It's what I officially am.
Working hard - the contract as a service development librarian has been extended to next March so that's good. That's very good so far as Christmas and the putting of presents into stockings is concerned. The folk I share an office with are really cool and I'm having a great time as part of this team, so no worries there - or not until early March next year, anyhow.
Knitting not so hard - my mojo's all out of sorts. I lift and lay... lift and lay.... start and rip..... start and rip. At one point last weekend I actually thought it was a do-able reasonable plan to start threading outsized rainbow-coloured sequins onto a ball of bright pink mohair yarn and make a scarf with zany panels of sequins at either end. Yeah, that would have been fun; scraping sequins along yard after yard of hairy, shedding yarn knitting a scarf that nobody with half a fashion-recognising brain would ever wear.
If I'm knitting less than normal, I've still got multiple things on the go. Maybe that's the problem; as soon as I take up the ankle sock, the mitered squares start calling me and then there's the two balls of laceweight mohair I bought in Oban a few weeks ago - what the hell are they going to be, exactly? The internet must be browsed - the truth (in the form of the perfect pattern for whatever) is out there!
I need a good kick. And a glass of wine. A big one.
What exactly do you knit when your head is up your arse? I'm open to suggestions.
"I'm like a coo with a gun."
(Expression used by workmate to describe how uneasy she feels when handed a newborn.)
