Goodness is its own reward

I am knitting clogs. Endlessly, in perpetuum, clogs.
Even though clogs are sort of freaky cool (look at the size of that!) I’ve knit a dozen pair this winter. I’m sick to death of them. I’m starting to have fantasies about tiny little needles and tiny little yarn and very tricky lace and cable stitches and ….oh yeah.
I try so hard to be good, really I do. All I have to do is knit the three pairs of clogs and then I can knit something else. I told my friend they would be done this week and I swear it they will be. I’m not a quitter. Still, the stash is calling me. This morning when I passed the closet that holds the worst of it, I gave it a little kick to shut it up. I had to move the Fleece Artist sock yarn out of my field of vision, and the white laceweight somehow didn’t get put away the other day. Oddly, there is a pair of needles beside it and a little scrap of paper with the scrawled directions for a the beginnings of a “snowdrop shawl” has materialized. I have no idea how that happened. Somebody dragged “Folk Socks” off the shelf, and made a real mess of the sock yarn pile. Not me, no way..I wasn’t playing in the stash, I was …er, tidying up, yeah, that’s it. Cleaning up after all these other people who live here. When I wasn’t cleaning I was knitting clogs, because I’m a good person and I’m really focussed and I would never, never abandon the clogs. I also didn’t take this out of the interim stash box.
That would have been the mice. Tall mice. Scary really. The little turds likely printed off this pattern and put it by the wool too…The ball winder? I was dusting that, just put it down by the swift. Back off. I’m knitting clogs.