* 3 books
* 1 pair of sandals
* bead/twine bracelet
* candy that had been gifted to me... a disturbingly long time ago
* a silicone brownie pan that's supposed to make brownies that look like Hershey bars. Cute idea, used it once, couldn't get them out. Made brownies that looked like crumbs.
The more I get bitched at for things like not caring when dinner is or being called to substitute, the more things I want to purge, in the hopes of someday being able to get up and go. I can only imagine the difficulty of the people on Hoarders... I know from my experiences last year that there's nothing more frustrating than realizing how much stuff you own and how that inhibits you from doing what you want to do. I can imagine living in a house like that and being too depressed to even get started. I never want to be at point. I know I have a tendency to mindlessly acquire things, particularly clothing and yarn, and I want so badly to stop that. I could never be a minimalist, but I just want to stop gaining so much ballast in my life.
The Baana Scarf grows. In fact, it's dangerously close to actually being a scarf. Look. It's wearable.
I'm also rocking a children's Halloween shirt.
I've got the needle tips poked into the scarf itself to hold it on, so it needs to be a bit longer, but I stand a good chance of finishing this thing this week, as long as I don't put it down and forget about it for a few days, and especially if I don't sub as much as I did this week. It's looking pretty hot. I'm glad I was persuaded to persevere through the boredom rather than start the hat project I'm thinking of. It's exciting watching my Wollmeise cake shrink down, too. I'd love to have this scarf finished before my 4 skeins of Grab Bag yarn arrive, too - it would help me justify their presence. To my credit, I didn't even consider staying up for the Thursday night stalk. Good thing, too, since I ended up getting called to work at the elementary school on Friday. For once, no one thought I was one of the students.
As an aside, The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim and their shitty name choke harder than David Carradine alone in a closet.