Last night, Joe and I were watching some dumb thing on TV, and I was so irritated and he was bugging me (not his fault, though I was sure it was at the time) and my knitting was annoying me, and my email was all terrible, and the weather was impossible and the dinner I made wasn’t very good and the cat was off the hook with the way she was being a cat (I am not snuggling something furry in this freakin’ heat, stay off my damn lap) and I suddenly realized that I was magnificently tired. Then I coughed – if by coughed you understand that I mean I hacked until I just about wept, then I sneezed. Then I coughed again, and then I said something really filthy, and I went the H E double-hockey sticks to bed. I slept for just about nine hours – except for the coughing, and when I got up I could see the way forward, and it was a day of rest and solitude, and that is what I have had.
Well, not totally. It didn’t absolutely work out. Joe worked from home for the morning, and Sam was home shortly after he left, and I had work to do, and stuff like that, but I could decide when and how to do it, and I could stay off my road bike for a day – and I did. I plunked myself down in the backyard, where it was pretty and nice to work, and I did the stuff that was vital, and then, a thought occurred to me. I had been planning a 3 hour bike ride today. I somehow found the time to give for that, so if I wasn’t going to get on my bike, didn’t I still have that time? To do something else? LIKE KNIT MAYBE?
Heck yeah. I wound that little gradient skein of baby alpaca into a ball because I’ve sort of been obsessed with it, and then I picked a pattern already in my Rav library, and I plunked my little self down in the back garden (until it rained) and then I went inside and kept on knitting until I felt like I’d done a long bike ride’s worth.
The pattern I picked is Zuzu’s Petals (because I was totally happy with the last time I used handspun for it) and I’m churning along, happy as a little duck. I’m telling you, I’m pretty sure that I don’t have enough yarn to finish, and I don’t care. Not even a little bit. I’ll figure it out when I get there, I’m sure there will be something that I can do. I mean, I’m an inventive person, and… sometimes what you’re making isn’t the point, and sometimes it doesn’t need to work out, it doesn’t need to make something, it just needs to … make. Be transformed. Move from one state to another even though I can’t.
I’m just sitting in the backyard knitting right now, and sniffling into a tissue a little bit, and writing things as I think of them (and possibly having a beer) and slowly and delicately crossing things off a to-do list that is made up of all sitting down jobs, and I’ve let go of the idea of making dinner (screw it, we’ll have popcorn) and I expect tomorrow to have a lot more joie de vivre in it, and probably, a cowl, which has got to be good news for the cat, because last night her future wasn’t looking good.
Peace out, Knitters.