So on Friday I had the surreal experience of being on tv, which actually doesn’t feel like you are on tv but would instead feel more like being chased by wild dogs with red eyes and rabies. Or something like that.
I haven’t blogged about it (well…until now) because, to tell you the honest truth, I don’t remember it very well. At all. I remember going into the studio. I remember the charming and ridiculously good looking hosts talking to me about knitting. I remember knitting….but I don’t remember what I said.
As I walked toward the hosts the first time I remember thinking three things.
1. This is live. Do not use “colourful language”, do not say “arse” too much and in the name of humanity….do not let me do something horrible, like spit when I talk or laugh that way I do when I’m nervous. Do not let me lose my everlovin’ mind and talk about mohair while I giggle oddly, it makes people think I am whacked.
2. Why are all these people so thin?
3. Please, oh please oh please in the name of all things wooly….strike me with lightning. Quickly, right now…before I get to that chair and the terrifying green light goes on the top of the camera and I open my fool mouth and babble about yarn in a way that makes me sound like a crazy woman. Make the lightning swift and sure before I tell one more person that I think knitting is “fun” in that chirpy voice I can’t seem to stop. Immolate me right down to the freakin shoes. Please, oh please.
Then the green light went on, and I knit on my sock and I don’t remember a thing. Not a single moment. Some sort of hysteria induced blackout. I remember that everyone was very nice, I vaguely remember feeling like they asked good questions, I remember that at no point in either of the interviews did any of them suddenly go white or appear uncomfortable, which would probably mean that I didn’t say something horrible that could be interpreted as a wildly disturbing sheep fetish.
We’ll see. Apparently they send you a tape. (I have mixed feelings about the tape. On the one hand, I desperately want to watch it so that I can see everything that I did, on the other hand…What is the point of watching now that it’s over? I mean, if the worst did happen and I looked the way that I felt…(which was sort of like if I was a hyena with an essay due on Friday who happened to be trapped against a cliff wall by a group of tick and herpes infested starving Siberian Tigers) then why would I want to know? Why?)
I can tell you that if I had not had my knitting in my lap to keep my hands busy then I don’t know what would have happened. No idea. Without my knitting I likely would have wigged out in a very Harlot, but grossly ineffective way. As long as I had that knitting in my lap….I had one thing that I knew was going right, one thing I knew how to do. I hadn’t realized until right that moment, that knitting really takes the edge off of nervy stuff. Flicking the yarn over the stitches while I talked, it was almost like having a sort of weird meditative thing. (“I’m in my happy place” ).
If I did not rave, say arse or throw up on tv (and it has not been confirmed that I did not do these things) then I have this sock to thank. (This sock is for someone special and has been having a pretty good time. Not many socks get to go on tv.)
I will now resume neurotically obsessing over the little speech I have to give tomorrow night at the launch. (I’m so excited to meet everyone and so frightened to stand up in front of them that I can scarcely work a decrease.) Any minute now the people booking all this stuff are going to come to their senses and I’ll go back to the laundry.
I leave you with this….Hare-lot. Holy crap….is that screech? Pass it over.
(Thanks Katy…I love her hair.)
(PS. It would appear that much email was lost in my servers hissy fit over the last few weeks. If you think you should have heard from me, but haven’t…try again.)