This picture of felted balls represents the sum total accomplishments for my weekend. The paranoia can't be photographed, but it's there, too. It's the result of an entire Sunday watching Alias on DVD to try and catch up with a show I'd never watched until about two weeks ago. Being a Spy Girl wanna-be (Harriet the Spy, Veronica Mars), I am shocked that we are so slow to catch on to this. I've never watched a TV show on DVD until this, and I have to say -- FUN. No commercials, plenty of behind-the-scenes, gag reel stuff to satisfy, and none of that "Ohmigod-I-can't-believe-that-just-happened-now-what-are-they-gonna-do?"-until-next-week stuff. Now we just keep pressing play, play, play. And we still have several seasons to get through.
That said, however, and feeling completely secure with the choice to do absolutely nothing on a beautiful fall day -- you just gotta have one of these every once in a while -- a new, more paranoid reality seems to haunt my non-TV-watching life. A guy crossed our street yesterday afternoon carrying an umbrella and talking on a cell phone. He glanced up at our house. I happened to be passing the window and instinctively ducked behind the curtain. So he wouldn't see me, apparently. I don't know. A few nights before I dreamed that I was part of SD-6 and we had invented a new kind of Swiss cheese, but it was called "coco." We had also invented a new kind of lunch meat, but it was called "wormwood." People chased me all night long trying to get to them. Unlike Sydney, karate kicks don't come naturally, and I dragged legs made of sand around after me, through the foggy, orange-y streets. . . .
The antidote to this high-tech brain melt appears to be felting balls, by hand, all afternoon. It's the absolute antithesis, I think. Spy Girl/hand-felter. I'm a double agent.