We drove home from San Diego, a whirlwind trip (a little TOO whirlwind when I ended up getting a speeding ticket; everyone in the car agrees that there were MANY cars going faster than I was, but we had the tell-tale luggage on the hood of our car. Plus, I was speeding.) Odd how something…
Prozac allowed me to prioritize my life, to do the things that were immediately necessary and carry other things over to work on when the time was right. It allowed me to be a better artist and a better business person.
Obviously I need to knit more. Or maybe I need to stir things up? Or maybe I need some dispersant? However you spin it, this fibro-depression is lurking just under my surface like a 300 foot plume.
Why on earth would anyone knit unless they’re making something?
