Static on the Line

I've been travelling for work for just about the last two months straight. Just pit stops at home to wash clothes and pet the dog and such. More of a visitor in my own house than in any of these hotels. When I was younger I wanted a job with lots of travel, like my dad. I thought it would be romantic and exciting; and it was, for the first year or so. Now, it's just itchy sheets, pillows that are too squishy, dry hotel air, windows that don't open, restaurant food all the time, and missing so much the life I can't wait to get away from at home. I've been so restless lately. Spring fever, says my friend. He's probably right, but just the second I'm away from it, I just want to be at home. Desperately. I'm in Redding tonight, with my pup, and missing home so much it could break me. This is the life I chose; so why does it feel so uncomfortable sometimes? Like someone else's clothes, it generally feels OK, but not quite right. Here's to new faces, new places, and may the horizons we seek be found inside ourselves.

Do NOT play tetherball with this woman.

Laugh all you want, but I can see at night again. I have glasses now, but I just wonder how long it will be until I have sat upon them, dropped them, allowed the dog to eat them...? When I had braces, every time I wore my headgear at recess, I managed to get smacked in the face with the tetherball (I'm still working on my tetherball addiction with the help of a licensed therapist). Glasses? All bets are off.

Scarlett. With two T's.

A year ago, I didn't want a dog, not no way, not no how. Since then, however, the adorable-ness below came my way, and I can't imagine what I'd do without her. I've become a crazy dog-lady. The kind who talks, in complete sentences, to her pets. It was bound to happen, I suppose.

How knitting is like crack - people's evidence number 3,267-F

Knitting is like crack. I try to tell them, and they just don't understand. But now I've met my first YARN SUPPLIER (in a bar, but that's not important right now) (while I was knitting, but that's also not important right now); I have seen the face of knitting sales, and I must inform you that it is HOT. Just as soon as I can figure out how to download it, I'll post a photo. Ladies, avoid this man. He will offer you free yarn. The first one's always free.

Ladies, watch out.

The Society of Strange Smells

I never fancied myself to be particulary sensitive about odd things. Unfortunately, work is filled with bizarre, potent, and not entirely good smells today. Expo markers, carpet cleaner, superfruity air freshener, and burnt coffee. If I were ever wondering what my bad smell tolerance was - meaning how much or how many bad smells I can tolerate without throwing up - I should remember in the future that number is exactly one less than the number of smells I have been subjected to today.
When you're overstimulated, you can put on noise-cancelling earphones, or a sweet eye mask a la Holly Golightly, but you can't exactly stop smelling, now can you?

The art of losing isn't hard to master

I lose things all the time: keys, sunglasses, wristwatches, telephone numbers, et cetera. I don't know why any one loss should bother me more than others, but the loss of innnocence (or perhaps more appropriately at my age the loss of ignorance) is every time a shuddering one. If everyone always spoke truth, this wouldn't be so hard.

Confidential to monkeyface: your lie reflects my lie. Let's embrace it, or get a new blasted hobby.