It rained like crazy at the office today. I was so happy, imagining that my Shredded Wheat front yard was finally getting a good deep 2 inches of rain drink. I work 4 miles from my house and we were flooding there, so the odds were good, right? So I left work and drove home, in heavy rain, then lighter rain, then wet street, then...dry street. Not a freakin' drop of that monsoon 4 miles away had hit my Shredded Wheat. So now it's dark and thundering and thundering and thundering and do I hear rain? I do not. That is just so...Florida. When these afternoon storms hit it can rain across the street and not hit your yard. It can rain on the backyard and not the front, even on a postage-stamp sized yard. It sucks.

So I think Home Improvement Guy stood me up this evening, but that's fine because I'm not much in the mood to go pick out lighting anyway. We were supposed to do this Tuesday but he had to work late at his day job (a big commercial project) he left me a groveling voicemail. I was totally fine with waiting, as long as I get a sink and dishwasher this weekend lighting is gravy and he can do it when he can get around to it. I am definitely not the type to throw a fit because my new lighting isn't in yet, and I told him so. Women who do deserve to be bitchslapped into reality. It will get done, there is no rush, and this isn't life and death. I know what life and death looks like, and this definitely ain't it. So we'll get the lighting in when we can, between his schedule and mine, and that's totally fine with me. The kitchen isn't dark, the lighting is just butt-ugly and needs to be replaced, but it's not like I can't function until then. It'll get done when it's done.

I'm working at home for a chunk of tomorrow for the countertop installation. On Saturday Plumber Man, my new action hero, comes to give me a sink, dishwasher and disposal. No more washing large objects in a small bathroom vanity sink with almost no space around it to put things. It's annoying. I did, however, become a fan of those Palmolive disposable dishcloths, they are ideal for those who are washing dishes in the bathroom sink. My advice: send them to college in the fall with your dorm resident, if you have one. They do need to wash cups and glasses and coffeepots, and it's so much neater and easier than a bottle of dish soap and a sponge or a cloth when in very limited space. They are very nice and clean like crazy. I will not mock them any longer. I wouldn't use them every day, but they sure do serve a purpose at times.

Oooh, I hear raindrops, I'm so excited.

Yarn news - I'm feeling a serious yen to felt things. Someday I must meet Rob in person, because when I read his blog I recognize my felting fixation in him. (We also have the same taste in other knitting, except for his Lilly Pulitzer thing, but I forgive him that since he doesn't live up to his ass in that shit stuff like I do.) There is just something about felting - maybe it's the way you make something and get all the way to completion, weave in your ends and make it all tidy, then recklessly throw your hard work into hot water and beat the hell out of it and watch it transform into something else. Maybe that's the magic to me - the craziness of working for days or weeks or whatever on something that should never touch hot water or rough treatment, and intentionally subjecting it to both just for fun. Maybe that's why I'm less excited by, say, fair isle, though I do think the results are so pretty - aside from the fact that it's utterly inappropriate in my part of the world, working an elaborate pattern from a chart is sort of the psychological opposite of felting. Charted colorwork is precise and mathmatical - felting is so...loose, in every sense of the word. (OTOH, I did some impromptu fair isle felted mousies last year and they turned out devine, so it's not like I don't see a use for it even in my world.) But felting has that element of suspense. I like that. Even the same yarn in different colors will felt differently, so there's always this sense of anticipation when you throw the thing in the machine and turn it on - will it be a fabulous success or a total failure? I guess it makes sense that I am fascinated with felting rather than lace, because I'm a thrill-seeking litigation adrenaline junkie all day long. I hate routines, I want action and suspense. Why should my knitting be different from my career preference?