“The road to hell is paved with works-in-progress.”
Philippe de Commines

I am surely going to hell for this ‘un. Bringing children’s stories into it probably has reserved me a place in Hell’s 7th circle. Ah, well. Couldn’t resist.

Moving on. Tonight’s quote was actually supposed to be something else (from Dante), but I came across the above and couldn’t have stopped myself even had I wanted to.

Right. Haven’t really blogged in a while. I was feeling decidedly peaky there. Still am, but have been getting closer and closer to a full night’s rest everyday. I even managed to go to Costco with Dad today before collapsing. I was woken when my sister called.

For the past couple of days she’s been worried about me being on my own in their house. When I arrive on the 21st, she and K and the kids will be in NYC. Thus, her FIL will be picking me up at the station and dropping me off at their house to be by my lonesome for 3 days. Since I can’t drive (ha, don’t get me started on that) and the public transit system down there is a mystery, she’s understandably worried that I’ll go mad with boredom.

Hahaha. I looked up her address on Google Maps today and searched her general location for “knit”. Hahaha. She’s 1.5 mi from, not one, but TWO knitting shop’s that are across the street from one another. (there is a G-d, and this is proof)

And she thinks I’ll get bored.

1.5 mi? That’s a cakewalk. That’s how far TKS is from me and I walk it all the time.

I also found out that one of the yarn shops has Cherry Tree Hill Yarns and just got in Fleece Artists sock yarns. Oh, yeah. I’ll be fiiiine. I should leave them a note in case they get back one night and I’m still gone, “At the LYS, have yarn, call my cell.”

And, I actually have some spending cash now that the furniture are gone. Wow. I put up 3 pieces on Craigslist and 48 hours later they were all gone. All within an hour, too. Dad and I just sort of stared at each other and went, “Did that just happen?”

Which makes the house even more charmingly ghettolicious. When all of our space-consuming antique pieces were carted off, we mysteriously had an empty living room. So, Dad improvised. He, honest to goodness, pulled out some of our camping chairs (I protested and was overruled). See the photograph below for proof of our undeniable crackertasticness.

Baby T’s little wraplan on a pillow on, oh-yeah-baby, a neon-blue fold-up vinyl chair (we have another in neon-green next to my spinning wheel). It doesn’t get much tackier than that. Well, actually, it does. Since Dad won’t take the plastic wrap off the legs and I can’t be bothered.

Wow, we are the White Trash of Eugene.


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