My cell phone made a little jangly whooping noise as I walked into work this morning. And indeed, the happy sound was a herald of joy–it was alerting me to a new picture message from my older brother. In the picture was a brand new baby girl.
Alice Catherine came storming into world this morning like a woman with an agenda. My sister-in-law started having contractions around nine, and delivered just after ten. I think we should expect great things from this child. She doesn’t screw around, that’s for sure.
But why shit? Alice being born healthy and quick delivery for my SIL are certainly not shit. This is shit.
That would be one cute little not finished sweater. Oh, but it’s so close, you say. It won’t take any time at all, you say.
Hmm, maybe I should listen to you because I think you might be right. But I’ve been putting off finishing this thing for so long that it feels like a monumental task hovering cutely over my head.
I have to sew up the remaining sleeve and the armpits. And then sew on snaps. I got those popper thingies so my SIL could get little Alice in and out of this lickety split. I even have the matching thread all set to go. But I think I’m going to get buttons too, to sew on the top of the placket. So it will look like there are buttons, but with no pesky buttoning and unbuttoning for my SIL. Sneaky, eh? I wish I could say that I planned it that way all along, instead of just forgetting to put in buttonholes. Ah well.
I’m also downright cranky because I got sent home early from work today. Apparently, it was for my own good, but that doesn’t mean I’m any less pissed off about it. Let me ‘splain.
I’ve been working on this big story for two days now. I finished it (I thought) this morning and then sent it to my editor. (This is my hardassed editor, by the way. I have two editors. One is very laid back. The other is…not.) What happened next was bloody and painful and too long to relate here. The gist is, I have to do the whole thing over. But he told me to leave because he said my brain is tired and I’ve been working on it for too long and I just need to go home and not think about it until tomorrow morning.
I must say I handled it pretty well. I packed up my stuff, turned off my computer, and walked out the door. Then I proceeded to kick the shit out of my rear bumper for a solid five minutes.
Did I say solid? Ouch.
No permanent harm done, though. Yes, I’m mad. In fact, I’m really really mad. But I’m even madder because I know he’s right, and my story sucks, and it needs to be totally re-worked. But I’m so sick of the fucking thing right now that I want to defenestrate my computer. Defenestrating my editor might help a little bit, too.
So fine. I will forget the story until tomorrow. I will go shop for cute buttons. I think something with Beatrix Potter bunnies on it might be appropriate. I will then go buy new sandals, just because I feel like it. I will also try to find a copy of Knitting From the Top, since I’ve decided to go commando on the Gilet Asymetrique.
I looked at the pattern. It’s in French, and while I might still take you guys up on the lovely offers of help with that silly language, I’ve decided I don’t like the construction. It’s in pieces, and I don’t like seaming. It’s knit flat, and I don’t like purling. So I decided, fuck it. I’m gonna do it my way.
So I’m going to knit a top-down raglan that looks like that pattern. And you know what? I’m going to do it with steeks. Ha! Take that, Phildar.
Am I being crazy? Maybe. But crazy can kiss my ass. I’m getting tired of following patterns, anyway. It might be time to strike out on my own for a little while.
Happy Birthday, Baby Alice. May you grow up to be a badass that doesn’t take crap from anybody.