nom nom yarn

Random link, which I found in an earlier post but wanted to re-post because it is still much with the trueness: Top Ten Reasons Knitting is Better than Therapy.

So anyway. One of the groups on ravelry is a destash group, where people who have yarn they want to sell will post a link to the for-sale area of their stash page, with prices listed. I usually end up looking at the yarns, going "ooh pretty" at some of them, and resisting temptation.

Sometimes? Temptation cannot be resisted.

( pretty new yarnses! )

I really shouldn't have gotten it -- but it was so *pretty* and the price was good and anyway I figured I needed a reward for dealing with the stuff going on at church.

(Shortest story: it is not fun being on session and a lot of people are upset with us. Slightly longer but still short story: ( things are messy right now )

and I just want to hide until the storm blows over, but of course I can't.)

(...so instead I get yarn.)

I also stopped by a rummage sale and got the awesomest little backpacky bag ever:



The outside is knitted (machine, I'm sure, not hand) and there is a cord to cinch it closed and there is a silky-feeling black lining with a pocket, and it is utterly ADORABLE and perfect for a knitting project bag. *glee*

Also, in case anyone cares or is curious, I finally got a Flickr account set up for crafty pics. They're a bit out of order but whatever.

school of dreams

I once knew what I wanted with my life
Some possible, some real, others not:
Wizard, author, doctor, prince's wife,
or mermaid, faerie queen, or astronaut

Such things are child's fancy, and are dreams
And who I am is not who was before.
The universe intrudes, and often seems
To leave you stranded on a different shore.

The stars are strange, the sun cold, and I yearn
For something I can hold to, something strong
To keep me standing (sort of) and not turn
When past seems safe and present somehow wrong.

My future must be elsewhere; new dreams call
And any path beats no path, after all.

#

...I have no idea why I decided to start this with a sonnet. I am not a poet arglequargh.

My roommates have started school, and I kind of miss it. I mean, I don't, entirely; I don't miss teachers who are confusing or incompetent or assholeish or whatever, and I don't miss busywork, and I don't miss assignments piled on top of each other, and I don't miss midterms and exams.

But I miss learning. I miss discovering. I miss things clicking into place htat didn't fit together before. I miss ... the parts of being in school that I don't not miss, which makes no sense at all and all the sense in the world.

So I'm thinking of trying something along the lines of self-schooling. No fees, no tuition, no teachers for me to please, no classmates, just me and the internets and books and paper and pencil.

The classes for this term (September 1 - sometime mid-December) will be:

1) Language. I have yet to decide whether German or Bulgarian, but I will settle that before the end of the month.

2) Creative Writing. Weekly exercises at first, then NaNoWriMo because I'd be doing that anyway and extra writing on top of that seems insane

3) Math. Nothing challenging, just brushing up on stuff because I want to eventually be able to tutor (...Dear self, no, you do not want to go get a degree in teaching, kthx) and it would help if I reviewed the subject matter. Probably hyper-accelerated since I've done all this before, just, you know, not since high school.

4) Chorus, which actually /is/ a university class (that I'm technically auditing)

That is sort of the equivalent of a full-time load -- equivalent classes at the university would give me 14 units -- without, hopefully, being overwhelming.

What I need to do before the end of August, then, is set up a study space, get the relevant math and language books where I can get at them without assistance, get some notebooks and pencils and a writing tray where I can get at it, and set up an approximate schedule for when I am doing which thing (and when I am off duty).

I don't have the best track record with independent study type things, but I choose to believe that I am not just setting myself up for failure. That this is something I /can/ do, and will, and can be proud of myself for doing. ...with that said, I wouldn't object to cheerleading of any sort, because, er, *wibble*

(no subject)

One trouble with the sonnet, strictly writ
Is one a gardener would know quite well:
A weed that plants its roots in dirt and grit
And grows and spreads and thrives for garden's ill.

Infectious rhythm, cadence, pace of speech
Once channeled to the five feet of iamb
Keeps clinging where it's placed, quite like a leech
And cannot be controlled behind a dam.

Once loosed, the meter spreads beyond all bounds
And dooms the hopeless mind it's trapped within
Until all words, all thoughts, all ventured sounds
Must fit the rules, else be a mortal sin.

So I, brain gone from bad to worse,
Spent twenty minutes making lame-ass verse