Last night I managed to knit ten whole rows on the sweater of slowness. For all intents and purposes, it might as well have been ten stitches. Progress, it remains unnoticeable. Anywho, all of this wild and crazy knitting kept me up to the unholy hour of 11:00 p.m., well the knitting and the new season opener of Heroes chilling on the DVR. And also Journeyman, because I am a sucker for new shows and enjoy watching the pilots. And, speaking of Heroes, how is it that none of the people who died last season are really dead? I digress though, all of my wild and crazy knitting kept me up to the unholy hour of 11:00 p.m., a full hour later than my naturally prescribed bed time, and I find my self somewhat zombie like this morning.
Which brings me to my point, in a rather round about and not so direct way: the apples. As you probably don't remember, I don't like apples. Mr. Cool forgets this and tends to bring me some every day during apple picking season. And because I like Mr. Cool, and I don't want to hurt his feelings or feel like a hair turd, I smuggle the apples out of the office and try to force my husband to eat them. Every now and then I am forced to eat one because I want Mr. Cool to see me eat the apple and know that I am grateful. And yes, I realize this is totally fuked up and that I probably need psychiatric help, but there you have it, I eat apples that I hate to make someone I like think I am grateful for something I don't like. Is there a name for this disorder?
Anyway, I strayed from my point, again. My point is, I was so damn tired this morning I somehow talked my way from one apple into four. Yes, four, cuatro, quatre, quattro, vier, четыре.
Are you kidding me? I'm not quite sure how this happened. Maybe if I hadn't given up caffeine, I would have seen it coming, tired or not. I dunno. What I do know is that I've got four different varieties and flavors and sizes of apples and Jizzy Fricken Crizzy HOW AM I GOING TO EAT (OR SMUGGLE OUT) FOUR APPLES?