I woke bright and early today fully prepared for a day of excess. I'll organize my closet by season! I shall polish my silver! I'm going to publish a bestselling knitting book! I'm going to weed my entire back yard! My mood reminded me of the time I chewed up an Oxycontin left over from my fibroid surgery. I broke the pill's time release and proceeded into mania that involved me calling my friends and telling them I was moving to NYC to be a famous recording star, because I have a beautiful singing voice, I'm a stunning beauty, and I can write songs the whole world sings.
So back to today, I went to work, sat down with my Clapotis and triple espresso, and never. Got. Off the couch! The rest of the daggone day. To top it all off, the Roanoke Times ( who has done a story on us twice now, called me and did an interview over the phone.
"Ms...Bomono, is it?" "Bonomo. B as in Boy, O, N as in Nancy, O, M as in Mary, O."
"So, What made you think of doing the blankets?" I honestly felt a wave of nausea come over me. I've been asked that question by the Roanoke Times over 20 times. The news reporters...they keep asking me the same question a myriad of different ways, I guess, hoping for a better answer than what I give them. Yuck. But I answered it the best I could, despite my nausea. "We're Knitters. This is what we do. We knit things, and we give them away." etc etc etc etcetcetcetcetcetc. Sigh. Well, I got nothing accomplished today...except for a few more inches on the Clap.
Je dois obtenir de mon âne et cesser la pleurnicherie !
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