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:
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:
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.