Work life had been all crazeballs. Which means I’ve had no life. I’m up at 5am, torture myself on the treadmill, stumble into the shower (all the time avoiding the ankle biting Angus). Wander downstairs (avoiding the death trap that is Cooper), being serenaded by screaming cats (one who clearly has steroid rage). Drop some unappetizing crack – er kitty food into their bowl and pray to the god of sacred black water.

I leave the house at 7am (having verified that yes indeed I AM wearing pants), and go to work where I spend 7.5 hours double and triple booked in meetings. After a day of chainsaw juggling,  I wait 20-30 minutes in whatever Mother Nature decides to throw at me while I’m standing at an open bus stop in the middle of crazytown (Yonge and Richmond St). I don’t roll back in until 7:30pm (after a 2 hour “express” ride home). Scarf down some food, grunt at Cheffie a few times, fend off velcro cats and off to bed I go.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Friday night is my night to relax. Do I do it with soothing stockinette stitch? Spinning luxurious fibres?

Nope. I spend it designing hard core lace. Because that’s how I roll.