It’s taken a while, but I guess the answer is finally yes. Sucks. So eloquent, and yet, that just about sums it up. I’ve never been much of a wordsmith outside of academic papers (audience: one) and I won’t start now. I’m pathetic, lonely, sad, heartbroken, prone to tears, a torch song waiting to be written. Not at all what my beloved Bryn Mawr taught me to want to be.
I’ve been struggling with what this blog should be. Knitting, obviously, but so much goes into, and on behind the scenes of, the knitting. And I can’t always hide it. Or feel like I should. I’m shy about too many professional details, because I don’t want to be bitten in the ass by my whining come job-hunting season, but really … so much of my life and free time (ha) are consumed by the academic world and my inability to feel at home there. Knitting is the lull in the storm of self-doubt and -recrimination. It’s the way I feel human again and the way in which I attempt to create some human warmth and connection. I make things. Sometimes I give them to people. It’s so simple.
Right now, I’m doing one project at a time. That method is the most satisfying, I find. The Citrus Yoke is stalled until more yarn arrives to finish the sleeves.
I’m looking forward to having another hand knit sweater. The Drops Jacket is getting worn to death.
In sock news:
another pair of Jaywalkers, this time for my mom. Her Christmas Monkeys were repurposed as an emergency gift for a visiting friend — who wanted something hand knit immediately.