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In the swamplands long ago,
Where the weeds and mudglumps grow,
A Yipiyuk bit on my toe…
Exactly why I do not know.
I kicked and cried
And hollered “Oh”—
The Yipiyuk would not let go.
I whispered to him soft and low—
The Yipiyuk would not let go.
I shouted “Stop,” “Desist” and “Whoa”—
The Yipiyuk would not let go.
Yes, it was sixteen years ago,
The Yipiyuk still won’t let go.
The snow may fall,
The winds may blow—
The Yipiyuk will not let go.
The snow may melt,
The grass may grow—
The Yipiyuk will not let go.
I drag him ‘round each place I go.
This Yipiyuk that won’t let go.
And now my child at last you know
Exactly why I walk so slow.
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First pickle of the present making season. Not too bad, just way later than I need it. Running out of one-of-a-kind yarn for mittens. Spent SO FUCKING LONG making them. SO FUCKING LONG. I’m popping pez’s in desperation. Do I start over? Do I try to finish without worrying about it and then freak out in the end if I am inches short of yarn? I still need to make thumbs too. I could just pull it all out and try something else. But what else?? For now I’m just going to procrastinate like all hell.