Yes, this blurry mess was the best photo I could be assed to come up with. Give me a break, I'm cramming Homer, Dostoevsky, and Wim Wenders into my already at capacity brain. I'm beginning to feel a certain affinity for my perpetually blocked bathroom sink- I plunge and plunge (or read and read, watch and watch) and yet the water (or knowledge) sits there. Unmoving. Mocking me. Saying yo mama jokes. Occasionally turning blue.
How's that for an overstretched metaphor? I bitch out of love, though. These are my last few privileged months, of having nothing more trying than lazing my way through the (phallo and Western-centric) classics. Sometimes I wish I was a member of the idle rich a century and a half ago, spending my time reading Homeric Hymns in the original Greek and collecting butterflies. Instead, I am facing my complete incompatibility with the job market. Ew.
So, I've rediscovered knitting to calm the anxiety. It also makes me feel thrifty since I'm entertaining myself while knitting through stuff in the stash. These are Monkey Socks, started years after they swept the knitting community. The yarn is Lorna's Laces in Desert Flower, also from years ago. I feel bad that I left the yarn for so long. It hasn't pooled much, and has the loveliest hand. If I ever see a healthy bank account again, I'm definitely buying more. After I finish these, and a project so long in the making I'm ashamed to post it to this blog, I'm going to do something unusual. I'm going to start a project fairly close to the date the project was first posted, and write regular status updates to encourage myself to actually finish. I can't send another sweater to the orphanage of unfinished knits. It's full up.
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