, life would be a lot easier. But no. It's more like I have phantom-limb syndrome. Always hearing the pitter-patter of little feet, always thinking I need to rush to get home to take care of him, always wondering what despoilation he's up to, and missing him on my lap and my chest and making me laugh. (The latest "I wish I had a video camera moment" was when he was "boxing" at me with his front paws and trying to stare me down, to get me to stop brushing him. Adorable doesn't even begin to describe it.) He really is a true love, that one.
So, no. Even though I am so busy right now, with so much going on that requires so much of my attention, and it's a time that, by rights, it should make it easier not to have him here, it's not helping.
David is in the same state. David, the confirmed (ha) non-lover of dogs. He's still reporting, "I took him out and he peed and he p... No, wait. That didn't happen."
I went for a brisk walk after my morning shift yesterday, because I needed to clear my head -- and clear my head the 2-degree-Fahrenheit temperatures surely did. I couldn't help myself, but I went on the regular lunchtime route that Mr. Jefferies usually drags me on. It just seemed like the right thing to do. And the whole time, I knew I was alone, but I was worrying about the cold and the salt hurting his paws.
Nuts, I tell you. Absolute bonkers nuts. But I never said any of that, and don't say I did. I'll deny it.
But anyway.... I've been able to soldier on. I plunked a few seeds (50 to be exact, which I thought would be enough, but is not even the beginning of enough) in some poo pots:
At least I'm calling them poo pots. They are those things -- some of you know them -- that are flat little disks. They used to be called Jiffy peat pots, these things, but this packaging from a Canadian company is all about saving our peat bogs (I typoed "blogs," of course) and claims that by using their little disk thingies instead of peat ones, you are saving the peat blogs (I did it again) of the world. They call them "fiber" pots, and nowhere on the packaging can I find WHAT they are actually made of -- what kind of fiber, pray tell. But I swear to you that, when I wet them, the aroma was unmistakably moo doo. I really don't mind. If you are giving me dung pots, just be honest and tell me so. I'm all about saving the peat b(l)ogs too!
So what else. OMG, there is just so much going on. Soon my blogiversary is coming up, and not that it's a competition or anything, but I started my blog about the same time as my dear friend Margene. And as a part of HER blogiversary, she recently had a contest to reach her 60,000th comment. She had written considerably fewer entries than I had, and had almost 5,000 more comments in her blog lifetime than I. How is that fair, I ask you?! (KIDDING) I haven't been able to hold up my end of the blog-community bargain very well for the last year, at least. So I deserve to have you just pretend I don't exist. (Stop it! I'm taking the piss out of myself and NOT having a pity party as it seems. You have to hear the voice[s] in my head to realize my tone of voice.) (snork)
But. What if I were to bribe you a little, to give you an idea of what I'm going to be giving away on MY blog birthday? [a cone of cashmere, a skein of bison laceweight in red?] And told you that it all depends on your comments, and maybe some surprise commenter in the next two weeks will be the winner? Would that get you to show me the comment love? Nah, never mind. I refuse to beg. Poor li'l adorable Mr. Jefferies only got like 10 comments yesterday -- a blogging Yorkie who umpty-billion people claim they read and adore! And if HE can't garner the comments, when he works so hard to put on his dog-and-person show, nobody can. I'm not even gonna try.
Anyway, I'm sorta too busy to handle the comments right now. And don't expect an answer from me! This is a one-way street, and don't you forget it!
I'm not complaining. Here are some numbers to let you chaw on. They sort of stun me. For realz.
And in other news, WHAT TOOK ME SO LONG to get this book????
Even if I never knit a thing from this book... but I probably will... it is just so much like drinking my favorite cup of Earl Grey tea, with a nice piece of almond tea cake, that I can hardly stand it. Funny -- I've only owned one other Elizabeth Zimmermann book in my life. I bought it, and then sold it (or gave it away or something), and then bought it again because someone (or a bunch of someones) told me I needed it for something, and both times I was underwhelmed and considered myself the anti-EZ fan, and wondered what defective knitter's gene I had been cursed with. But THIS one.... THIS one is really something special.
Now, for that lie-down. But first, I have a lot of work to do. (Work has 'sploded, and you know that makes me happy, very happy. But it also makes me a little bit tired. Thank goodness I took advantage of that slow period to cleanse and rest up and pack my cells with nutrients. I need 'em.) And you,.... well, you just drift in and out and don't bother to leave a comment. Nobody will mind, especially not the winner of that fucking cone of cashmere.