A Smattereing of Thoughts that Doesn’t Amount to Much

Today is a beautiful day. It’s warm, but not hot, sunny, but not searing, there’s a breeze, but it doesn’t threaten the well being of the porch cushions. In other words, the sort of weather that we get in Ohio for about fifteen minutes a year. Once I finish writing this (and cleaning the house and doing the laundry) I plan to have a little quality time with ye olde out of doors. I’ve got out the cushions on the deck, and only about half of them are wet. (It’s been a bit rainy in a lovely way.)

I’m sitting on the living room floor as I write this, with all the windows and the front door open. Why do I always end up on the floor? Writing? On the floor. Cleaning? Usually on the floor. Watching Oliver? On the floor. Various sexual acts? On the floor. Running late for work? Well, that was technically a sidewalk, but it was floor-like. (I ran into a tree, I was fine.)

My orientation is in two days, and the thought of this is making me so nervous that my reproductive organs are starting to jump back into my body. (It’ll be fine, as I remind myself for the 1,000th time as I re-read my guide to Destination Kent State.)

Well, I’ve been knuckling down on the knitting front here recently.  I went up to the library yesterday and brought home a movie, an audiobook (a small one) and a CD and have been busily at work ever since. I’ve watched the movie twice, listened to the audiobook and have certainly made progress. I’ve done most of the knitting, and a lot of the finishing for this sweater. I made the first half, and took it in the try on Sadie, and lo and behold, I’d made it two inches short on the sleeve. Damn. I was hoping that, you know, a woman’s arm would be shorter than my, a man’s, arm, but no. It was still too short, so right now, I’m working on making it longer on the first piece. (The second is having it’s first bath right now. I’ll fix it later.)

I was feeling lazy when I set down to knit up the new cuff, so instead of taking out the seam and unraveling the I-cord cast-off, I decided to embody an old technique of mine. Well, sort of. Let me explain. In the great spirit of EZ I come up with things all the time. Little tricks that I use when the situation calls for it, that I just come up with by playing around a little bit. Then, I use the whatever it is, and move on with my life. Then a while later, I’m reading a book on knitting and see the thing that I came up with. This happens to me all the time, and I always swear that I had never seen, or even heard about whatever it was. Then I ponder how much easier my life would be if I had a better memory, and wonder, if I were to write a book, how much of it would be plagiarism.

Well, in a few minutes I’ll finish off the cuff, and then work on something else, till the other end is dry. I can’t wait to be done with this one, and while I’m not going to let myself start anything new, I’ll still be able to work on something else, and more importantly, something for me. Knitting for others is fun, but often a risky business. They might not like it, they might not appreciate it, they might wash it in the machine. It is a risky enterprise. Granted, knitting for yourself is just about as risky, but at least your taking the risk for yourself. I guess it just boils down to it that knitting is a fickle mistress, and, to be perfectly frank, a bitch. But, I guess that I am just a masochist, because, really, I always go running back for more.

(Knitting as masochism? Now there’s one for the Yarn Harlot.)

(Also, I’m hoping that if I write “masochism” enough, then I’ll get some more search refers. Granted, I’m not sure that I want some creepy internet Sadist looking at my blog, but as long as they leave comments, I’ll live with it.)

I am undergoing my yearly debacle with Father’s day. This isn’t your standard battle with Father’s day. I’ve got a great father, and really my problems with him are perfectly normal for the father/son relationship. (Except when he starts spouting the libertarian bullshit.) But the real problem with it is, I can never remember when it is. When is it? I’m still not 100% sure. I always want to say that it is June 14th, but I know that isn’t right. That’s flag day. (I don’t get why I confuse the two. Maybe some founding father childhood misunderstanding? I don’t really care enough to figure it out. ) Anyway, I don’t really remember when it is. I looked at my calendar and that told me that it was the 16th. Well, I thought that it was the second Sunday in June. That makes sense. Mothers get May, fathers get June? Right? Well, no. I knew that tomorrow was the second Sunday, because I did something on the first, and it was a Saturday, so the day after, a Sunday, would have been the first Sunday in June, which would make Father’s day tomorrow. But, the calendar I picked up at a yard sale a month ago (and it’s for this year, I checked) told me that it was the 16th. Well, then I must have been wrong (it pains me to admit that) and it is third Sunday in June.

Or maybe I’ll be that terrible son who forgets Father’s day. (I can remember Mother’s day, because it typically falls near my birthday, and I am far to narcissistic to forget that.)

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