I had a hot technicolor dream last night, inspired by the fact I was taking the Phew to the movies today (my Thor obsession knows no bounds). I dreamt I was in a huge building, all modern and super-shiny, with really cool all-glass elevators. Somehow in this dream, I broke my left wrist, went to the hospital floor of the super-shiny building and checked in. As they issued my new brown, warm and fuzzy robes, complimentary tea set (eh?) and Samurai sword (even more eh? than before) and set me down in a soft chair with a manicurist coming over to handle my feet and right hand (I wonder if they were going to take care of the left after it was put in the cast), I wailed that I was going to be late, I had promised Phew to take him to the movies and I needed to be there by 10:30 (the actual time I was picking him up). The nurse dude patted my shoulder and reassured me I would make it. Unfortunately, the worry in my dream kept waking me up. When I finally fell back asleep each time, I went right back to the same dang waiting room. Each time I'd ask the nurse when it would be my turn, each time he'd reassure me I'd make it on time to pick up my nephew.
Just as in real life, the waiting was interminable. In the last segment of sleep/waiting in my mental hospital waiting room, I just got up and left, going down to the ground floor in the glass elevator and walking out of the building before waking up for the last time at quarter of 7. And I took my sword with me when I went.
When I finally took the Phew to the cinema, he had a great time. I did as well, but the sound of all that water rushing over the edge of Asgard made the soda I was drinking a bad idea by the end of the movie. I'd wondered why I had to use the public restrooms each time I'd gone to see it. Oh, well. I made it home safe and dry, so no harm no foul, even if I'm no longer thinking as kindly of Heimdall as I did before.
After dinner, I had some knitting time. Look at what I got done:
Works for me, anyway. I ran into a bit of an issue, though, working on this scarf. The Miro was suspiciously bulky for a mere 73 yards. I decided to unroll it and see what was in the middle.
See it? See it there?
Not heartbroken, really, I knew it wasn't a ton of yarn up front. But this bothered me excessively:
A knot. Gah! Granted, I just cut the short segment past the knot off and saved it up for tassel usage. Still. Knots are the glitter of the knitter's world. Infuriating, really.
Oh, I've gotten over it. I'm a grown up, after all. Mostly. I just hope I don't have to make my tassels smaller than I was hoping because of this bollywoggle.
Short tassels make me cranky. Crankier. Not that it takes much effort, but there you have it. Who wants that?