How to drive someone crazy from 1100 miles away

28 September 2006

In which I blame everyone but myself

So, we are in the swing of things with the new job, and it's time to get back to the regularly scheduled life I once had. Nevermind the past few weeks which were taken up with menu study, protocol study, and an odd lack of confidence I can't explain. I let myself get down, and it's time for the manic part of manic depression to begin again.

Upswing and onward! But you won't be able to tell, because I am going to talk about some really pissy stuff.

The mitts. I am really upset about these damn mitts. I have to rip them out and start over again, simply because it will take me less time to do that than to either tink back or pull the DPNs and pick up the stitches before the mistakes were made. Just so you know, never try to cable while catching up with an old friend on your hands-free cellular set. You will not only forget to click the clickety little row counter and totally lose track of the cable, but the stupid wire that runs from ear to shirt to cell (Bluetooth? What's Bluetooth?) will become knit somehow between two stitches on the needle. You will not notice this until you come all the way around twice, because your old friend is so freaking interesting. So, thanks a lot, Lindsay, you dirty bitch. I am blaming you.

What's more about the mitts, I will definitely run out of yarn in the middle of the second one.
Swan sent me the Cascade 220 I am using for them, and is trying to find some leftover from the dyelot so I might be able to finish them. Otherwise, I can totally sport the Wacko Jacko one-mitt look at Rhinebeck. Bless her little pea-pickin' heart, I don't know what I'd do without her leftovers. I blame the postal service for not delivering the back-up yarn she's sending me sooner.

I was so excited about Yoshi's sweater. (Note past tense.) I was totally convinced that I had only two more rows of mindless stockinette in the round before I could divide for the arms, and then I checked the pattern, which tells me no, two more inches (which adds up to about ten more rows). I am converting something into the round, and I feel so clever about the whole thing, until I realize that I didn't look at the pattern and was relying on my measurements of Yoshi. Fucking ease and drape. I suppose if I really want him to have an oversized slouchy sweater, I should have considered these things. I blame the fool who told me I should trust the tape measure and not the pattern. I won't name any names. It's possible she doesn't exist. I blame her, though.

Lace? What lace?

In the five minutes I have had per day to devote to knitting, I am almost done with the fluffy cuff on his Xmas stocking. Fucking fluffy-ass yarn with its eyelashes and invisible nylon cord. I scoff at you, eyelash yarn! Scoff, scoff!

I am even having a hard time knitting in front of tv. Damn you, new season of House! Damn your interesting plotlines which will probably have the same effect on my knitting as talking to Lindsay!

Okay, for real now, I am going to go knit. And I am going to make something worthy of a photograph, whether it be me with DPNs piercing my skull, self-inflicted from my state of dementia, or something more, say, fabric-like in nature. And when it turns out golden and beautiful and perfect, I will take full credit.

And I had absolutely nothing to do with Olive getting ill. It was very noble of her to try to take the hit for Maggie, and I am sure she places no real blame on me. She has too much character for such nonsense.

And to Kelly: I was so sorry to hear about Maggie the Cat. I am sure she will be sorely missed.


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