The weatherbunnies predict a near record high temperature for tomorrow - 86 degrees. And Catherine obsessively knits her Clapotis. This sort of project monogamy is not my style, yet, here I am, hopelessly hooked, knitting away on something I can't use for many months. I am fascinated by the pattern, it's so much fun. I'm in love with the yarn. I can't put the damn thing down when I'm home. I'm out of my mind. And my obsessed, warped mind is misfiring random thoughts as I knit, like:
Sometimes I'm really grateful I'm not living with a man, like when I put on one of those L'Oreal Revitalift masks. This is not something a man really needs to witness, but boy do they make my skin look and feel good!
I really need to spend some serious time on housework, give this place a good spring cleaning, maybe when the Clapotis is done. Or not.
I hate the morning news morons. Why don't I change the channel? (I'd have to put down the Clapotis, that's why.) Why do they "tease" every little bit of non-news in exactly the same stupid, grating way? What ever happened to declarative sentences? Did they drop those classes in journalism school to make room for more seminars on the use of lip gloss? They speak in sentence fragments: "What firefighters did to put out the brushfire." "How a state trooper chased a driver, leading to a crash." And the phrase "We'll tell you...." No, really? I thought you were going to sit there and pick your noses. Every time they say it, it's like the scritch of fingernails on a blackboard to me.
Girlchild did the math and realized she's graduating in August. I am going to have to throw a hell of a party for her. Not that she's done with school - she's still doing the coin toss between law school and a grad degree in psych. I'm voting for the psych degree - she'd make a hell of a lawyer, but I really don't know very many lawyers who are happy with their career choice.
And now I've screwed around until I'm running late again, so I better get moving.