Why, yes. I am usually this strange. Why do you ask?

And now, a short glimpse into Kate's head, as described by her rather self-centered imagination.

The book is fascinating, more like a text book than something on myths and folk tales. She was drawn in by the names, the descriptions, the history-like way it was treated. But her head is tiring of names like Indech, Lugh, Dianchecht, and the Dagda ("the" Dagda? Who were these Celtic gods that they thought they could get away with putting "the" in front of their names?). And so the book is closed and placed at her side, and the bag is drawn out.
It is a striped vinyl thing of simple style, brightly colored to fulfill its original purpose as a summer purse. But, as she unzips the top carefully, a dark green mass spills out slightly. Gently she reaches in and draws out a ball of wool, then another, and then the long rectangle they attach to. Domovoi had been resting in its bag for just over a week now, taking a break from the constant travel and strain and motion that came with being her current knititng project. But as she spreads the shawl in progress out across her lap and picks up the needles, something happens.
The motion that she hasn't done for several days come automatically to her hands. She is knitting before she even realizes that she's started. The pattern springs into her mind as if she had designed in herself, memorized easily weeks earlier.
She is knitting.
She is comfortable.
The music coming from her headphones dictates her pace, racy pop moving her through the rows quickly as the slower folk songs guide her through stolidly.
It is calming.
Suddenly all of the drama of the past week, her monthly cycle's havoc on her stomach, the stress from her job all melts away.
Her feet bounce slightly to the beat of her knitting as she turns the row.
She is still a teenager, though only by age, and only for a few more weeks. But as she sinks into the meditative focus that knitting causes, she feels mentally younger. Her tongue peeks out from between her lips as she picks up a dropped stitch.
She is at one with her surroundings.
She is knitting.
She is at peace again.

Well, I'm going away for a week down to the shore where Patrick's mother has a beach house. We took the time off to get away from work and stress and everything else that's going on, and there will be no internet.
Lots of knitting, some spinning.
Enjoying the time not spent at Pizza Hut and Friendly's. Time for just us and the things we like to do.
It will be so nice. We leave tomorrow night, and I have to be up extra early for work because there's a meeting, so I'm going to skip this week's Fiber Photo. Flax will go up next week.

"I'm not a crazed gunman, dad, I'm an assassin. ... Well, the difference being one is a job and the other is a mental sickness!"
~Team Fortress 2: Meet the Sniper

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