I'm typing this on my very beat-up (externally) ThinkPad while sitting on the hardwood floor of my new apartment in Long Island City and waiting for the movers to make it in through the New York traffic. Why? Because I preceded the cable guy who installed my internet by about 3 hours, and he in turn outstripped the movers. It's a long story. At the end of which the only thing I can be sure of is I know where my towel is. I am a hoopy frood.
I'm also, incidentally, extremely impressed at Blogger's recognition of Hitchhiker's Guide terminology, as there is currently no squiggly line below the phrase "hoopy frood." Or at least it disappears once I move on to the next paragraph.
Now, we all know the most important thing about my move was that I was headed to New York to start my new career as a pathologist. We also know that's only partly true. Since I'm also a yarn addict, the most important part of this move was ensuring the continuation of my rich knitting life. Well, "rich" is a relative term. But packing up the crafting closet and the prospect of unpacking it into the confines of a(n admittedly generous-sized, 3-closeted) studio apartment are...daunting to say the least.
Once unpacked, however, it's off to the races. Or rather, the Ravelry. Anybody remember the geektastic washcloths of my first residency? Charts and patterns await just beyond these doors. Well, this one door. If the movers ever get here. With all my stuff. Relatively intact.
Incidentally, the towel is in the bathroom. Eventually I shall require a shower curtain. Right?
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