I'm gon' try to get back into the habit of boring ye with records of my daily minutiae, starting with this post. Hokai, so.
My desk, which I only just straightened, is slowly being taken over by crafting supplies. My laptop is even now in danger of being overrun by paper cranes. I lost count, but if I had to venture a guess, I'd say that I have about 50? My chair is an island in a sea of yarn, stamps, ink pads, card stock, paper punchers, stickers, and a lone paper cutter. I really need to figure out an organizational system that extends beyond Shopping Bags on the Floor.
All of this began as last year's resolution to follow craftsy pursuits, and this year's resolution to get into card-making, starting with thank you cards to the folks who wrote me letters of rec for my grad school application and culminating in the most fucking magnificent Hallowe'en cardapalooza you have ever witnessed.
In unrelated news, my hamster is a weirdo.
Okay, so here's a picture of Escha's epic adventure cage (on the right):
We bought it for him because he kept punching Ragnar in the nose until he bled. We didn't want to reward this behavior, but he got depressed in the tiny!clear!unfun cage to which we originally rehomed him, and he loves running more than anything else, AND we are squishy-hearted about small rodents, SO.
For those who have never encountered hamster cages before: the big green round thing is Escha's wheel, which glows in the motherfucking dark and spins around on the purple track when he runs to grant him the illusion of getting somewhere.
Recently, Joe and I found tiny heaps of white powder on top of Escha's cage, which kind of freaked us out. My Google-fu unearthed someone with a similar issue, who had been told that the powder might be calcified urine, or a reaction between urine and and some plastics used by hamster cage manufacturing companies. We were satisfied with this answer (as there are gaps in Escha's wheel that allow him to spray seed shells and shit all the fuck over everything, so why not pee). Either that, or suspect Escha of producing cocaine.
BUT THEN, while wiping the rim of the track, Joe found a fucking NOTCH in the stabilizer where the wheel bracers would occasionally get stuck. The powder was PLASTIC SHAVINGS. Escha had CARVED A CHUNK OUT OF HARD PLASTIC by runningrunningrunning in place. WHAT THE FUCK, ESCHA.
Conclusion: Escha is a tiny, hamster-shaped engine.