A friend of mine recently pointed me in the direction of a quote that I haven’t been a good blogger to go find yet. But paraphrased, it said that friends would bail you out of jail, but a real friend would be sitting next to you in the cell saying “WHOA! Was that FUN or WHAT!?”

This week, I’ve had one of those WHOA weeks. Sans the jail time. Though if I don’t watch out, I’m going to end up in debtor’s prison. (Do they even have those anymore?)

The picture, above, is what came home with me from the Estes Park Wool Market last weekend. Two books on freeform (which I loooove so much, and don’t ever end up doing because there are so many socks in the queue), a new diz and dizhook thing since my husband swears he’s going to make me a set of blending combs for my birthday on Wednesday, fibery gifts for Miss Lime, Minnie, and Carin (who are my WHOA friends), and a bit of roving for me, which I absolutely loved, until I got home and realized I have another 8 ounces of something EXACTLY LIKE IT.

Well, there’s something to be said for consistency of tastes, right? Ahem.

I only bought one skein of yarn. I know. Try to pick your jaw up off the keyboard. I’m just as shocked. But considering that my Loopy Ewe order with three (3!!!) skeins of Yarn Pirate sock yarn arrived just as we left for Colorado, I was full up with the yarny socky goodness already. It would have taken something pretty special to get me to abandon the new skeins for something new.

Enter the Interlacements booth. And, of course, something stunning. A pair of Tiny Toes came home with me, and a braid of amazing roving (the blue braid up there. And yes, it’s just as saturated in real life, even though this is the hideousness of flash photography going on.).

And of course, I had to pick up some of Bonkers Handmade Fiber rovings, because a) she’s the coolest artchick alive, and b) the colors and fibers are To Die For.

Because clearly I need more fiber to fill up the holes left by my clearing out earlier this year. Ahem.

This week, our local Spinners & Weaver’s Guild is hosting the ROOTS Midwest Weaving Conference. There were some fabulous classes that I didn’t take, figuring I’d be too exhausted after this month’s goings-on (which I am), and a vendor area.

Now, I probably would have visited the vendors anyway, but when I found out that the Guild Exhibits (which I’m in charge of this year) are IN THE VENDOR HALL…..well, my credit card screamed. For good reason. I mean, there’s a Habu Textiles booth. And a FLEECE ARTIST BOOTH.

If you have to take a moment to hang your head between your knees for some deep breaths to avoid the hyperventilation at thinking too hard about a whole booth of Fleece Artist yarns and rovings, feel free. I nearly had to, too. In fact, when Carin and I found it, we collectively let out a whimpery squeal that actually ECHOED in the vendor space. ECHOED, people. Folks were staring. The vendorlady laughed at us, but totally commisserated. Apparently, she squeals too, when the new shipments come in. Can’t say as I blame her.

I’m taking the fifth on how much I brought home with me. But let’s just say that I did well. Some Fleece Artist stuff (at amazing prices, I might add), one small bag of ingeo fiber to card into some wool, and, uh…well…. a spinning wheel.

I know, I know. I have one already. But the Ashford kiwi was so cute, and it was so cheap….and I had a coupon. 20% off the already low price on it. How could I not? Carin marched my tail over there to the Plum Nelly booth and literally chucked the wheel’s box onto the counter and informed me I wasn’t passing it up since I had the coupon. Who am I to argue with that?

Pictures forthcoming of all the new loot. And hopefully, I’ll get over the fear of staining/painting the new wheel in some kind of crazy colors, because I really kind of want a pink and green spinning wheel.

Maybe when they let me out of debtor’s prison.

That’s the orders from the weekend. Poor Adminnie was overwhelmed, packing them up and getting them to the post office so they could wing their way through the postal flightpaths to the knitters who ordered them. The stack was, like, a foot taller than her or something!

Can I just say how fabulous it is to have such great help in this? I wish I could pay her more. She’s totally worth every penny. (That’s her son, by the way. Doesn’t he look just like her?)

It’s been kind of a crazy twenty-four hours. There’s an opportunity on the horizon, and it’s a big’un. But it’s a big SCARY one. Delves into arenas I’ve not ever dipped toes into before, and the learning curve? Hooboy.

Not that I’ve ever been one to shy away from a challenge. But man, I’m not as young as I used to be.

More thinking needs to be done.

And in other news, I bought a book that tells you how to raise your own chickens, and I’m completely fascinated with the idea of having fresh eggs and bread, and learning to make my own jam. Apparently, I’ve been invaded by the spirit of farmgirls past.

Then I have a nice little lie-down and have some tequila and it makes it all better.

Just sayin’.

Y’know how you’re supposed to learn in kindergarten than there will just be some people out there who don’t like you, and you should just go on and ignore it because there ARE, in fact, people out there who DO like you, and it shouldn’t matter anyway, since all your validation should come from within, blah blah blah…?

It’s never worked that way for me. I’ve tried. And if I just don’t think about the fact that putting yourself out there means that it’s going to be about fifty-fifty, no matter what, I’m fine with it all. Fifty percent of a zillion people still means that half-a-zillion people like you.

My problem is that I get focused on the other half-a-zillion. Why don’t they like me? Why don’t they “get it”? Does it mean I’m flawed somehow, or stupid, or annoying, or somehow less-than?

And I know that no, it doesn’t. I’m not a big fan of chocolate ice cream, but it doesn’t make chocolate wrong or stupid or not as good as what I DO like. It’s just not my thing. And people are the same way — some of them will be your “thing” and some of them won’t.

Now if I could just think of it in ice cream terms, all would be well.

Over the past two and a half weeks, I’ve spent two nights in the hospital and a cumulative thirty hours on the road. There are more than five hours’ of footage to edit for the podcast, and my personal correspondence is lagging behind. There are roughly two hundred skeins of yarn in the pre-soak, and a dozen orders to pack and ship. And we won’t talk about the state of my house right now; it’d scare those with weaker constitutions. (Oh, but seriously….my dogs appear to have shed four times over, and it’s ALL IN MY CARPETS.)

There’s no sign of it letting up soon, either. This weekend, we’re out of town for three days in Colorado, next weekend we’re in Lincoln, Nebraska at a midwest weaving conference, and the weekend after that’s my 36th birthday.

So when my mother in law dropped off this bottle of tequila this morning that she picked up in Progresso, Mexico — well, let’s just say it’s getting some fondling from me. I haven’t yet cracked the seal, but if today keeps up the relentless assault…? I might just think about it.

Mmm. Tequila Tuesdays are my favorite days.