Weak, weak, weak, weak.
You're all very kind to say that I earned these far-too-frequent motel rooms, but actually, I am just weak. I'd really rather save up money and earn a nice meal of pierogis when Rachael and me get to NY. Instead I blew it on 16 glorious hours of knitting (7 more inches!), TV (American Idol - I know, I know), baths (that's right, plural!) and sleeping (very little, due to all the other activities).
I work very hard at my couch potato-ness. I have to, the time I have for it is so finite.
Ahhh, but it was worth it.
I have another day off tomorrow; I think I am going to go check out Cumberland Island, a National Seashore on an island only accessible by a twice daily ferry. There's about 3 houses left there now. When these owners pass on, their land gets turned over to the trust, and that's all that will be there. Except for a glorious, glamorous, deluxe inn called Greyfield. I have a deep burning desire to see this hotel that is housed in a majestic old building, whose elite guests mostly have their own yachts to bring them over. And the name! It sounds so... gothic. Greyfield Inn, on remote Cumberland Island... sounds like a fabulous Victoria Holt setting.
I was chatting with a guest today who mentioned that they were interested in the island, but that the reservations for the ferry had a wait list that ran into the year after next. Hmm. May have to change my plan a bit. Okay, first step is to hijack a yacht; it's okay, I've been studying my "book o' knots", I know how to do and undo a bowline perfectly.
Oh well, maybe I'll just sit in a cafe and knit all day tomorrow. Sigh. What a world, what a world.