Turns out, when left to my own devices I end up at the mall. I do not like the mall. Used to be that I went so infrequently — to the really big one out on Route 1 with the gigantor parking lot, not the ubiquitous and completely unavoidable run-of-the-mill New Jersey strip mall where all the good Chinese food is — that I’d get my ears pierced again. It balanced things out. Well, now I’ve got a total of seven holes and would be venturing into cartildge, which is not somewhere I trust Claire’s to go without infection and all kinds of gross consequences. Not to mention that I like pain even less than I like malls.
So I had to go to the mall without getting my ears pierced.
Then I had to go back to return something. The good news: I now own a few items of well-fitting intimate apparel that I’ve been needing desperately all semester. The bad news: two consecutive days at the mall.
It’s cut into my knitting time.
This one is so close: just a few more inches on the seemingly interminable garter stitch handle. I hope it will be a useful size, it looks a bit on the small side right now. Of course, mesh is stretchy so all might be well. The trick will be getting the handle long enough to be functional, without being so long that it stretches beyond reason. A delicate balance.
Yep, not much progress. I’ve got to get a big swatch started and figure out what should go where and how many stitches I need overall and … yeah, there’s still lots to do. But I’ve got the summer.
These were perfect while writing: simple, straightforward, no way to get lost or really even mess up. The crazy yarn does all of the work, I just collect the compliments at the coffeeshop.
That’s why I love that particular place: not only are they Southern-nice, with plenty of ironic facial hair and hipster watching opportunities, they also compliment my knitting. Once somewhere over in East Nashville, where I was just reading and minding my own business — though feeling decidedly un-trendy and tragically un-hip — some lady complimented me on my dashing mitts. They are admittedly quite dashing. All well and good. Then she proceeded to ask me if I’d like to knit a pair for her. Like? Um, not really. I haven’t been back there. What I’d like is to not get hit up by strangers seeking handknits.
But I digress. I’ve got the whole summer to dedicate to non-commissioned projects. I’m even still holding out hope that I might find time to resurrect a few sorely neglected WIPs: lizard ridge (that thing is older than most of the children I know), earth stripe (so pretty, so tangly), mini-kate (I started this for my ex’s mom way back in 2007, when he wasn’t my ex and it wasn’t kinda weird), maybe even girasole? This is all obviously too much, but I am overjoyed at the prospect of a summer without looming deadlines of despair.
In fact, I think the measure of my relief is somehow reflected in the extremely frivolous nature of my relaxation: all of the stuff that I never ever take time to do, or really even think of doing in the normal course of life, like painting my toenails or going to the mall or buying pretty but impractical shoes or drinking lots of wine while watching internet tv (okay, that one happens more than I’d like to admit, though not as often as you might think).
(there are notes, if you’re interested)
Which is exactly how I ended up going into DSW looking for hiking boots and came out with these sandals. Sandals that I both love and am almost certain to never wear outside of the house. Maybe for Halloween.