1. In the span of less that 12 hours I have gone from somebody who had a little bit of a scratchy throat, to someone who has a cold that is actually going to be memorable. After this cold I am going to say things like "Remember that cold I had in the winter of '04? That was a bad one." This cold will have epic poems written about it, disgusting ballads, perhaps.
2. These guys.
How did they know I wasn't feeling well? Is there some sort of hotline I can call? "Hello? Yes, this is Stephanie Pearl-McPhee. You mustn't know this, because if you did I'm sure you wouldn't have come today. I have a smashing headache and a cold that will be written about in the books that record such things. Now that you know this, I'm sure that you will GET YOUR *&^%$#!!! LOUD ROAD DIGGING THINGIE AWAY FROM THE FRONT OF MY HOUSE."
The vibration the digger is making is rattling my teeth in my head. This normally would only be annoying, but since there is already so much wrong with my head, the urge to wander into the street and lay myself in front of the digger so that the end comes swiftly is just about overwhelming.
3. This is the back room.
That's enough to piss anybody off isn't it? The room has no walls, no floor and no ceiling. The room also has nobody who seems inclined to put these things back, but I'm sure that the contractor guy will return my calls soon.....
(Now would not be when it should be pointed out that *I* ripped the back of my house up.)
The back of the house being ripped up is becoming the focal point of my life. It's all I can do or think about. I'm starting to say things like "Laundry? Have you SEEN the back of the house?" Substitute, "Dinner" "Shopping" "Bill Paying" or "Marital relations" and you have the sum total of my conversational ability. Well, that and "I need a tissue" and "get me tea".
4. The walls, ceiling and floor from this room are in the backyard. I need to take them to the dump. I didn't do this yesterday because I didn't quite feel like myself. I thought I might be getting sick. I decided to put it off until today (get this, classic bonehead move) when I would be feeling better.
I hate myself.
5. I knit a pathetic 4 cm on the Rainbow Peerie socks last night (Who asked me about the yarn and pattern? It's Lanett superwash merino in black and "stained glass", the pattern is another Harlot back-of-an-envelope special).
I tried to knit more, but all I seemed to be capable of was holding the knitting. Substantial movement of the hands and fingers made my hair hurt. You know how it is.
6. I have cast on a new baby blanket 4 times. The first time I counted wrong. The second time I changed my mind about the pattern, the third time I decided that I wanted a provisional cast on instead, and the fourth time I got frustrated with the crochet hook, jammed it down the side of my couch and pretended it was lost. (Have you SEEN the back of my house?)
7. I left the lights on in the pick-up truck yesterday. I am thinking about claiming that I don't know why it won't start this morning, except that I'm the only one who has somewhere to go.
8. I was going to make Amanda this hat. I like this hat. I knit one for myself and I think that it looks great. Imagine my surprise in discovering that this is a "dork" hat. Imagine my further surprise when I discovered that it is nothing about the pattern that grants it the title of "dork hat". the shape is good, she likes everything about it. The only thing standing between her and a love affair with this hat is (if you are a mother of a young girl...like, less than 11 years old, sit down and take a deep breath now. The following 15 year old bullcrap is to be expected. It will happen to you, and it will not be any less shocking or painful because I have warned you. The realization that you are a dork is a painful and inevitable force.) Amanda's problem with the hat is, and I quote "I'm not wearing a hat you like".
Suggestions for a hat I would *not* like are being accepted.
Non snarky answers to polite questions.
How did you do the baby poncho?
The baby poncho was knit out of 2 skeins of Bernat Miami (I wanted something that could be chewed). I cast on 52 stitches but used a 5.5mm needle so that it wouldn't be so "holey" as the regular Harlot Poncho. The gauge worked out to about 16 sts/10cm and the length was about 26cm (measured along the increase/yo line).
How about Emma's poncho?
Emma's poncho was knit using a chunky wool, and following the Harlot pattern casting on 52 stitches (but using the regular 9mm needle. It was knit to a length of 50cm, measured down the YO line on the front or back.
Are you sick of poncho's?
Yes. I believe I may be. (That took longer than expected, didn't it?)
Soon. All will be revealed in the fullness of time. Hold your horses.