So this picture of the new project (Green Gables. You didn't think I was going to let the needles that came out of Heathers^ sit idle, did you?) is a little tiny outdated. This only shows, oh... three repeats of the neck pattern and I now have five repeats of the neck pattern. Woo-hoo!
Anne... Green Gables... you're no Heather, but I love you so...
[SUMMARY: Same knitting problem, different day.]
In other knitting knews, a Red concept that's been fomenting for a week or so is coming to fruition: It Takes a Village to Knit a Stupid Blanket.
As y'all know, the Stupid Blanket is my own fault. It's beautiful in a way I can no longer see and truly a labour of love, but so tedious. Do NOT do a baby blanket in miles of linen stitch if you can help it. That's my best knitting advice to you. Right up there with "don't poke your eye out with a DPN."
Anyway, I'm having a whole phalanx of Drunken Knitters to my house Sunday to help with Stupid Blanket. I'll be screening Eddie Izzard and probably Office Space and everybody will drink wine and eat chocolate and take a turn on the Stupid Blanket. When one person simply can't take it any longer, she'll pass it to the next victim... um, volunteer. Because I'm just the dork you know me to be, I will record the process for posterity.†
[SUMMARY: If you're loud enough, someone will shut you up. Sometimes by rewarding you by helping you with Stupid Blanket. This is a poor way to raise children or train dogs, but I like it for me.]
Fortunately or un-, this means I will have to make my house presentable for company. I'm hoping the provision of wine will help gloss over some of the minute details, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to get a lot of this...
...out of the middle of the living room and where it belongs. Much of it will go to the Yarn Room...
...but since Sarah really wants to see the Yarn Room‡, I'll probably have to straighten that up too.
Anybody read Rabbitch? She claims to be the third worst housekeeper. I'm not sure whether to claim the two spot or the four spot, but... let's just say your dear ol' AntiM would rather be knitting than cleaning. Part of that has to do with the tiny little OCD thing that won't let me *stop* cleaning once I start cleaning.
Hear that wee little *gritchgritchgritch* in the middle of the night? That'd be me, scrubbing around the bathroom fixtures with a toothbrush until three o'clock in the morning. Speaking of Lady MacBeth and her bloody hands, I never feel anything is really clean, but I'll scrub 'til we're all scraped raw to try to make it so.
Call me Lady McBath.
The funny thing? Other funny thing? I cleaned all my knitting up a couple of weeks ago. Well, all the knitting in the knitting room... er, living room. Y'all may remember. I broke out the ziploc bags and organised and straightened up§ and placed all the knitting that I wasn't going to be working on immediately in a laundry basket to take upstairs.
Said laundry basket sat, full of fibre, for more than a week. Then I needed the laundry basket for laundry. Floor fibre!
Then I folded the laundry, per my usual ritual, and placed it in the laundry basket(s) to be taken upstairs to be put away.
And I've been coming downstairs every morning for a week to pick my clothes out of the laundry basket(s) that still sit in the middle of the living room, right next to the massive pile of displaced knitting problem. There is an ever-growing pile of dirty clothes at the top of the stairs awaiting an empty laundry basket to give it a place to belong.
Is there anything simpler than just carrying the fucking basket up the stairs, emptying it appropriately, perhaps using it to cart the knitting problem to the Yarn Room, then giving the dirty clothes an appropriate home?
Tedious? No more tedious than Stupid Blanket or any cast-on.
Time consuming? No more time consuming than knitting. That was understatement for the sake of humour, in case you missed it.
Irritating in its mundanity? No more irritating than wandering around the living room naked, trying to put together an outfit from items I can almost *hear* wrinkling as they sit, day after day.
My conclusion is simple: logic can not be applied to housekeeping. Not in my world. To paraphrase Douglas Adams, housekeeping is an illusion, laundry doubly so.¶
I'll take "after" pictures.
^FOOTNOTE (pointed): Just for old times' sake: "My parents wanted to move me into high school out of the sixth grade, but we decided to chuck the idea because I'd have trouble making friends, blah, blah, blah. Now blah, blah, blah is all I ever do. I use my grand IQ to decide what color lip gloss to wear in the morning and how to hit three keggers before curfew..."
†FOOTNOTE (crossed): In lieu of "posterity," you may read "blogdork endeavours."
‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Even though it's also where the books live, I call it the Yarn Room to fibre geeks because they get that dopey smile and dreamy, faraway look. I'm all about spreading the love -- it's just how I roll.
§FOOTNOTE (snaky): Be kind! Rewind!
¶FOOTNOTE (paraphrasing paragraph): It makes no sense. Style over substance, and style that allows me to paraquote Douglas Adams.
#FOOTNOTE (number five in a series, unmarked): All thanks to Secret Pal for the series of symbols to make my footnoting less... hilarity ensuing. Besides, I know she'll feel better once the proper marks are in place. Even if I don't put them in the right place around commas.
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