Not Quite the Salt Mines

If you’ve had an email from me in the last 24 hours, it came from here:

Which is the scenic view at Sock Summit International World Headquarters, also known as Tina’s house.  That’s Tina smirking in the back, and Stephen beaming on the right, and he’s laughing because I told him to try and…

Never mind.  He wasn’t smiling before I said it, and after I said it he was. I won’t give you the details of what I said because we’re in mixed company.

My little sock is hanging out next to me, and even if I don’t get much knit on it while I’m typing and spread-sheeting and organizing, I sort of just feel better about it being close to me. I’m thinking that if I get can bash out a few rows here and a few rounds there,  I might actually nail these down, which at this point would feel like the biggest metaphor for getting things done that I can dream of.

If you’d have ever told me that by simply getting half a foot of a sock done I would feel like order was restored to the universe and that things were well sorted… I would have never….

Oh.  Nix that actually.  I’ve been a half a sock away from sanity for a long time.