I made socks.  I’ve finally come to the conclusion that if I’m ever going to open my drawer and actually find socks, I have to own socks that can not possibly be mistaken for Elijah’s (or Galen’s or Steve’s or Iain’s).  They must be unquestionably mine.  The life cycle of a pair of my socks goes something like this: I buy myself a pair of nice wool socks.  It’s exciting!  You would be excited to if you never had any socks to wear.  I wear said socks.  Such a delight!  When they are dirty I put them in the hamper.  I may even come across them again while doing laundry.  This is the point where things start to get fuzzy.  I don’t see them again for at least a month, maybe more.  If by chance they do somehow reappear in my drawer, they do so with a great many holes and thin places that I don’t remember from the first and only time I wore them.

I divided everything up, taking it on faith that if I worked my leftover yarn into stripes there would be enough.  I think this might be the first time I made a toe up sock?  I prefer toe down,  But toe up has it’s advantages, like when you are knitting until you run out of yarn.  A shorter sock is one thing.  A toe-less one is pretty useless.

I cut off all of my hair.  I’ve been too tired and sick to care for it.  Actually I made poor Steve do it, while he nervously asked if perhaps one of the neighbors wouldn’t be better suited to the task?  He took off a solid 14-plus inches.  I think I’m at peace with the decision, which wasn’t really so much a decision as a reaction, even though I prefer my hair long- especially when I’m on the chubby side, as I am now.  Usually I somehow don’t quite feel myself without my long and wild mane.  But this is who I am right now.  It’s the most that I can manage.  And that’s ok too.