I’ve finally realized that I’m pretty much a one project gal.  Every time I attempt more than one project at a time I begin worrying about neglecting the original project or playing favorites or get so caught up in the exhilaration of starting something new that I fear nothing will ever be completed and my apartment will be swallowed up by the lonely, dusty beginnings of things. 

See, I’m working on the Halfobi and I’ve got a couple of pairs of socks I’d like to make and then there are a couple of cardigans I have my eye on … but it’s just too much.  I don’t have that much knitting time — and what time I do have right now has to be reading time as well.   So no complicated patterns, stitches, counting.  Basically, anything beyond stockinette and the simplest of rib patterns is a no-no.  Anyway, with too many projects, I get distracted from the reading (very, very bad) and start to worry about all of the unfinished, barely started but yet already neglected piles of wool around the house.  Just collecting cat hair. 

Because who else could be my faithful knitting companion, if not Miss Alice P.?  And although she is many things, she is above all else shedding

She supervised — and blessed with drifts of fuzzy tortie hair — today’s Halfobi progress and reading.  I finally sucked it up and knit on the necessary 75 stitches (adjusted for gauge) for the other front of the body — I’d been putting it off out of sheer laziness and unwillingness to devote non-reading time to the task.  Instead, I knit gauge swatches for socks, began socks that were destined only to be frogged, etc.  Obviously, a much better use of my time.  But today a good couple of inches of progress:

The color is funky, but it’s dark and that’s the best I could do.  I’m not much of a photographer.  But progress!  I’m looking forward to wearing this when the weather will again tolerate wool. 

And in other news, I think I might have found IT.  You know, that special dissertation-worthy topic that just might be worth devoting a couple of years of your life (nay, your best years) to.  We’ll see.  Too early to tell.  Or to awaken the wrath of the dissertation Gods.