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Friday, February 16, 2007

a karmic kick in the pants

Mostly I'm feeling significantly less like this (actual picture of sleeping cat with cold nose - I think he was breathing through his ears)


and a little more vertical. I'm able to speak and now sound more like Demi Moore than Harvey Fierstein (though still somewhere in the middle, and not near normal for me).


Oscar is still very much enjoying the snow (seen here in early stages) and very much enjoys his parka.

(this picture was taken as he did his little "come play with me" prance - not to me, but to Trevor, who came to the door to see what I was looking at, but couldn't be persuaded to set foot in the coldness)


Once it had stopped snowing, we had nearly four inches of ice. Oh, sure, it looks pretty and snowy, but no, this is ice. Ice that does not sink the smallest bit when I walk on it. It's a little surreal to walk across what looks like a light fluffy field and turn and not see any new footprints. Was I really there, or am I still back on the couch high on TheraFlu and dreaming this?

Yesterday was the first day I actually ventured out into civilization, and I felt like Xena the Warrior Princess for figuring out how to get the ice off my car (why are men always on business trips when you need them???)

With that thick ice - that's an actual block of ice from the roof of my car, with a tape measure on top of it attempting to show you that it's more than three inches thick - my little scraper wasn't quite cutting the mustard (why does mustard need to be cut anyway?). I started the car, unlocked - this is important - UNLOCKED the doors so that when I went back inside I wouldn't lock myself out of the car with the motor running, since I did that three times while living in NY, and let the car warm up for a few minutes.

Then I opened the trunk, and the hood. Just an inch or so. But that was enough to crack the ice, and I could shove the gigantic thick sheets off the car, giving you the rubble you see before you now.

And while my not-petite frame doesn't crack the ice in the least, my tiny sweet puppy can do some damage.

Those aren't shovel lines, people, those are teeth marks. From the dog who finds great joy in running down the hill with his teeth scraping against the ice. (he does have more than three teeth, but apparently those three are sharpest)

But anyway, the car is clear, and the cats had no food, so today was errand day.

And here's where karma had a little thing to say about me frivolously taking a week off to writhe in misery. It started with my coffee cup this morning. Bought two years ago for a buck, and apparently worth every penny.

The astute among you will notice the dripping there is not coming from the brim of the mug.


I should have gone back to bed.

But no, I went to AC Moore, where for some reason my paycheck hadn't come in with all the others.

So I went to the pharmecy, where my prescription had run out (despite being told I had two more refills last time I was in there).

So I went to buy catfood, but the store claimed the didn't have the brand I wanted (though the brand's website recommended that store).

And I went to the grocery store, but they didn't have the kind of firewood I wanted.



And now I'm sitting here staring at this sweater, completely stalled out.

And the thing is, I love the sweater I'm working on, and it was going quickly until I hit the current stall point, and I know once I get through this current stall point it will continue quickly and I could conceivably have it finished a week or two after.

It's just this damn current stall point.

I'm about half a diamond up from what you see here (to where the oatmeal color is the big section and the pink is reaching its point). That puts me right where I'd need to be if I were to do short-row-shaping at the bust. And, being a busty gal, I want to do short-row-shaping at the bust. Right?

Someone tell me that college, high school, middle school and the last three years of elementary school were a lie and I suddenly have no need or short-row-shaping at the bust. Please.

Because for some reason, my head refuses to wrap around the concept of short-rows in the argyle pattern. It just shuts off completely. I sit down to knit it, and can no longer form stitches. I attempt to chart it out first, and can't even type. I start to daydream about the shawl that I decided would be cruise knitting...

Just cannot get past this - three, maybe four, not-even-full rows, and it's completely brought me to a standstill.

I'm going to love the sweater. I can see the finished sweater, and it's gorgeous, and stunning, and I look darn cute in it.

I just can't see those damn short rows.

Instead, I see the sign the universe has stuck to my back today.

7 Comments:

Blogger Jane said...

I know! Send the sweater to Bess! Promise her something good if she'll just figure it out for you. You can't afford to tip the karmic see-saw any further, so just send the sweater to Bess. ;-)

6:05 PM  
Blogger Javajem said...

You are good enough, smart enough and dog-gonit - you can knit it!!

It will come to you. I have faith : )

9:55 PM  
Blogger Kadiddly said...

*hugs*

10:22 PM  
Anonymous AmyP said...

Yikes! What a day! You could always fit the short rows in quite tightly in the pink diamonds and do one or two sets of those to get the extra room you need.

3:56 PM  
Anonymous sallyjo said...

I was stuffing inserts into the papers this morning and saw an ad asking if someone had lost a cat, and thought of you and Aslan, and was hoping this poor kitty had found her Amie.
Does mustard need to be mowed?
My brain won't do short rows either, so I can't help you there.

5:25 PM  
Anonymous sallyjo said...

By the way, are you really that fluffy? I'm jealous.

5:31 PM  
Blogger Valerie said...

Argh, what a day! BUT your dog cracks. me. up.

9:03 PM  

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