Actually, not so much God, but a guy who thought he was.

In reality, he was Jordan Baker.

He cut across three aisles of parking lot with nary a glance to the side and were it not for my brakes, he would now be paying for my funeral.

I had a rare opportunity–rare for me when it comes to people like him–where I said, “you know, we were THAT close when you cut across without looking”.

He smiled and said, “good thing you have good breaks, then,” and sauntered off.

All hail Jordan Baker, brought to life here in Virginia.

Where’s my passport?
As I sit here–knitting desperately to try to finish by the closing ceremonies–I’m next to the heavy, bitchy, chain smoking woman who actually just said on the phone, “because, honey, money talks and bullshit walks so put me on the pre-announcement list and shut the f*** up.”

I want to switch countries.

There have to be other, better, places with knitters where we could live and find work, right?