I really don't know where the weekend went, much less the entire last week.
I remember writing the previous post and thinking that the entire week was ahead of me, and then I remember falling asleep last night at around 9:00 p.m.
It's berry-picking season. I think that's part of it. I've got blueberries and raspberries and in a few minutes, I'm heading out to get some more of each.
I was interviewed--and photographed--at yet another local farm event by yet another reporter. Something about me draws in the reporters, apparently.
I should run for office. I'm joking, of course. I already have a day-job that I like just fine, and absolutely no need to make a complete spectacle of myself.
I finished yet another pair of socks. It only sort of counts, because it's a child's size. What does count, though, is the fact that I made significant headway on a blanket I'm making as a thank-you present for my neighbor, for service above and beyond the call of duty.
She followed the ambulance to the ER the night I had to be hauled in, so that I would have a ride home. And then she waited for 2 hours while they convinced my immune system to stop imploding.
If nothing else, this deserves a blanket, one that's being knit with a whole bunch of eternal gratitude.
And once again, Mother Nature approves of this project, because usually, you can't knit blankets in July. But this year, you can.
I also took advantage of the cloudy and cool weekend to do a massive amount of weeding. I really should have taken before and after photos--it was that dramatic. And, by next weekend, I'm sure the weeds will be right back where they were. Such is the nature of... Nature.
I also fixed parts of the ceiling paint-job that I had done last January by that... well, let's just call him a "guy," and be done with it. I used a lot of other words to describe him this weekend, as I was doing my best to avoid getting a crick in my neck and reliving the trauma that was his time in my home. (I blogged about it here. Oh, and here, too. It was so bad, it needed 2 blog posts for me to get over it.)
I finished Marya Hornbacher's memoir, Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulemia (P.S.). It was beyond intense. I can't say I "recommend" it, because much of it was extremely disturbing.
I'd say, read Madness first, and then read Wasted, if you decide you want to read them. Wasted was really dark and disturbing and didn't have the kind of hope that was threaded through the last portion of Madness. (I think you need that hope to make it through reading about her experiences, which is why I'd say, read the second memoir first.)
I also started Kathyrn Schultz's book, Being Wrong: Adventures in the Margins of Error (2011), because I really liked her TED talks about regret and error. She's coined the word "wrongology" (and quite a few reviewers on GoodReads have certainly blasted her for it) to describe the study of why it is that we are so inclined to believe that we are right and so un-inclined to want to admit that we're wrong.
It's an interesting study. I really liked her discussion of mirages and optical illusions: it's a great way of showing how our basic biology and the physics of the world around us can be deceiving--and it helps to drive home her point that, in the end, there's nothing wrong with admitting that you're wrong.
At least, occasionally.