The taste of sky

There are days - a goodly number of them, really - when the sky is a certain colour and that is reflected in everything below it, which is to say everything.

Today is one of those days. The hills are a shade of blue that, if I could bottle it to save for later, could cool a fevered brow and calm an unhappy mind. It is impossible, I think - I hope - to see a sky like this one and still feel anxious. The causes of anxiety do not melt under it, but our ability to breathe and deal and move on increase under such a sky.

None of which means I can continue to ignore the pile of laundry waiting to be done. *sigh* But we can't have everything, can we, or we would become unable to cope with life. Which would be bad.

The scarf is done but for the cast-off row. I haven't gotten to it for two days. It is, I think, my most pathetic knitting fatuity to date. Or at least this year. Perhaps it's that I don't want to weave in eighty billion ends on fingerless gloves. Perhaps it's that I don't know what to cast on next. Perhaps it's just that since frantically knitting the last row before the cast-off edge on the bus two days ago I haven't had the 10 minutes to sit and do the rest. Perhaps.

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.

Pennies down a bottomless well

This has been one of those weeks. I'm today in one of those days. I'm trying to find my bootstraps in order to pick myself up by them. We'll see how that works out.

In happy knitting news, I am FINALLY a repeat and a half from the socks that will not end. I am sure I will love them, but please for the love of teh gawds: next time I say I want to do a project involving 9 rows of a cable pattern out of 15 rows of repeat on 1s, move me away from the pattern book. On a similar note, if you ever notice that I'm adding another repeat of said futsy pattern "because I have enough yarn to do it", stop me. I don't much care how, as long as it doesn't involve scissors or broken dpns.

Next on the needles... I don't know. I think the silk/bamboo/cashmere Art Fibers yarn will finally turn into a sweater, but I also think that sweater will have to be one I (for lack of a better word) design. I'm going to have to figure out this mad thing that is gauge in a more intimate way than I've dared till now. Which yes, I am afraid of.

That is possibly a lie, however, because Lion Brand has finally irrevocably caught my attention with these. I think the time may be coming that I need to learn crotchet cause I want that frog.

And then there is the project for someone that's been nearly done since November. Maybe I should go for the ones in the barrel before trying to be a deep-sea fisherman before building my boat. I think finishing a few things would be good for me.

But before any of that, I think walkies are the order of the afternoon. It's glorious today and t'would be too many shades of the DOAD (Dear Old Athens Days) to spend it inside. Only with this I would be looking at LOLcats instead of Jeremy playing Zelda... 

One of the things I realized in August, the last time this overall blechiness hit me, is that if I go back to comfort things, I can begin to regain my balance. May be time for some focused regression. And, of course, knitting. Or cross stitch. Or sewing. Something tactile.

Yes, I put that on my list, right after work and work. Right. Or I'll just continue to drop my pennies down this well and count till I hear it hit bottom.

Another day, another...

...attempt at communicating. Which is always something of an experiment for me.

Today is Friday (as the time stamp says, yes, I know, but there is a point to this so shaddup and wait for it) and it is about 9:30 and I am sitting at home, waiting for the right moment to start my day. Because I'm not at work. Insert glee here.

I will be. Window Age rehearsals are in full swing, to open in just a few weeks, so until late March my Friday nights are occupied. I love theatre. Love. Really.

But today, during the day, I'm free of computers (gotta work on that). Starting my day will include Fatapples with Clive (probably. Plans have been known to change) and MOMA with the same. Probably won't knit while at the museum, as I have no walking-friendly knitting atm.

I do have, on needles, the most fussy socks evar. EVAR. But they're blues and browns and will be lovely and warm and for me, but still I can't believe I'm taking this long for something that shall ever only be on my feet.

Okay, post the first done. Hopefully I'll keep up with this and eventually find some good things to type about. Hope springs eternal, quoth our country.