Voodoo's eloquently evil expression asks me why I don't spend more time on something productive like mouse farming or tuna fishing? Nothing creative floats up that I can grab onto and run with.
Mindless stitching is almost as bad a endless games of online scrabble - the minutes slip away and you've nothing to show for it but cat blankets. Still, for the moment, passing time is what I have to distract me from momentary medical annoyances. Then I read about the real travails of Kate at Needled and MV at Instant Poetry and I can quickly suck it up and quit bitching about a little achey arthritis or jet engines in my head.
Right after this shot, he bit me on the arm when I tried to take the cloth back and Voodoo, unlike the girls, does not pull his punches. Thanks buddy. You old grouch.