Stupid cat

I think my cat has a death wish today. She woke me up at 6:30 this morning and would. not. stop. meowing. until I manged to drag myself out of a bed to take a shower around 8. (I know, some of you have to get up much earlier than that, but this is my winter break after all) She then decided to station herself on the bathroom rug so I would trip over her when I got out of the shower, and has been putting herself right in the middle of wherever I need to walk all morning. Stupid cat. Between that and the leg clawing (I have some really nice little holes in my thigh from that, thank you very much), it really is amazing I haven't locked her out of the house yet. But, as the LYM reminds me, I am a submissive masochist, so it all makes perfect sense I guess.

Aside from cat related domestic strife, things have been fairly calm the last few days. New Years day was the best day I've had in recent memory, Tuesday was mellow and yesterday I spent most of the day in fiber-y pursuits, spinning, weaving, knitting and scouring a babydoll southdown fleece with a rather sad story behind it.

I'd always thought that if I were to get married, I would make my husband-to-be a sweater from a fleece I had processed and spun totally on my own. Last September, I bought the fleece. Things didn't work out, in a rather grand fashion, but there is still the fleece. For a long time, I sort of forgot about it, mostly out of self-preservation than any distaste for the fleece. It's a lovely fleece actually, very soft and springy, there's some discoloration but it should dye nicely once I've spun it and decided on a color. Since Thanksgiving, I've had the guy in question on my mind a lot for some reason, but he made it clear he has no desire to see me or talk to me anymore, even as friends, which hurt a lot more than I was expecting it to. It's probably all for the good, but there was still this fleece, sitting there, the last reminder of hopes and dreams now finally and totally destroyed.

So I washed it. And it was ok. I wasn't sad, it didn't hurt, and I didn't think about him and what the fleece was meant for except in a very cursory sort of way. He may be gone, but the fleece is still full possibility, ready to become whatever I chose to make from it. He broke my heart, but there is still life, and as battered and bruised as he left me, I can still make whatever I wish of it. There might be a bit more dirt and VM to get out, but the raw material is full of endless possibility.