I Am a Paragon of Self-Control

Oh, quit giggling. I could be. It’s within the realm of possibility. Look, I’ll prove it:

This is the lovely box of goodies that arrived from the even more lovely Pat in England. How awesome is she? I didn’t even tell her about the macaroon thing, but she somehow magically knew and I am in choco-coconut heaven. But I’ll have you notice that all of the goodies remained intact until such time as I could take a picture for you. Not one delectable morsel tasted. Not one cup of raspberry rosehip tea brewed. (I love rosehip tea….but I have wondered on more than one occasion about this whole notion of roses having hips. Do they have breasts, too? ‘Cause if they don’t, that would make them very much pear shaped, and I would definitely feel their pain. At least roses don’t have to try to buy jeans.) Anyhow, this is clearly proof that I am indeed a paragon of self control. (If you’re taking bets as to how many fractions of a second it took me to get the photograph taken so I could dive in….well, I have no comment. A girl must retain some sort of dignity.)

The fact that I am even now snarfing down chocolate macaroons in a state of childlike bliss says nothing whatsoever about my willpower. It may say a fair amount about my won’t power….but that’s a whole other thing.

I tried to get a good close-up of the card which I absolutely love—it says “Socks, Drugs, and Rock and Roll”. Honestly, if I didn’t worry what people might think about the drug part, I’d start a knitting group and call it that because it’s that darned funny. Oh, and check out that sock yarn (speaking of socks, which we were). I’ve seen it and wanted to knit with it but had never done so. Now, the yarn is mine and the socks are simply a matter of time. I can’t quite decide whether I want to do solid color heels and toes……

Which brings me to an interesting point: I can’t speak for all knitters, of course, but I find that I am constitutionally incapable of walking into a yarn store and seeing yarn. I see sweaters and socks and shawls and all manner of knitted things, just waiting for me to personally set them free. And there is no question that my imagination is far bigger than my knitting speed. Or my stash closet, for that matter. And, as I’ve mentioned before, my attention span is about the size of a gnats navel so about five minutes after I’ve finished the cast on and started working on the one perfect project that I simply couldn’t wait to start and would bring me hours of sheer knitting joy……I’m already thinking about when it’s done and I can start making something new.

I sometimes wonder what the project that could hold my attention would look like. It would have to have multiple stitch patterns, probably several color changes, several different types of cable, and it would have to have a few plain areas for mindless knitting purposes. I rather suspect that the resulting multi-hued, multi-patterned atrocity would result in my being immediately wrapped up in burlap and tossed out of town where no one would have to look at me, should I actually attempt to wear it. Which is why I make lovely green cardigans and their ilk (what exactly is an ilk? Does anyone know? Do I have ilk? If I do, how come I don’t know what they are?). See, at present, Mr. K will walk with me in public and admit that he knows me, which I think is a thing to be cultivated.

That said, I just finished the last sleeve of Samus this morning (pause for a moment of cheering and joy). All that remains is assembly (pause for a moment of heavy dread……if anyone has a secret for stitching seams so they look perfectly wonderful the first time, I’m all ears), the i-cord border, and the zipper. Notice the casual use of the phrase “and the zipper”. One would almost think that I was supremely confident about this process. “Zipper? Oh, pshaw. A piece of cake.” One of the nice things about the on-line medium is that you can’t feel my sweaty little hands or hear the pounding of my terrified heart. I’m planning to keep the chocolate macaroons close at hand for this process. See, Pat? You’re kindness may end up saving the Samus. I’d probably be doing that very thing now, but for the fact that I have to leave for school soon. (Which, horrifyingly enough, will involve dissection of a sheep brain. A SHEEP brain. What kind of school expects knitters to cut up parts of sheep? It’s wrong, I tell you. Completely wrong. I’m thinking of collecting myself a whole skein of knitters and staging a knit-in. Okay, not really….but wouldn’t it be cool? Not that it would be a very pushy sort of protest. “What do we want?” PEACE! “When do we want it?” Uh…hang on…let me just finish this row…..)

As I finished the final sleeve and before I could break into songs of joy that would terrify the cats, I stepped into the kitchen for exactly 40 seconds to grab a healthy snack (heh—you fallin’ for that one?) and returned to find this in my knitting spot:


I swear—40 seconds. He had to have been poised like a loaded spring. A big, striped, purring, loaded spring. What cracks me up now, though, is how complete the ruse is. Pet him, talk to him, take flash photos of him—he is no way no how going to admit that he’s awake. And, me being me, I actually sat on the edge of the couch to finish the casting off of my sleeve and the eating of my fresh veggie sticks with tofu dip (HAHAHAHAHA!!! Oh, man…..I’m just cracking myself up!) rather than disturb the Striped One. Remember that sale on crazy I mentioned? Yeah….I may have stocked up.

Anyway, thanks again to Pat for making my day. I’m going to think of you as I munch on chocolate, and I promise NOT to think of you when said chocolate is deposited unceremoniously on my ass. Some things are just worth the risk.

Oh, and before I forget: thanks so much to Jude in So. Cal. for delurking. Your kind words touched my heart big time.