a‧mok  /əˈmʌk, əˈmɒk/ [uh-muhk, uh-mok]
1. (among members of certain Southeast Asian cultures) a psychic disturbance characterized by depression followed by a manic urge to murder.
2. amuck.
3. run or go amok. amuck
Also, amuck.
[Origin: 1865–70, Malay amuk]

I’m a big believer in the practice of trying to learn something new everyday. And, as a result of that belief, I’ll never use that word (see above) lightly again. (If you hadn’t guessed by now, I had planned to use the term ‘amok’ in the title of this post – but not anymore).

Today was what can only be described as chaotic and frenzied purpose. I worked on three different knitting projects at once – jumping back and forth between them. I’m quite certain this confused everyone watching me with trepidation and bemusement. One moment, I was knitting my SKB. Two minutes later, the sweater had disappeared and a pair of socks were in my lap. I like to keep the family puzzled. It’s fun.

I also decided, on a strange whim, that I quite simply HAD to wash a fleece today. So, I grabbed the nearest fleece (Elektra’s, it turned out) and dragged it, kicking and screaming futilely, to the washroom. After two very long soaks in hot, soapy water I’m hoping it’ll rinse clean. I had to leave it in hot water to soak, since I didn’t want to wake the ‘rents (or neighbors/ the fine state of Washington) by setting the machine to “spin” -> the machine has a veryvery loud Klaxon-like buzzer. Hopefully, the fleece will suffer no damage from this long soak.

And if it does, well (shrug) you live and learn. (note to self: whatever Dr A put me on is working. And well. Remember to refill)

After returning from Mdm DeFarge’s Knitters tonight (no casualties to report), I also finished spinning my baby camel down singles. Here the two skeins are, hanging over the kitchen sink, being ‘set’:

Think anyone will notice, or comment?

Nah. Me, neither. And, in case you’re wondering, the can is Lilly pumpkin filling. Nice and heavy. Perfect for straightening out difficult yarn.

Now, I must be ‘good’ and go to bed. I’m actually tired, so this is not really a punishment. Though, I really do wish I had finished washing that fleece. I’ve also suggested to the girls that we have a fleece washing party sometime soon. You know, throw some wool in the washer, a flick in the VCR, and pop some popcorn – what could be better on a night in?

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