Still no knitting worth reporting - a couple more mice, this time I experimented with some colorwork on the mouse body, it looks cute pre-felting but I don't know about post felting. If it works I'll be kicking myself that I didn't do this on more of them. I don't like colorwork - it's a weird prejudice born in childhood, but I don't like the stranding on the back - no matter how neatly done, it feels thick and bulkier to me and it just makes me feel icky, like lima beans make me feel icky. I think it's because as a very small child I a really cute sweater with little dogs knitted into the sleeves, and whenever I stuck my arm into it I'd catch a fingernail on one of the strands, and that really bothered me. See, I said it was weird. But on a felted mouse, where the icky-thicky stranded part will be felted and INSIDE, where I don't have to touch it or worry about snagging it, it's fine. Now you have had a quick glimpse into one of the weirder corners of my brain. Scary, isn't it?


I was so exhausted yesterday - I think the strain of this endless marathon from hell is starting to wear me down. I actually went to bed at 8:30 last night and slept until the dog woke me at 5:20 because he had to go out NOW. (No wonder, that's a lot of hours for his little peanut bladder to hold out.) No phone calls, no nothing, which was a relief - I feel like all I do in this twisted, hellish life is trudge to the nursing home, sit with my husband, then field phonecalls as I report to friends and family members - "Yep, he's unchanged. Just another day in hell. How was your day? Went shopping, eh? Went to the office, did you? How nice for you." I went to a nursing home and sat in an uncomfortable chair with my dying husband. Been doing it for weeks now. Before that I went to the hospital and sat with him, or cared for him at home, or hauled him to various doctors who couldn't do a damn thing for him. And I have lived like this for two years, enslaved by the Cancer Machine, and the only way I can ever have a normal life again is when he dies. And then "relative" is normal, because God knows where I'll be left, financially, professionally, in any way, by the time this is over. And the weirdest part is, as I am spending all of my days dealing with the horrible fact of my husband's slow, awful death, I'm still getting shit from family members who want to backseat drive HOW I am dealing with everthing. Not his family. Mine. Enough about that, this is not the place to rant about it.