Holding breath

Right.

So tech happened. Is happening. Will be what it will be. My only complaint is that I'm running the lights and sound for this show which means a substantial loss of knitting time. Good knitting time, since by and large all the actors are on the stage all the time and there are no quick changes. Lie. That's not my only complaint, but it's my favourite one right now, so I'm sticking to it.

 

And.

I still love my futsy socks (they make me smile when I wear them. Seriously.) which means the time has come to get on to/finish the next thing. Which is a surprise, but I'm enjoying it. Mostly.

Not.

Focusing down or in. Not right now. Well. Trying to focus more on the positive. The weather is giving me an excellent lesson in this right now. We've got our rain on which means wet, squeaky feet and shoes, colds, unattractive headgear. And: rain. We're looking a pretty scary summer in the face right now; a bit of rain would be just what the reservoirs would order. If they weren't glorified lakes with no phone or internet access, and no way of ordering anything.

 

So.

I'm a month and a day from 31 which doesn't freak me out. I run no risk of being bored in the remotely near future. I am surrounded by people who trust and (kind of) like me.

Holding one's breath feels good. But it feels even better when balanced with the exhale.

I could live with this

There are reasons I enjoy knitting in public. One is that I've never gotten over the fear that everyone in the world is looking at me, mocking me (like the girls in my 6th grade class, but I digress) and if I'm knitting I have a pretty solid idea of what they're looking at. Another is that knitting in public, like writing or drawing or being pregnant, is something that occasionally breaks down the personal space barriers so that the complete stranger who sat next to me on the bus today looked at the yarn and needles in my hands, looked at his scarf and said "How quickly can you knit that thing?" to which I responded "It'll take a bit longer than this trip, I'm afraid." 

(Of course this was before I realized that I'd left my pattern at home and while I have the gist of it down, I don't have row beginnings and ends memorized yet. So I had to stop knitting before properly leaving Berkeley. But again, I digress.)

I like sharing what I do. There is something so wonderful about how complex the simple act of knitting (or many other crafts and arts) is and when others take joy in that... Well, there really isn't enough joy in the world, generally speaking. Adding to it is pretty darn groovy.

The finicky socks are done (and when I invest in a digital camera, or beg Clive for the use of his, I'll start putting pictures up here) and the next project, which is really the second piece of a set which is a surprise, is on my needles. I keep looking at the list of projects I'd like to be working on (or have finished and wearing) and get cramps, but then I put the socks on and feel much better. They are magic socks.

Works are works are works. I'm grateful beyond belief to even have a job, but the tapioca-brain thing which has been my norm for more than a week can stop like nowish. Or start feeling normal. At this point I'd settle for either.

I totally understand those people who want to knit for a living. Then I remember what doing theatre for a living did to my love for it, and I think: Actually the office job is not so bad after all.