Log in

No account? Create an account
whitewater consciousness -- the journal fellow travellers itinerary meet your guide whitewater consciousness -- the website upstream upstream downstream downstream
descent into madness - when you don't know what to do... — LiveJournal
do the next thing
descent into madness
I started knitting tonight. It was fun. It was productive. And it was the best knitting I think I've ever done.

bellatrixx sent me a belated birthday present in the form of a little knitting kit, with a pair of #8 circular bamboo needles, some point protectors, a bunch of stitch counters, a really nice nail file (because knitting with a snag on your nail sucks), a couple of tapestry needles in a keen little case, and a nice bottle of nail hardener. The needles are the perfect size for the Lion's Brand Fisherman's Wool that I have, and I stopped off at World In Stitches today when I was in Littleton and picked up a pair of #3 bamboo circulars, which are close to the right gauge for the stuff I've spun.

When I got home (finally, story below), I sat down and did some knitting with the needles bellatrixx sent me, and it turned out quite nice, and then... and then... I knitted some of my very own handspun wool. Oh, that was cool. That was VERY cool. The only thing cooler would be if I'd processed the fleece myself. I knitted this teency skein of Colonial, and it knits up lovely and soft. I can't wait to see how the merino knits up. I might have to go one size smaller on the needles; thank god the needles are reuseable, because god knows they're not cheap.

So it's been a semi-productive evening, despite me locking my keys in the car at the Westford Post Office. As far as I'm concerned, my cell phone just paid for itself for the month. Wolfie was too far away to help me, and Mom & Dad weren't home, nor my aunt and uncle. I called my sis, on the off chance that she might know where they were. Not only did she know where they were (and they were between here and Maine without a cell phone -- no help to me), but she slipped me her Triple A number. For fifteen scary minutes, I had to pretend to be her. That was weird... they took my cell number so they could call me back, and when they did and asked for her, I almost said, "No, this is Diane," which would have fucked up the whole thing. I waited for a while, doing the Boston Herald crossword puzzle, getting colder and colder, taking my hair out of the braid to keep my ears warm, getting colder and colder, and finally the locksmith showed up, and pointed out my problem when I was trying to break into the car... the front doors are pickproof. Strange thing is that the guy didn't ask for ID or anything. He just popped the door, handed me the key, and drove off. Oh well. Off to WalMart with me tomorrow to get keys made.

i feel: pleased pleased

shoot the rapids