I have an entire beer bucket (Shiner Bock!) full of knitting needles, plus a full set of Boye interchangeable needles. What is going on that I somehow don't have enough and need to go buy more?
Deep breath. Here's a speedy, un-phenomenal FO from last week:
The variegated acrylic yarn is just hideous, in my opinion, and I really don't like to criticize in a public forum. But it is: it's scratchy and it hurts your fingers and whoever gets a garment made from this stuff won't wear it because it irritates the skin. It was the most durable yarn in my stash, however, and the machine-washableness ought to work well for a pet.
1. I've decided that I really like Bill Richardson. What a shame the media isn't even giving him a chance. As an erstwhile newspaper writer, I don't like to criticize the media in general, but it seems like the television networks, newspapers, and co. have prematurely narrowed our choices. Don't you think?
2. I have a 15-minute play going up next Wednesday, and I am mired in rewrites of the last two pages. The reason why I am mired is that I have discovered some accidental depth in a play in which the Seventh Angel arrives to begin the Apocalypse but chooses to share a turkey pot pie with the actors instead.
In other words, this wasn't something I intended to be serious.
However, as I was discussing my writerly confusion with my SM/AD/seamstress/life-saver, I realized that I am in fact saying some rather intense stuff about religious faith, about what we choose to believe in.