I should be telling you what a wonderful time I had at the river with the girls.  But that will have to wait.

I should be telling you how great it was getting together with the other girls so the lovelies could teach a spinning class at Potomac Celtic Festival and let the students take home their own awesome free spindles.  But that will have to wait.

I should be telling you about all the spinning and knitting I’ve done over the last week, and how happy my feet are.  But that, too, will have to wait.

Instead, I am fighting the urge to drive my duplicitous truck Buttercup to the upper edge of the nearest quarry, say some heartfelt goodbyes, and push the evil money-hogging thing off into the inky, granite-sided deep.  She has been torturing me for months, and of late, has been trying to poison me with carbon monoxide.  But my quasi-bro-in-law has her, and he won’t give her back because he doesn’t want me to go to jail for truck-drowning.

She knew I was trying to save for a loom.  She is demanding a lot of repairs,  and I can’t drive her until she gets them.  And they she’s hinting about wanting a clutch within the year.

So if you see me selling pencils on a streetcorner, um, please buy me a beer.  Or steal my truck and send it off into the ocean.  Or give her a Viking burial.  Just make her stop stealing all of my money.

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