notageek

I have a touch of the lung-gunk (a technical term), which is ordinarily no trouble for me to fight off in a weekend, except that earlier this week I sneezed while bending over to grab a stock bottle and stretched something unstretchable in the vicinity of my sacrum. So if I use the nice, vigorous cough to bring up all this lung-gunk the way I usually do, then I throw my back out more.

Also, because I do not have enough yarn in my life, I’m taking a wheel-spinning class from one of the local purveyors of fiber crack yarn shops. I got to sign out one of their shop-owned wheels on which to do my homework, momentarily terrifying my husband, who has only recently resigned himself to the eventual appearance of yarn-related furniture. At least I can spin without throwing my back out.

In the midst of vacation—because I am now a yuppie and can do things like take vacations—I picked up some books on local flora. It bothers me to walk down the street and not know names or uses for any of the plants I see.
Anyway, Bookstore Gal was impressed by my signature. “You must be an artist,” she said. “Most people don’t sign things enough to make a fancy signature.” A ha ha ha no. Most people are not uptight anal-retentive killjoy drug-pushers, either.