Welcome to Dullsville

Oh look.

It’s a big brown sock.  It’s a very nice big brown sock, but it is a big brown sock and there’s not much more to say about that. (Thoughtfully, I have photographed it in the kitchen rather than the dining room, just to break up the monotony from yesterday’s picture.)  Sadly, finish-it-up-itis has fled the scene, leaving me totally recovered and dreaming of shiny new knits – but I can’t do anything about that, because it’s me and the sock. Forever. Apparently.

This sock is stuck, and it isn’t even really challenging, I can’t type some funny story about how it’s jerking me around or the pattern has attitude or I mis-counted and ended up in a world of hurt. Nope. Me. Big Brown. I mean it is a really huge sock, ’cause Joe is a refrigerator of a man, but still – this is getting stupid. I knit and knit, and we’re going on together into the sunset of another day.  I feel like even though I’m spending all my free time on this thing… it’s still never finis- oh, wait.  I think I just figured it out.  No free time.  (Note to self: actual knitting is never accomplished without actual knitting time.) If I can meet my Sock Summit work goals and my Sock Camp work goals and my writing work goal today then maybe I’ll make it out of here to Knit Night tonight, and perhaps that’ll break the wee bastard.  (Don’t get on me for calling the sock a bastard either.  I have it on good authority the skeins it’s born of were not married. That’s the technical definition, and this brown sock of perpetuity meets it.)

In the meantime, I wouldn’t get really excited about tomorrow being better.
Big. Brown. Sock.

(Secondary note to self: If I am ever in a spouse choosing position again, I am going to remember this.  It is just as easy to love a small man as a large one.)

(Note to you: Stop it. You have a dirty mind.)