It’s starting to seem that there is light at the end of the Sock Summit tunnel. It occurred to me this morning, as I drank what must be the millionth cup of coffee in the last week, that it’s possible that this is all my natural optimism, and that the light at the end of the tunnel is actually an oncoming train – but I don’t think so. I have fewer post-its every day, another big task bites the dust with every moment that I sit at my desk, and really I think stuff’s getting done.
There’s brilliant moments too – like Natalie yelling "Fine- WHATEVER. YOU DON’T KNOW MY LIFE" at the printer when it seized up and munched another teacher schedule into oblivion. Mind you, that could have something to do with the fact that it was about a thousand degrees in my dining room and I was totally forcing her to work in a terrible little sweatshop. (Rachel H remembers the sweatshop from last time. She was stoic.)
The best sign that things are starting to get reasonable, is that the knitting is picking up again. Not by leaps or bounds, but in little chunks that make me feel way more sane. Last night I actually sat and knit for 20 whole minutes in a row, and that’s a very good thing, because the deadline on this baby blanket is coming up fast enough that the mama is starting to worry about my lack of knitting time.
There’s legend round these parts that no baby comes before I finish their blanket, and If you’re buying into that legend, you’re 36 weeks pregnant in a hot steamy July and I’m not knitting (thus trapping you into possibly more time pregnant in a hot steamy July) – you’re going to get pretty pissed off, pretty quick.
I have a feeling I better knit faster. I don’t want to be responsible for a moment of that.