Is it just that it’s the last days of summer? The death of a season? The slow, aching decline into winter?
Or maybe it’s because the temperature around here has been approximately that of the surface of the sun.
Whatever the reason, I seem to have lost it. The mojo, I mean. I just can’t seem to get into any of my knitting!
Here’s cherry. Again. Yes, I’m really sick of showing almost-done pictures of this sad little sweater. All I have left to do is knit the sleeves and sew the blasted thing up. Have I done it? Nope. I’m still pissed that the sleeve I did knit is too small (that’s all that got accomplished in Boston, by the way—my mom said, “This sleeve is way too small.” So it goes…). I did have the notion to block the offending sleeve, to see if it could possibly be stretched out a bit, but I haven’t done that yet either. I don’t have much hope.
Maybe I could make it into a vest…
(That chair was an anniversary present from the blub. Well, he painted it for me. I bought the paint ages ago, but never got around to applying it to the naked chairs. He did it when I was in Boston, then put the finished chair in the middle of the garage for me to find. Find it I did—although I came very close to finding it in splinters under my car. Isn’t he sneaky, though? It matches the garden fence.)
I cast on for something else. Wicked! I’m using that lovely skein of Twisted I just got, in Backstabber (knitting Wicked in Twisted Backstabber, don’t you just love the evilness of it?). It was very fun at first—the yarn is dreamy. But now—eh. I have lost the love.
It’s really hard to knit in a hammock.
So in lieu of knitting, this weekend I entertained myself by wandering around my yard and taking random pictures. Look, clouds!
And a butterfly found the hummingbird feeder.
Yeah, the yard was not very exciting either.
Does anyone have a cure for this? I’ve taken to knitting dishcloths again. I’ve made two in two days. That can’t last.
Okay, I go now. Crap, I can’t even trouble myself to think of a good ending line. Bah.