This Sort of Day

It is this sort of day in Seattle:

Which is to say that it is damp and green and reminds me utterly of why I live in and completely love Seattle. Okay, the lawn you can see is kind of brownish....but it WAS hot and dry and I am personally against sprinklers in that they only lead to more lawnmowing. I may change my mind on that, should I ever figure out how to knit on a riding mower. You may have also observed that they driveway is fairly generously sprinkled with pine needles. This is because the trees viciously spit them onto the concrete, even as Mr. K is cleaning them off. (I would, as a kind wife, help him with this task, but I draw the line at being spit on by trees. You have to have standards.)

It is this sort of day at Chez Madwoman:

I went this morning to pick up my books for the upcoming quarter (which starts next week). I would have picked them up sooner, so that I might peruse them and mount a full-scale panic (oh, anyone can do anxiety...but a really quality panic--now that takes time, committment), but the school decided for some reason to not make the fall books available until this week. This did, as I come to think about it, tend to sow the seeds of a whole other panic, so I should perhaps be appreciative. Here, let me think about it.....nope. I still think the bookstore sucks. Now, I would like to say that it is highly unusual for me to worried or fret about such a thing as school but, as both carryfairie and Mr. K read my blog, I think I will spare myself the humiliation of being caught in the biggest lie since the Trojan soldiers said "What, this? Oh, it's just a little trinket, really. Horses are good luck, you know!" Yeah, I fret a bit.

Mr. K says I "spin", by which he absolutely does NOT mean that I have a charming and fun hobby involving sheep and an old wooden wheel, but rather, that I have a distressing tendency to stress until I all but spin in place, sort of like one of those weird lawn ornaments (you know the ones that look like a little disjointed man running? And his legs are the part that spins around? Yeah, like that.). I believe he has also theorized that, on hot days, much money may be saved on cooling by simply placing me in the hottest room in the house and telling me something stressful. This may be true (yeah, yeah, okay--so it's true), but you know it really is a matter of: "Hello Kettle? This is the Pot calling...". Yeah, Mr, K has created a bit of a breeze himself from time to time. But that's a story for a different day, assuming he doesn't read this and hide the computer while I sleep.

Anyway, it's kind of a magical thinking thing with me. That is, I sort of feel like not worrying about school would be an irresistible temptation to the Fates, who would then have to go and get the gameboard down, while giggling in anticipation. And not a chessboard, I might add. No, nothing so dignified. This is a Chutes and Ladders board, people, and someone greased the chutes. But if I fret, some strange little part of my brain really believes that the Fates will go on to some other poor, unsuspecting soul and I might actually get through school unscathed. It's a lot like knitting a swatch, or buying just a bit more of that yarn that you absolutely know you won't need unless you don't buy it. And then it won't be there. Ya gotta appease the Fates, people, that's all I'm sayin'.

Of the three classes, one is Anatomy & Physiology. This doesn't worry me too hugely, as I've taken A & P classes in the past and been okay with them (note the careful use of language here--no waving the Fate red flag by saying something reckless like "and I'm really good at it"). But the supplies list includes a box of rubber gloves, and my tireless little brain has no trouble at all conjuring up disturbing images to go with that discovery. A friend of mine who took A & P said she had to dissect a sheep's heart. (Picture my eyes widening in horror here.) Besides that this seems like a dreadfully unfriendly thing to do to an innocent sheep, and besides the fact that it seems further to be an unthinkingly cruel thing to ask of a knitter, I'm forced to speculate on the usefulness of this learning. To wit: "Nurse, quickly!! This man has had a heart attack!!" Me, doubtfully: "Okaaaaaaay....but does he by any chance have a sheep's heart? Because that's really what I'm most familiar with." Likewise the Statistics class: Me: "Okaaaaaaay....tell you what. Give me a minute to compile this chart of statistical probabilities. There, see? He is really only 37% statistically likely to die from this given all of the variables, so that should make you feel much better, yes?" Yeah, I'm not getting this completely.

You'll have to bear with me--I only babble like this when utterly terrified, as I am now with the books over there on the counter staring at me. It should be better in...oh....three years or so.

In other, less scary, news:

...pink sweater has been blocked! Hooray!! We won't discuss the odd matter of the sleeves of two different sizes (they're not even 6 inches long! How in the world can a person make them differently????); suffice it to say that one sleeve is perhaps not the original and that, after one more stormy hour, they now match. The blocking went well and with only a minimum of swearing, most of this because of the presence of Miss Gracie, who really felt offended at being shut out of the room and dashed in at the first possible moment. And then waited under the bed, staring at me while I tried to get her out. Remember--Gracie is not the semi-feral cat. Rather, she is a very outgoing cat with a huge personality who considers that she is being very kind to allow me to live here AND actually pet her from time to time. I tried shooing her out but the look on her face said it all: "You're kidding, right? I'm supposed to be afraid of the biggest pushover in the house?" Anway, the little cat footyprints smoothed out nicely. I've spent the better (?) part of the day sewing up the sweater and trying to convince myself that I love this part (in much the way that I love running my pinky toe into a chair leg at 3:00 in the morning). Only the collar to go, and this dude's out the door.

My thanks to those lovely ladies who took the time to post their ideas about the coral sweater. I agree wholeheartedly. Perversely, I'm now suddenly drawn to the "Bianca's Jacket" design. Don't ask me why--I've never owned or made anything like it in my life but, out of the blue, it's calling to me. I'm not really sure if I'm the type of woman who wears that sort of sweater, or if it's just that I want to be the type of woman who wears that sort of sweater. I mean, she looks a bit more relaxed and laid back than I do at present. Okay, so a new member of the bomb squad looks a bit more relaxed and laid back than I do with those books looking at me. And I offer this largely because I'm all too aware that carrriefairy or Mr.K would be perfectly happy to reveal it for me. (But it must be said: both of these fine people have dealt with so much of my stress and spinning and full-on nuttiness, that they've earned the right to point it out. See guys? I appreciate you. And I only tease because I love.)

Oh, and to answer a couple of other comments: yes, it was indeed Miss carryfairie that yanked me off the knitting wagon, by shamelessly parading her naked socks in front of me until I could no longer resist. It's quite possible, however, that I had it coming--seeing as how I'm the one who taught her to knit in the first place. And I love the quilt ideas that some good folks offered. I know that Mr. K was hoping to wrap up in the finished product...but...well, he could kind of "scrunch up", couldn't he?