I'm going to pass on trying to come up with an originally worded apology for why my blogging has been so scatterbrained and sporadic of late, because too many knit bloggers have been saying that sort of thing and dude, I still read you. Besides, I have a dinner date, and I still need to pack because I'm getting on a train first thing tomorrow to Dallas.
And by the way, yesterday I had a hurried conversation with my former college roommate. It was hurried because my cell phone battery was dying out and I'd forgotten my recharger in the car, not because she was in line for tickets to the Met and about to board a plane the next morning to South Africa to do research into deadly infectious diseases. Do you ever just totally get put in perspective? I hate that. And here I am, hurried because I'm getting on a train to Dallas and I might go grab a burger. Ho-hum.
And since we're telling transit stories, I rode the bus to and from work today, and today's crazy driver stomped on the brakes on the way north today, then leaned on the horn. I thought she was about to hit a student, since we were right by the University of Texas, which gives out BAs in not looking both ways. Actually, no. It was a black chicken trotting across the street. Which leads one to wonder, (a) where did it come from? (b) why was it crossing the road? (sorry for the obvious) and (c) how long did it take before someone in West Campus decided to have some poulet en casserole for supper tonight?
Tired of the non sequiturs? Too bad, it's in fact a great segue into a discussion of my current knitting, which is equally unfocussed and illogical.
It's also falling sadly victim to my poor photography skills. To compensate, I blew out the whites for the sake of color accuracy, which gives the impression that these WIPs are sweet angels appearing to us in holy visions. I say run with it.
I present Exhibit A:
The aptly named DROPS 103-1 Cardigan. That's actually the back, two fronts, and the cuff of a sleeve, but I lacked the space and lens focus to spread all pieces out. Rest assured, the hefty pile of Southwest Trading Company Gianna is in fact a sweater-to-be.
Bamboozled, in bamboo (SWTC Twize). This sucker's going to be too big. I can tell already. But do you see me stopping, starting over? Nooooo. I defy all mathematics, and if you want to help, then give me lots of compliments. This is supposed to be worn round the head, and my cranium simply isn't big enough.
The most beautiful yarn I've encountered in months, Plymouth Royal Silk Merino, in a pattern called Helleborus, for which I didn't buy enough yarn and started out two needle sizes too small. I noticed the problem, frogged it, then started again. Now, do you think I moved up to the right needle size? One bigger? No. Somewhere in my brain, I thought, "It will be fun to knit this on size 8 needles, rather than size 9 which the pattern clearly requires."
It is this frequent failure of logic which so wears on my poor significant other. Lucky for him I'm cute.
Wicked, in Cascade Sierra. I'm not sure why I stopped, but I think it had something to do with the fact that all the stitch markers were across the room and I had lost the ability to hit "pause."
Oh, wait. Leyburn Socks, but not sure where they are. I fell asleep while knitting them the other night, and they're probably somewhere in the bedsheets.
I know, mother, I know.
I am astonishinly unrepentant, however. Completely, totally content! Because everybody's starting too many projects. It's springtime! ADD is the new yoga. Besides, did you see these colorways? If you ever see me going nuts for the yellows and the greens, then you know I've got seasonal affective disorder or whatnot. The thing that makes it impossible to open a dictionary to look up the name of the disorder, among other things.
And you know what? It's fun. Tra la freakin' la!