last chance for self-indulgence before 2007

I promised you pictures, and the last thing I need is to go into the new year with a broken promise hanging over my head.


Sorry for the slightly dopey look. The best compositions always seem to turn out that way.

Wanna watch me work it?

. . .and. . .

And looking incredibly pleased with myself...

Signing off! Happy New Year!

patience

The American Oxford Dictionary defines patience as follows:

noun
1 the capacity to accept or tolerate delay,
trouble, or suffering without getting angry or
upset

2 chiefly British term for solitaire (sense 1).

Merriam-Webster on the other hand, defines it as the habit or practice of being patient, which is defined as:

1 : bearing pains or trials calmly or without complaint
2 : manifesting forbearance under provocation or strain
3 : not hasty or impetuous
4 : steadfast despite opposition, difficulty, or adversity
5 a : able or willing to bear

Regardless of how it is defined, I am here to tell you this:

I am not patient today.

This morning, in my father's infinite wisdom, he decided to dispose of one of the old family computers while my sister and mother are away at work. Strategically speaking, this is a good idea, given that my mother is the Queen of All Pack-Rats. However, his great plan for disposing of the CPU is as follows:

1. Pick up CPU


2. Place CPU at curb


3. Call town for pick-up

When I took it upon myself to inform him that throwing out computers is like throwing out batteries - it's environmentally unconscionable - and that there are recycling programs that will pick up your old computer towers for about 5 bucks, he blinked a couple times and informed me without any hesitation that he throws out batteries too.

He remained steadfastly unwilling to even consider contacting any number of the companies who offer this service having already used his psychic powers of deduction to discover that this solution will be very expensive for somebody in a small town.

I don't get it.

Normally my father is a very logical and reasonable guy. Generally, he even listens to me. But today, despite several very persuasive arguments involving my desire to have trees and grass when I am his age and for any children I might have to also have trees and grass at his age, he remained patently immovable.

It sortof felt as if I were speaking a foreign language of which he only knew a few words.

And that's when I remembered: This is why I don't live with my parents anymore.

In fact, this is why many, many children, upon reaching a certain age, move out of their parents houses, get their own accomodations and start their own lives where they do things their own ways. Children move out, not because it's time and they need to begin their own life-work, but because they have come to understand a real working definition of patience:

1 : getting far enough away that one does not have to witness the inexplicable things one's parents do
2 : not asking too many questions about how things happen in the house where one once lived
3 : spending only enough time at one's former family residence to remember why one likes aforementioned family without spending so long as to remember why they're crazy eccentric.

I've really gotta get out of here, man...

and now back to our regularly scheduled programming...

Welcome to the re-design. It's a reorganization, really. Please note that I still need to take a serious accounting of what's in the queue. To tell the truth, I'm a wee bit afraid to do that. I have a lot to knit. I mean a lot.

I'm trying to finish Amanda's jaywalkers (STR Xmas Balls).


Then I hafta do her entrelac socks in Posh.


Then Sahara for me in some fantastic pink Brooks Farm.


Then...let's stop there. I'm already getting a little woozy.

During the craziness that was exams, I also found some time to pick up some fabric (on sale!!) for a cute superduperheavyduty tote bag and a fabulous dupioni silk/tapestry embroidered/super comfy skirt (it already exists in my head). Since I left that stuff in the TDot, I'm hoping to knock those out sometime around the beginning of January - perhaps I'll even be able to wear the skirt for my birthday! Twenty-five, eee! I keep trying to tell people I'm 23, I dunno how I'll ever keep up to my actual age.

Now, can anybody tell me how we got to Christmas Eve Eve already?? It so doesn't seem like Christmas around here. We're doing all the Christmas traditions: decorating of gingerbread stuffs, wrapping of presents, trimming of trees, hanging of stockings; the whole bit. And yet it still hasn't clicked for me. Perhaps it's the lack of snow. I'm thisclose to breaking out into my very own rendition of "Where are you Christmas?" like in that movie about the grumpy green character that shall not be named. Now all I hafta do is figure out how to get my hair to stand up like that...

Dear Santa...

...this Christmas, don't bring me any yarn or needles or patterns. Bring me some self-control.

Apparently, in the imaginary world in which the Easter Bunny and I frolic, I have suffered myself with the dillusion that I can knit precisely 4 sweaters, 3 paris of socks and 2 shawls in the two weeks I have off from school. While I am a focused and competitive person who excels at accomplishing tasks efficiently, even I know that this is impossible.

I get picked up to be driven to my parent's place tonight and am faced with the task of deciding which yarns gets to come with me. And I don't want to leave any of them behind!

In contradictory news, I managed to spend several hours in my fav LYS last night for knit night and a party...and not purchase a thing.

K, must dry hair - I hear it's hard to dye it if it's wet and the stylist might get pissy with me...

Dear law school...

...Bite me.

Your exam system is stupid.

My entire mark is decided based on how eloquently and persuasively I happen to make an argument about some arbitrarily selected fact pattern with some arbitrarily selected issues on some arbitrarily selected day compared to the other people who just happen to also be in my class.

Now, it could just be me being confused about how this practice of law thing works, but I thought in "the real world" lawyers got time to prepare themselves based on one specific fact pattern and a group of specific and already-identified issues.

I thought we got a chance to organize our thoughts and submissions in advance.

I thought being a good lawyer had at least something to do with being well researched and prepared, not just how well I "dance" on the spot.

Apparently, I was mistaken.

And so, dear law school, I say bite me.

Should this prove unacceptable, kindly refer all submissions in writing to the office of Kiss-My-Arse-You-Bloody-Stupid-Bureaucrats where it will be duplicated and filed in triplicate until I deem fit to answer you.

Perhaps my reply will be more speedy than those you have provided to me in the past.

And then again...perhaps not.

After all, I am busy studying for exams.

Oh, and the dog has a bladder infection. And the hiccups. Feel free to take care of that for me, won't you?