The Labor of a Gansey

Here I am on this last official weekend of summer. I’m sweaty and hot, but I don’t think that I’ve really been cold since about March. (Odd year.) The knitting is woolly, and very big, and not exactly something that I am really enjoying, but you’ve heard me whine about this enough already. Except the fact that I hate knitting this sweater soooooooo much. I hate it!

Well, what else. I put down 50 shades because it was making me feel funny. I’ve realized something about myself, which always startles me because I think I should know myself pretty well by now. I like books that make me happy. I like ones that reaffirm my faith in humanity, (which is pretty shaken by this point) that make me feel alive, and that convince me that anything is possible. This book just made me feel like I was doing something very, very bad that I shouldn’t be doing. I also lost all respect for the main character when she agreed to be his submissive, and I couldn’t stand her.

Anyway, now that we’ve forayed into my current bash on popular fiction, lets move back to knitting. I’m really looking forward to knitting something else. I’m thinking about it and dreaming about it, and writing poetry about it. (See me in the next Winter Interweave.) I consult my papers and see that I either need to do another yoke shaping, or a fancy. (Fancy is a Gansey, Aran, or Fair Isle.) I have this lovely German yarn that would make a great saddle shoulder sweater. And I’m also starting to puzzle through this shaping, digging into it and seeing what mysteries in unearths. It shouldn’t be too hard, but those are very famous last words before it comes to me ripping and re-knitting. Ripping and re-knitting. Ripping and Re-knitting, till I give up, and move to Minnesota, become a librarian, and pretend that I’d never even heard of Elizabeth Zimmermann, and when some wayward knitter comes into the library looking for one of her books I tell him that “you can buy socks at Wal-mart for a dollar.”

Or something like that.

Anyway, I’ve got a long weekend to play with. (I may end up working Monday, but we’ll see how Sunday goes.) I have no idea what to do. There is this knitting, but one can only knit so much before the word “lazy” starts to be brandied about, (mostly in my head) and before the wrists start to hurt. I must preserve the wrists, because slobbering and cannibalism doesn’t translate well to blogging, or so I’ve been told. (I’ve yet to test this theory.) I should “get up” with my new story, but again, I really don’t want to. You know the feeling. I really just want to sit here, eat cookies, and listen to NPR all day, but I won’t, mostly because they’re doing this story about bugs who crawl into people’s ears while they’re asleep. (ew.)

So, what are your plans for the weekend?

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