Streaming Consciousness

There are a few things all jumbled up in my head that are trying to get out so we’re just going to stream my consciousness, ok? It’ll be like high fuzzy definition of my consciousness or something of the sort.

Does anyone else make lists in their head? Just wondering.

Anyway, one of the conversations B and I had in the car Saturday driving to Montgomery was about dyeing yarn and/or roving and how I want to do it, but I don’t have the space in my kitchen and so after describing briefly what little I know from reading other people’s blogs about dying, he told me I was free to use his kitchen. SWEET! Now I just need to get some roving to die. Or maybe some yarn. Ooh! I should get both.

You know what else? I adore the way B laughs and shakes his head about my obsession exuberance for spinning and my desparate desire to own a spinning wheel. When I ask him if he thinks I’m crazy, he’ll just kind of grin and say, “But you’re not the only one. There are others like you.” He might not understand it, but he appreciates it and (don’t tell him I told you this) he’ll ask some really thoughtful questions from time to time. Of course, these questions are always followed by, “No. Nevermind, I don’t want to know.” But he always listens to my answers. And there’s usually a follow up question or two.

I like that he’ll go into the yarn shops with me, and then give me his two cents on the subject at hand. For instance, when we left Sheep to Shawl I was telling him that I really liked the Kromski wheel, but that according according to the shop owner, the Kromski chatters and makes a lot of noise. B’s response? “Knowing you, that’ll drive you crazy.” And you know what? As pretty as that wheel is, and as much as I liked treadling on the Kromski, he’s right. I’d be in the corner cussing the wheel while spinning. Either that, or I’d eventually lose it and just start beating the wheel. Which, when you consider the cost of a Kromski, is a very bad idea.

Oh yeah, also? After I made my niddy noddy, he offered to cut it down to 18″ for me since the other one was too long. When he was cutting it down, it accidentally broke (I’m not sure, but that might have had something to do with excessive amounts of superglue I used to keep it all in place and complete and utter lack of mobility in all the parts) and so he went out and bought the pvc pipe and made me a new one. One that is exactly 18″ from t-connector to t-connector. Because he’s handy like that. And very manly.

Also, despite the fact that its mate seems to still be in Bermuda, I continue to knit away on B’s other sock. The reasoning here is that, maybe once the missing sock sees that it has a mate, it might decide that while Bermuda is nice and all, what it really wants is to be part of a pair. And to be worn. And to not be in the fucking Bermuda triangle. Because, it is a sock and socks should be worn. Surely the sock will see my logic and accept it as law and COME HOME.

We shall see. In the meantime, I need to get a set of size 0 crystal palace dpns. And since it is Tuesday, and Knit Nouveau is open late on Tuesdays, I think I will swing by there on my way home from work. I will not make bold statements like, “I will not buy yarn. Especially sock yarn.” Because that will only cause my fate to be of sock yarn buying. And frankly, the whole point of getting the dpns is to start on the arrgh-yle socks anyway. And I already have the sock yarn for that.

And that reminds me, I need to call Mercedes and see if I can set up some time with her to help me out with the snow devil hat. The gusset instructions make no sense to me whatsoever. WHAT. SO. EVER.

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