I am awake far earlier than I should be on a Saturday. Especially for someone whose (pickled) husband called at 4:30 am to say he was trying to catch a bus home, but he'd actually missed the last night bus, and so his Saintly Wife got dressed to drive down and get him but the van wouldn't start so he had to take a cab but he didn't have any cash so his SW ended up sitting outside with cab fare until he got home and by the time she got back to sleep it was after 5:30...and no, she's not bitter that he's still sleeping while she's trying to make coffee and get functional.
(Holy shades of Meryn Cadell, batman!)
Truth be told, she really isn't bitter. She's so tired that she's about to burst into fits of giggles, actually. Today is like Christmas, only without the stinky dead fish! (Or the presents, but that might change, depending on proximity to yarn stores....)
Today is the High Holy Day of my people, and I am hauling my arse out of bed, and even out of the house, to celebrate appropriately. It's World Wide Knit in Public Day, and I'm out the door to join a flock of Ravelers to celebrate. We're going to ride the Skytrain out to the end of the line and back. Possibly twice.
I have my favourite knit socks freshly washed and ready to wear. With sandals. Today, I get a fashion law exemption. (Not that it would stop me anyway, but today there will be a mob of us, all armed with pointy sticks. Keep that in mind, any who feel faint at the prospect of all those sock feet in sandals...prowling in flocks all around the world...heheheheheheheheh)