I hate the thought of saying this on a knitting blog, but I really haven’t been knitting much. I’ve been knitting some, but nowhere near the usual amounts of yarn I move through OCD style. The urge to make things comes and goes with me, and while I still love knitting in theory, I’m not really loving it in actuality. I’ve been doing a little bit in the mornings, but nothing major, and really, I haven’t made any progress to speak of in the past few days.
However, it appears that even I knit to much for my own good. What you have here is a completed half of Sadie’s sweater. Well, not really a completed half, mostly a completed half. I got lazy while knitting the sleeve and sort of said. “Ah, it’ll grow while blocking.” Yeah, but not about six inches worth. I should have found some thinner yarn to use. I still need to add about two inches to the sleeve.
I still haven’t cast on the other half. When you’re really not in the mood for knitting, you really are not in the mood to cast on 200+ stitches in a slubby yarn. You know? I keep asking myself, What was I thinking? But really, Past Garret has caused a lot of the problems in my life. I swear I would kill him, but I can’t, at least till I get that time machine.
What else have I been up to you ask. Well, I read a few books this week. This really is worth mentioning because I’ve been wading through Middlemarch and David Copperfield for months. The first one was called, Jack Holmes and His Friend, by Edmund White. It’s the story of a gay man who falls in love with a straight man, and therefore has to endure, essentially, the way that his unrequited love fucks up the rest of his life. This books spans the two’s relationship over decades, and while it doesn’t have the ending I want it to have — which we all know can’t happen, it does have a more or less happy ending.
Then, after devouring that one, I went up to my books shelves to pick out another one. I just couldn’t find it in me to pick up Middlemarch again. You know it’s a long book when it takes you about five minutes to finish a sentence. I looked at my sheleves, saw what looked the most appetizing, and then promptly chose this next book simply because it was on the top. The Object of my Affection, by Stephen McCauley. Oh, how I loved this book. I read it in less than two days and I didn’t even once look and see how many pages were left before I finished it. I don’t even know how many pages of it there are. I really don’t care. Each and every one of those pages was worth the time it took me to read them –simply because of the way that they made me fee. (374, I looked it up.)
The book is essentially the story of a gay man, named George (which, a book in which a gay man was the central character and the narriator was kind of un-heard of when this book was written in 1987) who moves in with his friend Nina in the wake of the end of his relationship with this horrible professor who was one of those OCD types. (Seriously, this dude is a total tool. He gave Nina Georges name and number without telling George. Without even discussing it! And then cheated on him. If I were George that man would have had to have his morning coffee through an IV.) Anyway, Nina then gets pregnant by this overbearing guy that she doesn’t really like that much. (Maybe she liked him more than I did.) And she certainly doesn’t want to get married, and wants to raise the baby with George. George doesn’t know what he wants to do, and ends up going away for the weekend to Vermont with the ex-boyfriend and meets this awesome guy named Paul — who also wants a part of George, a part that he really can’t share with Nina. It is a lovely, charming, and funny novel about the many ways to make a family.
Oh, but I loved George. I loved George. I want to hold George and tell him that everything is going to be okay. This was such a tearful book for me. I think I burst into tears at least once a chapter. (I love it when a book touches such emotional chords with me that it reduces me to tears.) I loved George, and several times I found myself sobbing and moaning “I don’t want him to end up with that pregnant bitch!” George is so sensitive and sweet and is so damaged and often vulnerable. I loved George.
Oddly enough, this book which I loved so much that I am immediately re-reading it, was one I just picked up at the bookshop on a whim — and because it was $1.25. I brought it home and put it on the bookshelf, and let it gather dust. I brought it home and was looking at it, and reading the plot, and it said on the cover about it being made into a movie with Jennifer Aniston and Paul Rudd, and I thought for a minute and read that plot again. Holy Shit. I ‘ve seen this movie. From what I can remember, they were very different, but with the same basic story. I don’t remember how the movie ends though. I don’t think I liked it, but that was a little while ago. I remember I watched it on a Sunday though! Doesn’t that account for something?
Anyway, have a good rest of the weekend.