Here in the heart of it all we have been getting record rain falls. I only say it like that because that’s how our banks’ appraiser put it when he observed “minor dampness” in our future basement. In fact, he only had really awesome things to say about our future house. Everyone who goes through it says the same thing: “Wow, this house is actually kind of amazing. Not what I was expecting at all.” Which doesn’t offend me any- it’s a grower not a shower.
This record rain fall has made it pretty damn hard for me to take a picture of April’s socks. But I want you to witness- they happened. They exist and are a real thing. Maybe they look familiar to you? That’s because I gave up on them in a frustrated rage a year (or so) ago. Why? Because I fucked up. I mean, there’s no other way of putting this one. I made a big mistake and it wasn’t one I could just ‘walk off’ if you will. (Get it, because they’re socks and you walk in them? Save me from myself, someone, please!)
I did the exact wrong stitch down at the bottom there. Well here it was, a week before April was going to end and I was like, oh crap, socks! I need a sock. So I decided to make a mate to one of my orphan socks and was like, screw it, I’ll just leave it all messed up looking and just make a second sock.
When it came time to making the sock though, I couldn’t purposely mess it up to match the other one. It looked too good the right way. So, against my normal will and philosophy of ‘fuck it, whatever’ I actually went back and fixed the first broke ass sock. Are you proud of me society? You better be.
I love sitting on stairs. Is there anyone else out there who understands this weird love of mine? I’ll just sit at the top of the stairs and hang out a few minutes sometimes. Think about random things. Sometimes I ask John to sit next to me and have a conversation for a few minutes. He’s such a sweet guy, John. He obliges most, if not all, of my weird requests/whims/fancies.
One summer when I was growing up my cousins were visiting from Minnesota. Which was pretty odd- they never came here, I usually went there. But I remember they were babysitting me at one point and we seemed to get bored really easily that summer. So they devised a ‘roller coaster’ for me that basically involved me sitting in a milk crate on a blanket that they pushed down the stairs. I think they put a bike helmet of me for good measure. But that roller coaster never came to its full potential for whatever reason.
Actually I was a a fan of that summer because one of my cousins taught me how to pick the locks in the house using bobby pins. Another one of them blew out my dad’s stereo.
Say hi to your mother for me.
