when the sun shines, we'll shine together

Days like this remind me I ought to be living in London.

Working in the mall, you tend to be cut off from the outside world. I have no windows to key me to weather cues, so I guess based on people's hair. Rain is easy. Snow slightly more difficult. Wind is generally pretty entertaining. Sunshine is virtually undetectable. I thrive on bad weather, if only because it adds interest to my very bland consumerism-based day.

Also, customers LOVE to discuss weather. This may be because the majority of my customers are elderly, but regardless. I've had so many people tell me how horrible the weather is, how terrible it's made their mood, how they just want to go home and curl up under some blankets and cry themselves to sleep because mygodwhywon'ttherainjuststop??.

I walked home. And I rather enjoyed it.

I'm one of those freaks who genuinely enjoys the rain, assuming I'm somewhat prepared for it. If I'm armed with an umbrella, walks in the rain are some of my favourite walks. I'm also one of those freaks who genuinely enjoys walks, so just imagine that: rain walks top MY list of favourite walks. Suck on that, weather-complainers.

On a related note, be nice to your umbrella. I hate that old wives' tale about opening umbrellas indoors, because doesn't your umbrella deserve some warmth? Doesn't it try its very hardest to keep you dry after you've dragged it from its slumber indoors? Doesn't it suffer enough abuse from the wind, trying to bend your poor comrade's spokes? And on top of all of this, does it also have to deal with some superstitions about how "unlucky" it is? Your umbrella has been through enough today. So let it fucking lie open while it dries. Have some compassion.

Amanda

and I feel my finger on your trigger

I feel like I'm always waiting for something more. When I blog, I feel that it's a substitution for something else. Something more important. Something I'm lacking. And so, I am left with a collection of vague, brief summaries of my life of late. As I'm sure you've noticed, my life as of late has been somewhat less than stellar; certainly not terrible, but lacking anything of substance, which is probably why I lack the motivation to write anything but brief summaries. And those feel done out of obligation, to myself; I still need to convince myself that I'm a writer. Writers write, so I write subpar summaries that lack any sort of depth.

And why? Why am I scared of writing? Well, as for the blog, it's a very public forum. I intend to share my thoughts, but doing so can end up hurting others (as has happened in the past), and ends up hurting me. I'm a private person. I get so, am so caught up in self-preservation that I end up editing myself before the sentence is even typed, before the words leave my mouth. I'm tired of being afraid to be wrong, and I'm tired of swallowing words that should be said, because I know that I have things to say that are important. I have stories that have been told, but never before by me. And the fear of being uncreative has made me stagnant; I'm not doing anything because I'm afraid that if I do something and it's not very good, I'll break that fragile idea I have of myself as a creator, as a writer.

So I'm making a decision not to do that anymore. And it's a hard thing to decide, because I know I'm a lazy person, but I know I also use that as an excuse. I know that this is possibly the most important thing I have decided for myself, which may sound a little of an exaggeration, but if you think that, I suppose you've never felt the frustration of distancing yourself from that thing that really truly turns you on.

Things I know: I know that I miss the feeling of getting so throughly engrossed in what I'm writing that hours go by and I don't even notice. I know I miss the thrill of crafting something that is surprisingly, genuinely good, and the pride I feel in my own work. I know I miss creating. I know I miss words, and the way that I used to feel some of them burrow their way under my skin, and I miss when the burrowing words were my own.

This could mean more posting, but it will probably mean less. I'm also tired of promising to post more and then not doing it, or then doing it, and not writing anything interesting for either anyone reading or myself. But know that even though I'm not writing here, I am writing.

Amanda

darkly dreaming

I'd intended a few times to blog. And then I was all keen on NaBloPoMo, a sister project to NaNoWriMo (a project I would still like to participate in sometime). Clearly, I have not done either.

There are semi-good reasons for this. Those reasons being a)beginning a new job and b) Christmas gifts still to churn out. I'd love to spend evenings writing, but I'm having a hard enough time working on personal journal entries (my goal to write at least once a day) in addition to spinning up some lovely yarn creations for members of my family (and, by extension, catch up on all of that TV I've been missing).

New job (at old job) is fine. The staff who I am working with are great, and I already feel much better working at a place that is devoid of eggshells (there is one ego, but I'm his superior in title. Also, I've made a fine game of being unimpressed every time he attempts to shoot off his cocky mouth). However, I'm totally bored. I'm learning old computer systems that are really terribly designed, and spend most of my time counting money and directing staff to change labels. It seems said company has made it rather difficult to manage its products (which I suppose is one of the problems with carrying so many different vendor products in the same place). It's not a hard job, but it's a dull one.

Also, I was finally given an invite to Ravelry, an online knit and crochet community that is fabulous. You can document all of your projects, including yarn, needle size, pattern, modifications, and post pictures, and because everyone is documenting their knit goods, it makes it SO easy to find patterns based on things like yarn weight (which is the size of the actual strand of yarn). This makes it excellent for stash busting (yarn stash is extra yarn you've got lying around. Every knitter has it). You can even document your stash, tag patterns you'd like to try in the future, get feedback on patterns and yarns from other knitters... it just makes me very happy. I like when handcrafts and technology work so well together.

Also, this means I probably won't be talking about knitting on here much anymore, so yay for you non-interested readers, and also boo, for there goes half of my source material.

I've FINALLY watched all of season one of Dexter. It is such a fantastic show - this is the show CSI wishes it were, except with a lot more blood. I was most impressed by Michael C. Hall's performance: he completely inhabits the skin of a sociopathic serial killer while still remaining wholly likable. After Six Feet Under, I was wary that he would always be David to me, and Dexter has proved that he is a chameleon like no other (unless he actually is Dexter, which wouldn't surprise me). Apparently the execs had a hard time convincing him to accept the role, so am I ever glad he did. Also impressive is Jennifer Carpenter, Dexter's sister. Considering her major role before this was as the titular Emily Rose in that crappy exorcism movie with Donald Sutherland, she brought a believability and originality to a character that could easily have been played as a thoroughly damsel part. All in all, fantastic series, beautifully shot, wonderfully casted (with Darla! From Buffy!).

Amanda

Edited to add: want to know the joy of intarsia?
(Click on the pink ball to start. If you're ending a row on the right, press right once more to start the next row (same for left). Don't forget to set your yarn colour!