Fuck you, word count. Fuck you in the ear with a rusty spoon.
I really, really need to clean house before the mothership lands this evening. I want to be outsiiiiide where it's sunny and nice and perfect rowing/sex weather, and instead I'm going to pick up bunny shit and dust.
And the sock is going well; I'm not sure I like it so I'm going to start a different pattern and see which one I prefer; this one is a bit unlovely - I'm not sure the changes in stitch suit the wool (which is wierdly crappy and weirdly great at once)