I’m sort of braindead. It’s true I went to bed a tad late, mostly because I was cutting out tiny pieces of fabric and I wanted to finish all the flesh pieces, so I would know I only had about 300 pieces left, so I kept cutting. Plus I wasn’t tired. At all. Unlike this morning. So it was a late start in sleeping, and falling asleep was an issue as well. But then Simba was Mr. Barkypants last night. Someone was outside moving cars or something at 2:30 AM and then a raccoon was dancing on my roof at 4 or so. So I’m sure I slept, because I had 700 dreams of large cats (like lionesses) all around the house, stalking me, stalking the dogs and cats, and I kept trying to get good photos of them to prove it to all of y’all, but the damn things were sneaky fuckers and kept fading back into the shadows just as the phone clicked the photo. Plus I kept having to grab Simba, because he wanted to attack the big cats and they would have eaten him. I have a lot of those rescue-type dreams where I’m essentially failing at it. That’s part of what that big penis-free quilt is about. But AQS doesn’t want to hear that part.
It’s unfortunate that I didn’t have enough sleep, because I think I have to teach metric conversions today (I almost wrote conversations…that would be hard. A metric conversation?) and that takes voice and brain power. I’m a fan of metrics for measuring things, mostly, but some part of me really likes that we Americans stuck with a bizarre measuring system that includes the length of some king’s arm or foot or thumb, or whatever the fuck it was. I mean, I can’t be the only fabric hoarder um quilter who uses the fingertip-to-nose measurement for yards? I mean, I guess I could measure how many centimeters or meters it is from fingers to nose, but then I’d have to remember that, and being raised in the US means we don’t even realize metric is a thing. Until we have to convert its ass. And then…confusion. Because what the hell is 2/5 of a cup. Impossible to fucking measure, let me tell you. Why do I know this? Girlchild cooks. Her dad is a Brit. Hence we have British recipes. I convert better than she does…and honestly, I write the conversions in Sharpie marker on those British recipes. Because I can’t think that hard every day.
Unsleep mental wanderings.
Yup. Still cutting shit out. Over 11 hours of cutting shit out right now. And I don’t think I’m going to finish tonight. Dammit. Sigh. Puppy. Speaking of dammit. He was relatively well-behaved last night. The night before, he stuck his head in the pile of cut-out pieces and tried to run off with them. He also grabs fabric. I’ve never had a dog go after my fabric before. Cats sit on it, occasionally vomit on it, but no dog action. I think he’s jealous of the fabric. It gets more attention than he does.
I did manage to do all the flesh pieces. The cut-out box on the right is almost full.
This is all that’s left…the ocean and that one kid with the fish (OK, a little more flesh) and the sand, hills, and mountains. A sun and a cloud and a lightning bolt.
I have my sewing meeting tonight. It’s in a Barnes & Noble coffee space (it’s not a shop). It would be hard to bring this with me, but I think I’m going to anyway. Because I fucking need to be done with the cutting out of pieces. So I can sort and start ironing. Plus I need to iron that baby owl down. I have the background for that. Three-day weekend coming. Coloring book needs to get done too. UGH.
See…OK, actually, it looks like a lot in this view. I shouldn’t have looked at that. Dammit. It’s OK. I can do this. The hand is sore today, but only a little, and I did lift weights at the gym yesterday, so that might be part of it.
See I was playing with him…he was resting.
Little psycho.
I have to play music in the morning (a) to wake myself up, (b) to distract the parts of my brain that miss my children in the morning, and (c) to drown out my neighbor on the phone on the slope above me. SHHHH. It’s morning. No talking. I really am not a morning person.
*Queen, Somebody to Love (this is actually a good waking-up song…just inspirational and sing-along enough to perk my brain up. Not as much as highly caffeinated tea will, but it’s a help.)
Kathy Nida 