And then we both got the flu, so that's two weeks I won't get back, which were mostly spent sneezing and complaining and feeling each other's foreheads and trying to think of other things to talk about instead of constantly whining about how miserable we were, but failing at that. I got jealous of my nighttime self, all full of antihistimines and decongestants and sleeping the sleep of the just, drooling mouth open and snoring like a bull, oblivious. Days were nothing but coughing and blowing my nose. I wore the perfect swing not-a-bathrobe cardigan as a bathrobe because it matches my jammies and also because it made me feel like I was halfway dressed.
I did spend a few minutes untangling this, which is destined for the log cabin quilt. Dogs like string.
I did a lot of sitting around. Gave myself a pedi.
I started watching The Great British Sewing Bee on Youtube (ohmygoodnessIlovethatshow) and got inspired to sew a skirt out of a piece of thrifted (itchy! Unravelly!) upholstery fabric. I used a pencil skirt pattern I had already, and which was cut a size too small, and sort of freehanded it into an approximation of an A-line skirt, and it would have been fine actually if not for my failed zipper installation. I really want to learn to draft patterns, install invisible zippers, make facings and evenly-hanging hems. Is there a Craftsy class on that, maybe? Must look. And where do people get good apparel fabric? I don't even know. Help?
I went on a mostly hopeless quest to find a book where some woman doesn't DIE in the first chapter. What are you reading? I need a suggestion, preferably something with a minimum of death in it. I read Mental Floss instead. I knit plain socks, boring and dark gray, because I need them. I wrap scarves around my chapped face and walk the dog in the orchard, where she explores the fallen apples, sticks, rocks, deer tracks. She stops to sniff every. Single. Leaf. She stares off at nothing for long minutes, and I wonder if she can smell the coyotes. Later, I put her in the tub for a bath, and she licks the water, the faucet, my face.