a chicken, even without its head chopped off, tends to run around. not necessarily in circles, but definitely away from the thing that is chasing it. when i apprenticed as a farmer, being the sole charge of a dozen or so chickens through the spring and summer i used to drive myself nuts trying to catch the darned darlings to put them back in their rather luxurious timber frame houses for the evenings to keep them safe from the myriad predators of the dark. this week i don`t know if i`m the chicken or the chicken chaser, but one thing is for certain - i haven`t found time in my circles of activity around the house to actually clean it to my former standards of neatness. i did find time over the golden week holiday to bake a batch of vintage chocolate chip cookies, and luck was very kind to me because the moment i happened to lurch the hot pan of cookies up and over the counter and watched in a kind of slow motion as they flipped onto the floor, i had only moments before managed to `newfoundland-clean` said floor resulting in a floor `one could eat off of`, and so i did. (eat my cookies off the floor). they were pretty good.
i`ve been absent from my blog, i`ve been absent from my self. absent minded. going through the motions of work, housekeeping, trying to relax with books, music and shitloads of awful (awfully delicious) MTV on hulu that i missed out on as a teenager. it`s nice to have a job i enjoy very much for a change, and nice to have this routine of normalcy and `fitting in on the surface of regularly employed peoples`, and spare moments where i can actually take a breath, do f-all, and feel great doing it. my weaving has fallen back, but it is the season. knitting has sensed the lull in attentions and crept in and i have three sweaters on needles, two from recycled yarn and one from vintage yarn. too bad it`s 30 degrees and even if i finished a sweater i won`t be able to enjoy it for another six months, at least. i hate summer. i would never have said that out loud until after suffering through almost a decade of stuffy neverending summers in the kyoto-nara basin, but there it is. it`s become a reliably predictable torture. i`ve run out of `new places to sweat from`.