In every fat girl, there's a thin girl and lots of chocolate.

Or at least people say so. I'd hereby like to inform you that I've lost some kilo and half of chocolate.

They also say that in every good person there's a small evil person that's trying to get to the surface. This however doesn't apply to me since I'm totally and fully evil and bad. And the little good person in me was hunted, caught, roasted and eaten.

I however have an inner moron. I checked the yesterday's commenter and couldn't remember whether I know her. After a while of banging my head with a brick I decided that this is not going to wake my memory so I wonder whether this is the Sara who was around last semester or whether all the Swedes look somewhat generic Swedish. It might be a pure coincidence but I'm not inclined to believe in these.

I got some fabulous yarn from Agústa aka StashDiva. Something by Emilio Pucci, yes, that Pucci of the Pucci family which was mentioned by Dante if I remember well (where's the brick?) which still lives - the Pucci family, not Dante - in Via Pucci, oddly enough in Palazzo Pucci in my best beloved Florence. Whatever the project will be, it'll be called Fiorenza. I'll find the bit in Commedia I have in my mind (where's the brick again?). Anyhow, I just loved the package with some Icelandic writings on it. I had already noticed that this language reaches the heights of absolute coolness. Oddly enough, when I went from the post office, dropped to the grocery to get some apples. When I was trying to pay (the cashiers needed to share their lunch experiences or wtf), some lady asked the cashier to keep her bags there. One of them was a plastic shopping bag from something called Handknitting Association of Iceland. Wanted to ask the lady whether she's a knitter but she meantime disappeared somewhere in the vast wilderness of bread department. The Icelandic post has the prefabricated boxes that any post has. And the Icelanders had to be smart folk because I needed twenty minutes to find the way how to get in. I got the idea that I might learn Icelandic, after all. I toyed with the idea even some time ago - I told you that there's a little moron hiding in my smart (and fat) self that sometimes comes to the surface and does things. I'll go and check the options - I'm quite sure that Icelandic isn't taught even at the university. The worst idea of the week, I told you.