I fell into the trap of waiting for inspiration to strike. ‘It’ll be fine’, I said, ‘Once I get that spark I’ll be able to bash out hundreds of pages. I’ll just carry on doing my own thing until then. It’s sure to come.’
Wrong, wrong, wrong. How did I forget this? I’ve done NaNo. I know that’s not how it works. You have to sit down and force out that chapter, those scenes, every single day, come hell or high water, fever or chills.
I’m an idiot.
Ah well, crumpled heaps of shame are not the best position from which to view the world, so I shall un-crumple myself and attempt to make the best of it. I do have 30 pages of a 100 page script written, which is more than I had to start with. Right? So let’s see if I can finish it, now there’s no deadline for me to rebel against. 😀
Me Made May ’12 starts tomorrow. I’m not entirely sure that I have enough hand-made clothes to last a month without getting bored, but I’m certainly going to give it a go. At the very least, I can throw on a pair of socks and be done with the day.
Also I note that in my quasi-absence I’ve been nominated for two (two!) of these blogging award things, so thank you to cuteasabutton and the thing about joan…! I’ll get on to my end of the bargain as soon as I can. 🙂
Those are two strands of Harris Tweed from two ends of the same skein. Not a ball, cut and spliced to the necessary weight. That’s the same skein. I know one should expect natural variations from a natural fibre like wool, but come on. It’s stripey!
That being said, I’m not too sad about it. I made the discovery a point when I could use it so it looks like a ‘design element’ rather than a cock-up (no, I didn’t ball up all the yarn before I started knitting, that’s just not my way). I’ve divided the stripey bit in half and am using it for the lower half of the sleeves of my back-laced tunic. I think I can get away with it. This isn’t massively different, right?
Craptastic plastic spouts on cardboard juice cartons – why? Maybe I’m just unlucky, but I swear I have never spilt so much juice and milk as in the last few weeks wrestling with such items. it’s a good job my slippers are machine washable or they’d have more nutritional value than skimmed uht. I mean fair enough, I remember the bad old days of cartons when you had to split the two sides of the top, inevitably ripping it and causing spillage, but at least it really was your fault. Now you don’t even need to open the things for them to start leaking. I just don’t understand what’s so wrong with snipping the corner off. If I want it to reseal, or fit onto a shelf in the fridge, I’ll decant it into a suitable container. And if I want to spatter everything within a two metre radius with juice or milk, I’ll find a more interesting way to do it.
P.s. Does anyone else find they’re strong enough to pull the spout right off the carton, or rip the carton itself, but not strong enough to actually open the spout properly? I’ve spent too much time stood shaking with anger, a dripping carton in one hand and the perfectly sealed spout in the other for it to be a coincidence.
I’ve had a terrible time of it recently. Not the move, which went swimmingly. Nor work, as I’ve been on holiday the last couple of weeks.
It was the knitting what done it.
For a while, everything I started went wrong. Socks looked like penises. Jumpers looked like plungers. Colours pooled into vomity splodges. I just didn’t like anything I made. It was depressing as hell. I began to wonder if knitting was really the thing for me.
But then… I finished this:
Trellis Jumper on Ravelry
And then I went a knitting show, bought a crapload of wool, from which I have so far made this:
Mistake Rib winter set on Ravelry
And now an on-the-way-to-failcardigan is becoming this:
I feel so much better.
The corner of my favouritest spatula just fell off. And this ain’t your 50p Tesco jobbie, this is a Chef’n 650F/350C heat-resistant silicone with hardened steel core. And the corner just fell off.
However, I am instantly pacified by the discovery that I can easily buy a replacement. In one of EIGHT colours. OMG! Lakeland only had the white one when I bought this one, and they don’t even stock them at all now!
Pink or blue. Pink or blue. Pink or blue.
So I ploughed on with the sock, and am now the proud owner of a very effective slouchy sock that cannot be pulled any higher than mid-calf, although (as was pointed out at the time) it could be a market-winner as a mildly sexy preventative against deep-vein thrombosis.
This is it in its slouchy position:
Which is all well and good, but when you’ve spent that long doing a lacy pattern, you don’t want it to have ‘rumpled’ as its natural state. So I’m saying to hell with this sheet and starting over as a dodgy-czech-accented sock slut.
Why a slut, you ask? Because I’m doing two at the same time.
Check out that double-toed magic-loop action. Anarchy. Total anarchy.
Of course, once I’d worked out how to Turkish cast-on for two socks at the same time, I pronounced the whole thing as a piece of cake. It was only a couple of repeats in that I suddenly thought… but… how do I do the switching one stitch from one needle to the other in the middle of the row if… there’s another sock in the way?
I’m sure I’ll work it out.