$%#*! (Or, I do not have the strength of my convictions)

It’s just been one of those days.  I wasted yesterday being tired and mopy, watching too many Inspector Lynley silly mysteries from Netflix — because since I ran out of Morse episodes, it’s all been downhill on the British mystery front — eating frozen grocery store pizza, and reading celebrity gossip sites.  Silly Katie.  No reading; precious little knitting. 

And today was going to be better. 

Nope.  Woke up at noon to overcast skies, proceeded to drink too much coffee; the cat is asleep under the bed, leaving me all to my lonesome; Mr. B left yesterday for a few days, leaving me lonlier than I imagined; I’m supposed to be working; and after finding out that my remaining yummy muffin was moldy, I couldn’t even make toast without somehow dropping all of the bread — sans bag — on the floor.  My suspect, industrially-cleaned yet still dirty-seeming floor, right in the corner of my minute kitchen, which I am becoming convinced — along with the cat — is infested with, or at least visited by, some kind of vermin.  And I’m not even dressed. 

So instead of productively starting my day like a grown-up, I’ve decided to talk to myself in cyberspace.  Because, really, why do I kid myself that anyone reads this?

On a happier note: I received a "new wool winder" and "reeling machine" in the mail the other day.  Part of a spending spree I’d rather not discuss and of which I am feeling quite embarrassed.  Tons of fun — I wound every skein I could get my hands on and rewound my messy, inexpert hand-wound balls.  Alice, of course, was there to supervise:

Dsc00136 Because nothing can be accomplished successfully without the intervention of a cat.

While ordering, I’d obviously forgotten my pledge to spend no more money.  Ah well.  Guilt was off-set (temporarily) by the pleasure in my first wound ball.  (Let’s no kid ourselves, the recriminations are already flowing freely — a wound ball of yarn can only distract you from your upcoming credit card bill for so long.)

Unless, of course, you’re a cat and don’t have credit cards. 

More yarn-meddling courtesy of Miss Alice:

Dsc00142_3 Yes, that is the Rowan flaming (pain in my arse) being inspected, (re)wound after featuring in its fourth abandoned project.  I have just enough of that stuff for it to be an annoyingly space-hogging presence in the stash, without really enough to do anything interesting.  Which is how I prefer to buy all of my yarn.

Whinge, whinge, whinge.

I promise better spirits soon.