I've had a weirdly productive weekend, especially considering the hour lost last night and the fact that I spent almost all of Saturday at Bex's birthday party.
Saturday morning, I got up early and finally finished "The Devil's Skein," a short story I promised Bex as a birthday present last year. I was a little worried giving it to her without any proofreading or editing, but her response was, "AAGGHH I love the story love it love it love it," so something must've worked anyway. It's definitely one of the most purely fun things I've written in a while - an odd little paranormal knitting romance thing involving evil yarn, illegal gambling, and a mailroom guy with a perfectly sculpted butt.
During the stitch n' bitch portion of Bex's party, I got my hands on one of her drop spindles and spun this:
Nine yards of targhee wool yarn, ranging between lace weight and super bulky. Spinning it up was like doing fluffy yarny magic, and as soon as I was finished, I was looking for more.
I'm doomed. Doomy doom doomed. One of these days, my roommates are going to come home to find me huddled in a pile of yarn and fiber, drop spindles scattered around me like heroin needles and five layers of handknit hats balanced on my head. And I'll be like, "No, no, guys, it's okay - see, I'm designing sweaters for all my characters!" and they will move out silently in the dead of night, leaving the house to be eaten by wool.
Bex sent me home with one of her drop spindles, some spare merino roving, and a book on hand spinning. This afternoon, while I was reformatting Kiah's virus-debilitated laptop, I finished spinning it into this, also a thick and thin yarn:
Then I cleaned up the kitchen and living room, got a repeat done on my Swallowtail Shawl, cast-on the second sock in a pair that's been languishing on my stash shelf for months, and still managed to fit in a trip to Super America for quality junk food and TV vegging time with Kiah.
Also: ALERT ALERT ALERT
THE CURMUDGEONLY MUPPET-DOG AND HIS ARCH-NEMESIS SUPERCAT HAVE BEEN SPOTTED SHARING BLANKET SPACE PEACEFULLY
THE END IS NIGH
Their battle has been raging since my roommate Abby adopted Supercat two years ago. They lay like this for almost an hour tonight. The dog didn't whine or snap the entire time, and the cat managed to refrain from using the dog's head as a whack-a-mole game. Our household is still reeling from the shock.