Is my face red?

Yesterday just sort of zipped right by. Okay, it was more of a crawl, with a lot of blue yarn and sitting around at home, after a day spent flopping about the shop, cutting fat quarters and watching Rob fold them as fast as she could (and she is a speedy little whizbang, that one). It would seem, gentle reader, that blog ennui has struck again... except this time I have hatched a plot to evade it's gloom. I'm going to share dumb trivia about myself until self can't take it anymore, and decides to take better photos, or create better stuff, so we have some freaking bloggability over here.

Stupid factoids of the past 36 hours: I fell out of bed on my head. Only three five people know why, and only I know it was because of the xanax that I didn't break something. Like my neck... it's a far bit to drop, what with the new mattress and bed and all.

Herr Becher did the shopping today and bought me Cetaphil face wash. I missed it so much. I never knew how comforting a smell could be, but rubbing that on my face tonight was so great, I re-washed twice more, just drinking in the smell of it. I do have to say that soft water brings out it's finer aspects. Go get you some. I don't know if they all smell the same; mine's for normal (ha!) to oily skin. Simple pleasures and all that rot. He also bought 'Basis' soap, which weirded me out a little. My mom only bought that if she was on one of her "health binges", like the time she tried to put brewer's yeast in everything, or when she declared cocoa powder of the devil off limits and sent me to school with carob cupcakes. I was practically chalked to death right there in the schoolroom, on my own freekin' birthday. Looks like chocolate, tastes like dirt.

Speaking of, a little shout out to Clay, mommy's favorite, on his thirty first birthday. It was technically three days ago, but I am a slacker, and he probably got a real bakery cake, and not stinking, cheater carob-frosted cupcakes. As little brothers go, he's alright. He stays out of my room and doesn't call asking for money.

I've given up on trying to go barefoot in my own home. Apparently every time Iwipe up a mess on the kitchen floor, three new spots are conceived. Our floors are reclaimed tobacco barn wood and, as such, almost impervious to "looking dirty", but when I realized I kept sticking to the floor in front of the sink I finally bent down to look. Jam, or possibly gum? Just caked enough to require a razor blade to scrape it up. How many people have to clean the kitchen floors with a blade? It's probably the one really useful thing I learned from our terrific housekeeper, gone though she is these long almost seven years (living in Florida, I'm certain she isn't suffering). Well, for being a knitting/sewing/eating blog (oh, yeah, you knew about that, right?) this past day was just blurry... it's that falling on my head thing again. Heh, heh.

There should be a picture post later today, as some of muh knittas are coming in to the shop for Thursday S&B, with a whole lotta giggle*snort thrown in for good measure. Things are still coming together for the fiber festival June 6th and 7th. I am scared out of my gourd, but deep breaths and medication will get this girl over the worst of her anxiety. Oh, hey, it's nearly two a.m. now... I'll type at you later! C