The interminable clapotis
It's going to do me in. If I were not in love with the yarn, if it were less silky, less varigated, if perhaps I didn't love my mother as I do, I swear I would throw this out the window.
Never. Do. Boring. Scarves. In. Laceweight.
Promise me?
I am to the decreases at last, and I see Rich's taunting face before me, daring me to finish it, telling me to suck it up, everyone else laughing, perhaps Daniel most of all because he knew it would frustrate me.
Here is my progress:
and here's more:
It is insufferable.
And yes, I began still more projects, scattered lifeless and nearly forgotten across my bedtable, with nothing quite so sad and neglected as my golding spindle. It is a sight to be seen.
And yet here I am blogging rather than thundering through one more 12 row section. As I must before I am allowed to do anything else.
On the other hand (well, actually on both), earlier I did get two repeats done on my eiffel
I am doing it in elann canapone, hemp, and no Dad, I am not breathing it in or smoking it. It is, however, leaving my hands rather black and I am glad not to be using wood or bamboo needles on it. I am doubling it up to get near gauge (I hope, if my swatch can be trusted, which yes, should have been larger, but at least I swatched in the round.)
And my incisions still hurt. And the methotrexate is wiping me out. And dh has the flu, and has kindly let me stay in the bedroom and suffers downstairs on the couch, poor guy, and I am not fit to nurse him myself, being so readily infected due to all the immune suppressants. Ugh.
He made me a new spindle which is brilliantly oxidizing purple, he discovered that if you leave it in the air long enough, it does not turn brown (as the bits in my rocking chair did) but stays purple, if you wipe mineral oil on it after it's had the chance to oxidize. I'll get a picture soon, perhaps with my new roving from Madrona, I got fleece artist....