In today’s exciting news, three green ambulances, three red firetrucks, two Boyz in the Hood copters and two police cars (plus one local news crew) came to the building next door. The one where I think the phone sex operation is located on the second floor. Except I heard from my weird neighbors, who knocked on my door yesterday morning, that it’s some bank place that helps people out who fall behind on their mortgages.
Anyway, they had a gas leak. Not the methane kind. Wow, excitement! See what I get to witness being landlocked and unemployed? Don’t you wish you were me?
You don’t, I know.
I am having one of those days. I am suffering from “analysis paralysis.” Can’t figure out what to do, can’t find any decent jobs on the job boards but keep applying anyway despite lack of response, wonder how long I will be stuck in limbo. Feel like I should be enjoying this time more, because, hey, I’m not actively depressed, which a lot of my friends find hard to believe. I just feel a lack of purpose. Want to design some stuff, but the yarn won’t talk to me. On the plus side, I dressed, put on makeup and walked with the iPod whilst blasting AC/DC and Nick Lowe today. This is a plus.
Here is a sweater I was eyeballing at Kohl’s a weekend before I got “laid off” (ask me sometime why I keep putting it in air quotes and I will tell you) that I floved but felt I would be better off copying. It was made from cheapo acrylic, and I thought a nice Cotton Ease (laws, pull me away from that shit!) would do it better. It’s just a round yoker:
I think three-quarter length sleeves would be more apropos, too.
I would also like to read a frackin’ book, but I seem to have lost that ability. I go to the library to return two books tomorrow. One is a stitch pattern book I will be rechecking, and one is going in the book drop, never to be seen again. I got halfway through and admitted to myself it was a FAIL.
Charles de Lint used to be one of my favorite authors. But in recent years, his writing has grown so turgid I can’t cope. Maybe when he was doing more short stories I could handle him better. But these 500 page magnum opuses of urban fantasy with 30 characters changing voices every chapter, including a pit bull who talks in her frackin’ head — instead of the two main characters the book is supposed to be about — just drove me around the bend.
But what do I know? It was all I could do to get through the February Vogue today. I really needed to read about Plum Sykes’ bespoke suit and rich womyn having “clothes swapping” parties because la, they are recessionistas! I don’t think I will be buying Vogue anymore. But then, we knew that.
I think it’s time to pull out one of my biographies haunting the bookshelf. Like my Dinah Washington tome. I’ve been squirreling it away for two years now. You know, maybe I just got out of the reading habit. There was a time when I read every day. At my old job at the paper, I got two breaks per day and a lunch hour (Fancy that!). And when I went into retail hell at the yarn barn, gone was anything resembling a break or lunch. Ever. In fact, I think I may have hastened my own demise when I asked to take a lunch break two weeks before the grand “laying off.”
Well, I can eat lunch all I want now. Just as long as the food stamps hold out. Holla!