At this rate I’ll be knitting this scarf for the rest of my life, or at least until sometime next year. I think I want to rip it out and start over. The pattern isn’t the best choice for the yarn, it turns out — not enough drape, too much manipulation needed. I keep losing a stitch at the edge of the cable because the yarn is just so slippery. Knitting is supposed to be fun, right? And relaxing? And I am a strong advocate of the “choose the best yarn/pattern for the pattern/yarn,” aren’t I? Yeah, it’s history.
I woke up at 4:06 this morning. Four-oh-six! At first, I was just running Retreat scenarios in my head, pleasant meanderings that were nice to dream about. Then my weary but overactive brain moved on to Retreat Nightmare scenarios: What if they find out I am really just a crappy knitter? What if I say or do something outrageously stupid, or what if — horror of horrors — they just don’t like me?
I freely admit that in the wakeful wee hours of the morning I am apt to encounter my scared, insecure ten-year-old self, the Jane I have to step over every time I am in a new place, or I am unsure of my bearings. I would like to say that I laugh at her, at her little voice, those blue pointy glasses, at her wacky unruly hair…but in truth, she lives in my house and I love and respect her because she reminds me of how far I have come.
I woke up at 4:06 this morning. Four-oh-six! At first, I was just running Retreat scenarios in my head, pleasant meanderings that were nice to dream about. Then my weary but overactive brain moved on to Retreat Nightmare scenarios: What if they find out I am really just a crappy knitter? What if I say or do something outrageously stupid, or what if — horror of horrors — they just don’t like me?
I freely admit that in the wakeful wee hours of the morning I am apt to encounter my scared, insecure ten-year-old self, the Jane I have to step over every time I am in a new place, or I am unsure of my bearings. I would like to say that I laugh at her, at her little voice, those blue pointy glasses, at her wacky unruly hair…but in truth, she lives in my house and I love and respect her because she reminds me of how far I have come.
She’s the uncomfortable-looking blonde one.
So what do I do? Get up and make the coffee. Decide that this scarf is not the delight I thought it was going to be. Think about something else (the Work Nightmare scenarios are always available, and they are more likely to be real). Get on with the day. At this point the sun is rising and the trees outside my window are beginning to glow. The heat is coming on, and I am about to get another cup of coffee. I am getting ready to go off to work, to another Tuesday filled with books. Tomorrow, though, I’ll get ready to leave on my little trip. On Thursday I’ll see V and visit my mother. On Friday I’ll bring my Old Jane with me to Graves, but maybe I can convince her to wait in the car.
Not Plain Jane 