Ironically, as my life is speeding by at breakneck speed, I'm slogging away at a snail's pace on my January project, which HAS to be finished by tomorrow because I don't want it to drag into February. We knitters have deadlines, you know.
The name of the pattern is Pure Joy; but I'm telling you, this pile of yarn is anything BUT that right now. The problem with these crescent shawls is that they are deceptive. They lure you in with a seemingly harmless nine-stitch cast on, but then they increase every other row, which means those last five rows take FOREVER.
|This particular project has, quite frankly, overstayed its welcome.|
Of course, that's not the only thing I knit this month. That would be boring. Also, I wouldn't have any knitter cred if it were. They're a tough crowd, these knitters. No, I also finished some socks (my January socks, if you must know) and I knit that cowl for my yoga teacher and a hat for Susie, to make up for the one I sent north for Christmas. Oh, and there was a stray dishcloth that worked its way in there somehow.
These things happen.
The January project, though, was a special treat for myself, something ambitious knit with special yarn that I got at 30% off way back during my Black Friday yarn-buying spree. It seemed like a good idea at the time; but now? I'm sick of it. I'm fickle. The Fickle Knitter.
Is "fickle" a word?
In other news, no one but myself seems to care what this house looks like, I swear it.
|The kids have good stacking skills, though.|
"Why don't any of you dump the compost in the bucket outside when it gets full?" I asked Brian the other morning, in full exasperation mode. "Look at that mess!"
"It's not a mess," said he. "It's a visual representation of the wastefulness in modern American society."
You know, I thought I was living with slobs, but apparently? They are just misunderstood artists.