So my move got put off...indefinitely. Things happened, and stuff got assumed, and I came to my senses before I actually signed anything that would contractually obligate me to live paycheck to paycheck (thank Bob; I'm going to Paris next year with my choir -- I'll eat unwaxed, organic cardboard before I miss that for anything other than a super-duper compelling reason, and getting on a property ladder I've never really wanted to climb is not compelling, much less super-duper so). So I have not moved, and won't.
Oh, I will, just not there. And not for a few months. It was brought home to me (by siblings, oddly enough) that I should wait until my father is home from his medically necessitated stint in a rehab facility (why does Amy Winehouse run through my head whenever I say that? He's not even in that sort of rehab!) If only for my mother's peace of mind, and so that someone keeps an eye on her, because Bob knows the brother who lives here won't. So probably not until this winter. And when I do move, it will be to a downtown apartment, close enough to my office I can walk/bike to work. Which was my original intent, until my friend offered me a place that was larger than your average apartment, with neighbors I know and at a comparable rate.
Sigh. Back to the drawing board!
Anyway, I've accomplished something despite the stress and angst and wangst.
See? See what I have left? Here, let me show you what I have made:
Whirligigs! Tons of them! Well, actually...8x4x2...63. There was one skein I only got three whirligigs out of, and that's ok. It wasn't my favorite color.
Now I just need to string them, add some beads to them to make them hang properly, and get a Christmas sparkly garland to wrap around them to hang on my tree. It will be the sparkliest Christmas you ever seen, y'all. For realz.
I also had my midlife...well, not a crisis, per se. But I think on the decades I should be allowed to do something that is not "go to work, go to bed, eat your veggies", you know? When I turned 30, I got my tattoo. When I turned 20, I got depressed. I figure now that I'm 40, I'm entitled.
Oh, get over it, I didn't do anything stupid. I just did this:
I think the most unusual thing about it is that I only got one cartilege piercing. Usually you get them in bunches, but my OCD says I can only have an odd number of earrings if I'm going to have more than two. I'm up to three. That's a perfect number. It's in my left ear, because my right ear is my telephone ear -- a very important consideration when you're a receptionist.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go knit something. I haven't been able to do a lot of knitting lately -- as I'm sure you'll understand -- but I have a few minutes today. I'm a little tired and worn down, and I need fiber therapy.