Have you ever tried running on train tracks? It seems like a flat, idyllic place to jog; but you inevitably wind up with a fucked up, flappy, bleeding knee.
That’s what saying “amigurumi” out loud is like.
I dread mentioning my hobby to people.
“Will I get lost in that word’s endless hall of mirrors? Am I at the end yet? Has my mouth accomplished it? Can I go back to what I was doing?”
In English, I think of my plush as “slow, soft sculptures.”
Don’t tell anyone that.
That phrase sounds like I live on a Hippie Love Cloud. You can almost smell the patchouli in the air.