So of course last night I had to start something out of the new Bamboo. And I decided on armwarmers for myself – but before getting very far, I realized the k1p1 ribbing I was working on might also make an interesting hair wrap. So I’ve got a decision to make. The best part – and by “best” I guess I really mean “cheesiest” – I’m knitting my Bamboo yarn up on my Clover bamboo needles. Heee. Teehee. That’s amuses me alot.
Okay, so I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep because I’d had a bad dream. And not the normal sort of bad dream that keeps me awake – with monsters and stuff – but a worse one, in a way. And it was kind of a weird dream to begin with – hopping all over the place, into different houses, and people constantly changing – but at one point I’m in this really nice house that’s supposed to be my mom’s house. (And I say supposed because it’s not her house in real life, but you probably got that. Sorry. I’m still not entirely awake.) Anyway, I’m by myself, and I go upstairs and take a nap. I wake up, come downstairs, and the front door is open, but the glass door is shut, and there’s a HUGE package on the front porch. Then I notice that the delivery slip is actually inside the house, tucked into the light switch cover. Then I hear some breathing behind me, turn around, and there’s this dude on the couch just kind of leering at me. So I tell him a few times to get out. I’m rather pissed and more assertive than I might be in real life, and I even hold the door open for him, expecting him to leave. He doesn’t, and so finally I tell him I’m calling the cops. Right about the time I notice there’s no dialtone, he tells me the line’s been cut, and starts laughing. At which point I walk over to him pretty quickly, grab one of those huge flashlights (MagLights?) that’s on the coffee table in front of him, and whack him in the head with it. For some reason he decides to tell me there are seven more people with him, but they’re all outside, but they’ll manage to keep me from leaving. So I whack him in the head twice more, until he passes out, then drag him into a bathroom with a locking door. I lock us in there, check him for weapons while he’s passed out, find a gun, hogtie him with some laundry line that’s under the sink, and then fish the cellphone out of my pockets, and call the cops for real. And inform them of the seven other people potentially outside the house, and the fact that I’ve got a gun and will use it if I have to, so they should please hurry, so I don’t have to. At which point I woke up, and couldn’t get back to sleep because I was really upset about whacking the guy in the head repeatedly and holding a gun in my dream.
Yeah. So I was really horrified.
The upshot of being awake this early, is Daoine has her annual check-up at 10:10, and I managed this year to get a “sample.” While I’m a little grossed out, it’s nice for her because she really hates getting probed for a sample at the vet’s, and with her squirming it takes longer than it could otherwise, and she comes home pretty unhappy. And usually not “speaking” to me, since I’m usually the one that holds her still (or as still as possible) while the vet tech does it. Sometimes I hold her for shots, but I don’t think we’re getting any shots until year after next. So that’s nice, too. It all depends on how many free vet techs are there, and how feisty she gets, and whether they can handle it. She’s not a monster, but sometimes she gets more upset than usual. When I picked her up after being spayed (at the all-year clinic place that does it for cheap), the vet was telling me about how “feisty” she was while they were shaving her belly and apparently they had to re-sedate her because of it, and the vet was rubbing a nasty-looking scratch on her lower eyelid while she was talking about it, so I think there’s a good chance my cat did that. Yeah. So, she’s usually okay at our regular vet’s – nothing other than the normal cat indignity over being at the vet – but sometimes she’s clearly had enough of behaving herself and letting herself be handled, and at those times I can kinda see why a vet tech might not want to restrain her. But she’s positive for feline leukemia, so we don’t fuck around with the vet visits, and if she needs restraining I’ll totally do it if there’s no one else to do it. If that leukemia starts to rear its ugly head, I want to know, so we can deal with it. But, luckily, she’s two years old and except for a couple colds maybe a little more often than normal, she’s healthy. And runs around the house sounding for all the world like a crazed, rampaging elephant, when she’s only eight and a half pounds. Damn. I really love that little cat.
But the designs are so cute! I think I’m going to flip through it a couple more times, first. Then, I’m going to get some liquor in me – enough for bravery, but not for pattern-ripping – and start one of the “headdresses.” I’m sure Greg would poo-poo it, but I think it’s probably one of the better patterns to start on. I might invest in a Japanese-English dictionary, too. I’m sure George at the Bull’s Head could help me find a good one. Anyway, if the headdress doesn’t come out right, I won’t have invested as much effort as if I started with a shirt, and thus I shouldn’t be terribly disappointed. Here’s the cover – isn’t it amazing that people handmake this stuff?
