A good day to stay home

Since my usually keen sense of humor went belly up on Tuesday, and my coping skills hid under the bed on Wednesday, I made the choice to give up a few bucks and take a comp day.

Judging from this view out the front window, I picked a good day to do it.

So, at 1:15 in the afternoon, this is my perspective.

You know I knit backwards, don’t you? When someone asks me to teach them how to knit, I wince. I can’t teach you. I do it backwards. I’m left handed, if that helps explain it.

You might move your stitches from the left needle onto the right. I move from the right needle onto the left. If I put my needle into the stitch like you do to knit, I end up with a twisted stitch. I have no idea why. So I enter the stitch backwards, too.

(By the way, I had no idea how difficult it is to photograph myself knitting.)

Julie from My 45th Year posted a picture of her messenger bag. It made me remember this really cool scarf that I forgot I made. I bought the Manos from her shop several years ago, and the wooly bits interspersed throughout are from the shop, too. I really love this scarf. Thanks, Julie…for reminding me.

Good grief. That godawful, sappy, melodramatic, BS song about the little boy and his dying mother and the shoes is on the radio again.

CLICK. I hate that damned song.

I should do something productive today and put up the Christmas tree, but the Christmas spirit, if there is such a beast, has yet to visit this house.

Besides, I told myself yesterday that today was all about knitting, spinning, and staying in my pajamas all day.

I wonder if I could get away without having a tree this year?

My mother asked me if I wanted a jewelry box for Christmas this year. I think I said ‘no’, but maybe I should have said ‘yes’. There seems to be an organizational problem happening on my bureau. Some of it is caused by my relentless zeal for acquiring things, like some sort of demented squirrel, packing away the goodies for the coming famine.

We won’t even talk about my yarn stash, which really is shameful. However, judging from my reading on Ravelry, it’s not nearly as “bad” as others.

It’s not like I grew up impoverished. Though when I was in high school, I remember telling myself (on yet another day when my clothes were about as fashionable as ski pants on a lizard) that when I grew up, I would have enough money so that if I saw something I liked, I would just be able to get it, without having to choose between that item and say…heat, or food. I may have taken that self-promise just a bit too far, however.

So when I die, my children will inherit yarn and sterling silver. And books. And knitting needles.

Sorry, kids.