I posted this picture, and a close-up of the top, on the Knit Like A Latvian blog yesterday. I am very pleased with the chart change to make up for the difference in planned vs. actual row gauge. I did have to rip back once and restart -- about an inch or so -- because it was still going to be too long. I had to make one further chart adjustment and start the decreases sooner.
That bamboo needle lost a match-up with my butt -- I choose to believe that it was in an already weakened state and the fact that another one or two are splintering (having nothing whatsoever to do with my butt) supports my position. In fact, I've been made well aware of a splinter in my left index finger -- there's nothing to grab hold of, but I can definitely feel it and even see a small red spot. I hope it works itself out soon. I finished that mitt using a much shorter survivor of the same-size birch set.
Originally, I thought I'd do the thumb before moving on to Mitten #2, but, alas, the stars had something else in mind. I cast on last night -- using The 3-in-1 TECHjoin. I tried to take pictures, but Angie's will have to do -- mine's just with smaller needles, smaller yarn, two colors. I'm thinking I should buy another set of bamboo needles in this size -- I'm okay knitting the cuff with a set of four, but I'd prefer to use five, as I did with the first, by the time I reach the hand.
I'm kind of numb. I am very happy that the weekend is here, but I don't know what to do with it. I want to do nothing, but I feel like that's all I've been doing -- except for all the other stuff that I've been doing. How can I be doing all the time and still feel like there's nothing accomplished? I'm doing all these things, but never what I should be doing, never enough. I know I'll be even more depressed if I reach Monday and haven't done anything. I can't stop -- I'm afraid to stop and take a deep breath and make a list and think about it too hard because it'll only make me choke and start to cry and I'm not sure I'll be able to stop that. That's probably part of it, though. I probably need to take a big box of tissues and what remains of my Valentine chocolates and sit down for a good salty-sweet cry.
Things will be okay here. They will.
...it is a precious thing to be allowed to talk about yourself in public, not for reasons of simple exhibitionism but because the attempt to describe your experiences to an audience pushes you forward into an understanding of it.
DH is reading Almost There by Nuala O'Faolain, where the quote is from, and I can't wait 'til he finishes so I can start. I thought I read one of Nuala's books before, but now they don't seem familiar. Maybe I tried, or wanted to, or had it on the list. Maybe I just feel in love with and remembered her beautiful name. I'm in an Irish mood, I guess, just finishing Teacher Man by Frank McCourt. Nora Ephron's I Feel Bad About My Neck is on the nightstand -- a book club read -- but Nuala's butting in.
Thank you for all your good wishes. I've received notice of the planned Memorial Celebration. My uncle made a little funny in the obit, too, something that would have made Deb laugh, makes us all laugh a little.
Things will be okay here.