Ever order three hanks of luscious angora, then forget what-the-hell you planned to knit with it?
Lately, I've been even more absent-minded than usual (no, I didn't find my glasses), so it's par for the course, I guess. It is, however, bloody inconvenient. Whatever it is I end up making, hopefully will come out nicely. Maybe it'll come back to me in a dream. My dreams are a rich source of inspiration to me. Especially the ones where I can do gymnastics really well, and can flip and fly effortlessly. Those are very cool.
This weekend, I look forward to attending the Vermont Wool & Sheep Festival, which I pray, will be nothing like a 4-H exhibit. 4-H is um... interesting, but the goobers showing stuff tend to stare at my mother and me like we're the freaks. They're wrong. What's more, they're rude, as well. They have that slack-jawed gaze that suggests they don't get out much, and are easily stunned by the devistating beauty of a couple of Nubian Queens. I say to them, "don't hate--appreciate." Can you dig it...? I knew that you could.
But I digress. The group I'm attending with is Most Festive, so no doubt lots of fun will be had, early and often. I'll provide you with a review upon my return.
I hope the good men and women of the US Border Patrol (and Homeland Insecurity) will be gracious enough to allow me entry into America. They have been known to react in a similar manner as the 4-H gang.
If you don't hear from me after this post, please send yarn.