Journal Fifty-One Useless Issues to Sort and Clean

More knitting today. More, more knitting. Most knitting. I knit all day on a sign for Josh and Evie's table for their New York convention and damn it, it turned out too long. Of course, I had tried a technique I rarely use and I forgot it kind of elongates the stitches. It looked nice, it was just. . . long. So, I knit another sign, but this time, I did it the old, trusty way. The lesson this week is to never try anything new, ever.

In non-knitting news (oh wait, it's all knitting news), I may have some more work lined up. Yay! More on that later if it pans out.

My journal poem documents one of the few human encounters I had all day. Machines take up much of my time lately. I may be going crazy, but I think I can hear the hooks on my knitting machine sing. Yes, so much yarn, so much metal, so many rows and rows and rows.

Customer Zero

The doorbell rings
and I have to dress quickly
so I can answer it.
I always have the feeling
that it's important,
whoever's at the door,
but it never is,
never once has the ringer
had anything worth saying.

Today is the same,
but this time
it isn't religious nuts
or petitioners or lost dogs,
it's a young man
selling magazines for
"his class,"
whatever that means.
He makes a pot joke
about Amsterdam.
"You know what happens
in Amsterdam, right?"

I nod, say, "Yeah,
lots of things happen
in Amsterdam.
The same things
that happen here."
He says he's not talking
closed door shit;
Amsterdam is out in the open.
Tokin' in public.
Payin' honeys for good times.
Red lights, baby,
red lights.

I wish him luck,
but I'm not interested.
I never can keep up
any of my subscriptions,
not even on YouTube.
He eyes me,
and for a second,
I think he might
make me buy something.
You know, with his fists.
He just smirks, though, says,
"Hey, if you didn't wanna help,
you coulda said in the first place,"

but his heart isn't in it
and he's already down the stairs,
and off my porch,
wondering who in the hell
buys magazines anymore
before I can say I'm sorry,
I really am
so very, very sorry.