On: going away.

Pre-bar gathering for my going away party. Good night; vodka and orange juices were going strong. We went to a bar and a band was playing so our plans for karaoke were ruined, but that may have been a good thing. Pitchers saw to it that I may not have been able to read the lyric-prompter. Played pool, chilled on the patio and made a munchies run (and I gave props to everyone we passed). Brad slept on the floor/couch and the next day we chilled and watched TV. My hangover was outstanding.

On: old knitting whith new knitting in her mind.

My urge to knit waxes and wanes; lately it has been rather in the waxing but with packing-changing-and making all the preparations for a new life I haven't much had the chance. Until this afternoon I thought that I was moving tomorrow but now Sunday is the day. Dad and I will take the boxes to my new place then I will spend the better part of next week at the ol country estate...but this means that my work in progress is in a box somewhere. Maybe I labelled it?

Anyhoo, this got me thinking about how long it's been since I threw up a crafty post. Too fucking long. So here are a few pairs of gloves that I made...last winter? I had/have a thing for fingerless gloves. Maybe because I have yet to make fingered gloves. Or mittens. This will, perhaps, be my goal this winter!

On: Week 18, purple haze. Superior title replaced with eating.

On: Struck

It has been a goal of mine to catch a lightning strike on "film" for a while now. Go me!

On: chillin with Joe's horse.

On: work in progress. AKA week 16.

On: 80's night! Under the stars!

On: Every flavour newness and found whiskey.

Two weeks ago Nox and I broke up.

We’ve been spending lots of time together, asking hard questions and deciding to be friends. The odds are against us but we’ve always been odd. BFF’s 4eva!

I found a place. It’s wonderful! My room exists in the basement of a house. From the outside the house is average with a decorative garden. Upon entering I was struck by the spiral staircase, expensive antiques and other lavish doo-dadery; dark wood and white upholstered living room set, rugs, curtains and hardwood floors. The smell of the nouveau upper middle class. My landlord is an engineer.

Access to the basement is from the outside, I will be having minimal interactions with the upper level dwellers. The stairs are just less than vertical and made of unfinished wood. Water pipes are visible. The “living room” is a bulbous purgatorial hall that happens to occupy the space between the entrance and the kitchen. It is marked by plush chairs and a TV that hangs in a carved out hole in the wall. The living room is pink.

My room is surprisingly spacious, allows for some sunlight to enter and has, for no reason that I can discern, a brick fireplace.

I positively LOVE it. Everything about my new home is perfect, excepting the extremely irksome “no overnight visitors” rule. Fuck.Ing.LAME.

But to be a basement dweller again, to return to my CHUDley roots is a glorious feeling. To crouch in my hovel, eating my poor man’s beans and studying and creating with the rich literally standing over me; it’s perfect. And only a convenient seven minute walk from the school. Fifteen minutes in the opposite direction is a Buddhist meditation center. Huzzah.

Dad, on found whiskey at the bluffs:
“It’s probably piss.” *sniff sniff* “No! It’s whiskey!”
Mmmmmmm.