“Knitting is the saving of life.” ~Virginia Woolf (considering the source, this is perhaps not the best long term option for everyone…)

I’ve been having trouble concentrating this week.  It happens from time to time.  Looking back, I feel like this is the time of year when it’s most likely to happen, usually accompanied by visual disturbances, along with other little signs and signals, as a precursor to a massive migraine (something to look forward to).  Books of essays weren’t full enough to let me get into each story.  Books on all one subject felt like they were dragging on and on.  I took to bringing two books at a time with me when I cuddled up to nurse, just in case.  I didn’t want to be marooned with a book I had no tolerance for with no other options on hand!  It’s possible that in a bitter moment, in the back of my mind, I may even have accused the writers of not every trying to entertain me.  I finally seem to have settled into Knitting Yarns: Writers on Knitting, edited by Ann Hood.

My knitting has been much the same…scattered.  Which may well be part of why I’m feeling out of sorts.  I am making some progress on Iain’s birthday sweater.  I finished the second sleeve and have joined both sleeves to the body to work the yoke.  The sleeves seem long, but then again, so are his arms.  A couple of observations from this project: this boy of mine, who came from me, that I bundled and carried for so long, is a giant.  Also, the yardage estimates on this pattern are way off.  There is a box of yarn headed my way and I’m praying it gets here fast before I lose all momentum again.  I have no real project at the moment for when Iain is around.  I’m in knitting limbo.  It is an uneasy and restless feeling for me to not have something to pick up and knit a few stitches on here and there.