Some time to myself... (?)

I spent last weekend helping some folks from work paint beautiful furniture for our new building. Then Friday night I went to a work retreat and got home last night. I have to go to work tomorrow, so this RIGHT NOW is my time for myself. I went to the farmer's market, reconnected with an old friend, and am now surfing the old web through one of my favorite lenses... knitting.

Knitters are some of the most savvy folks on the web, and I've been reading about how to knit two socks at once, how to knit secret messages into things AND that an angora rabbit can allow you to spin your own angora yarn... which is just a crazy thing to think about. Maybe I want an angora rabbit, I think. Maybe I should knit secret messages into two socks that I could knit at the same time. Then I remember the cats and their feelings about non Pelowok mammals. I remember that I've never actually knit a sock and that I'm working on a sweater and a hat right now. THEN I remember that I sat down to print out a coupon for the local gym because I am still trying to find a reliable way to exercise without hurting THE FOOT. I also remember that I've been cutting down on caffeine and that second cup today clearly is doing some serious damage to my attention span. The truth is I know that this is my only time to recharge myself, and I don't want to spend it sifting through the interwebs and YET here I am, doing just that.

So, to the gym, and then home for cooking and soccer, and then another busy week. This one is filled with more meetings for my job, Zombie movies, a musical and some other damn stuff... and then my own personal solitary vacation starts next Sunday.

whew. I'll be READY.

A Carrot Love Story.

I love going to the Farmer's Market!

Autumn Leaves....

There is this heartbreakingly sad version of this song by Ricki Lee Jones, and that's what I'm hearing right now in my head. (Don't worry, it's in an indulgent "cold out there/warm tea in here" sort of way. There is no doubt that it is fall in the Pacific Northwest.

I just walked to the corner to buy a calling card so that I can talk to my sister overseas. Why has no one written a sad love song about the act of buying a calling card, yet!? It is such a pathetic and cynical and horrifying action. You walk to a gas station, which is ugly and smelly. The needs of everyone else there are immediate crucial and distracted. Only the worst food, toilet paper and light up Incredibles key chain LED pens are available because you are a captive, you cannot escape because the bars of your own business hold you in. There are posters in at least 10 languages (including at least one form of pidgin English) advertising calling cards. (We apparently believe that folks who speak Spanish, Korean and Arabic want to call home more than they want to find the ATM, pump their gas, use the bathroom etc.) Half of all of the calling cards I've purchased have screwed me over in some way and YET I still buy them, because I believe they are the cheapest and most convenient way to call long distance to Europe. So, I have this transaction with the guy behind the counter... like buying a lottery ticket or a tree air freshner, he asks me which one I want and I tell him, and we exchange money and card and it's over. This guy has enabled me to stay in contact with my family, like it's no big thing. Whew. Thanks.