It's past eleven at night. Everyone is asleep except me, and possibly Axl (who is not in my field of view at the moment). I was at work until almost three in the morning so I really have no business being awake right now, but whatever.
After living like a zombie for the first half of the day, I finished the second Sunday Swing sock...for those of you not privy (and why wouldn't you be, since this is a knitting blog), these are the socks I making for the examiner.com tutorial. I also wrote an article about Second Sock Syndrome, that horrible affliction that overtakes you when you are about to knit your second sock, and you get a case of the fuckits. So here is the article...
And here is a photo of Teeny Jesus blessing my new pair of socks:
Otherwise, my day was spent flipping through the new Vogue Knitting 30th Anniversary issue, and perusing the Knitty.com 10th Anniversary issue. In other words, the whole day consisted of yarn and journalism, and for some reason, my brain isn't full enough to let me get to sleep.
At the very least, I wanted to celebrate my sock victory, but the dogs started freaking out. I went to the back door to let them out. I waited a minute. I looked outside to make sure they weren't digging. I see Bluto cradling and cuddling something fuzzy. Of course. F***ing Bluto.
So I go outside. Call the dogs back in. And this is what I find, curled into the fetal position on my back porch.
Now, I'm pretty sure Bluto didn't mangle the guy...I think he was like that for some other reason. On the other hand, I'm praying he is just stunned and spooked and gooey from afterbirth so he can wake up and scurry out of the yard on his own power before I have to let the dogs out to pee one last time.
I think it's time to go back to Vogue Knitting. Nobody needs THAT as their last image of the night. Or I could start on those slippers. Or finish the kimono sweater. Or the scarf. Or...