Waiting

I have wool on my studio table waiting ever so patiently for me to come and make it into a bag handle/strap. Every time I bring something down to put away, or walk past the doorway, it looks at me, boring holes in the side of my head. At first it was looking at me with anticipation that, Yes!, I would go to the sink and get it's water ready...be there any second. It now briefly jolts and then shrugs, like, "Oh, Pfftt, it's you again, not coming to felt".

It amazes me that a 24 hour birthday celebration can turn into days and days of getting ready. Cake, snacks, drinks, paintball deposits, gifts, more snacks, more drinks. Once it has passed I will put that poor wool out of it's misery (and me!)

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