I miss Twilight. I am sticking to my decision to take a break, but it hurts, which of course makes it sound like I don't like Plainsong, which isn't true. Plainsong is a quiet story and I like quiet stories.* But I miss the intensity of Twilight, the rush of the words.
Otherwise, it's a bitch working on big projects that feel like they'll never be done. I have two afghans wanting to be finished, a sweater I need to fix the collar on, hats that failed miserably, two afghans I need to start, a scarf to finish, the Clapotis, the things I'm forgetting, and the charity stuff for work. I need to learn not to start stuff before I finish other things.
And in honor of the Yarn Harlot's time in London, here's another photo of a bit of London. No crazy apocalyptic skies, but a building with bright red brick, brighter than any brick I've grown accustomed to here. (And if you are one of those people who want to know where this building is, it was on the walk from Kensington Palace to the Queensway station [which is one of my mom's dreaded stations because of the elevator] along Bayswater Road.)
*Quiet stories remind me of when a creative writing professor** mentioned that I didn't have much going on in my stories, and I still wonder what I was supposed to do. I argued that not all stories should have something crazy to them, but I don't think she liked my argument. Then again, I didn't like her stories, so it's sort of fitting. And what sort of person assigns her own stories as a reading assignment for a creative writing course? Honestly?
**Speaking of college, I think my freshman counselor (a senior at the time) is one of the writers of Four Christmases. Everything indicates it's him, but no distinct proof (unless there's something in the alumni magazine I rarely read if they aren't writing about the new completely sustainable building on campus).