Today the obsession is with sweaters. Not sure why, only that the strongest impulse I have is to crawl back in bed and be warm. I think it has to do with winter. And with politics. And with work. And with the combo package of the last two. Things are happening, and I am trying to ignore the whole blasted thing. Has no direct effect on me, and it's hard to give a shit.

So sweaters. Lots and lots of sweaters. They are in my thoughts. I have never knitted an adult-sized one. Only for a baby. It was fun. I should try. I should. I should.

Ok, distraction isn't working so well. Back to politics. And work. No escaping. Which figures. What did they tell us all about being careful about wishing for things? And something about wishing being horses and beggars riding, or something, something.

And the words are just flying off the shelf. Like water bottles with a hurricane coming. I haven't figured out why every time there is a storm warning here, people act like that. There is a run on things that make no sense to me. Like milk. If the power goes out, your milk will spoil in the fridge, Einstein. Or Eisenstein. (heh heh heh- now it's on to nonsense.) And the power doesn't make the water cease to come out of the faucets. I don't get it. Again.

And there is really nothing else to say. The words might be flying, but they aren't pertinent or particularly interesting. Just words. On a page. Signifying not a hell of a lot. Someone else no doubt said it better. Which is typical. And probably appropriate.