“We never live; we are always in the expectation of living.”
Voltaire (1694 – 1778)
I’d only touch myself with a 10-foot pole right now. Blech. Migraine + slight fever = badness.
I have no idea why I’m writing a post at all, other than to distract myself. I have nothing of interest to relate, as I only managed to knit one row on clapotis today and accidentally slipped the lace edging of “that Judaica thing” off the needles (brava to me) and I managed to drop 3 stitches (in 3 different places) on the match of the lace mitt in quick succession, thus proving that not only am I Uber Dork, but I can be detrimental to myself and others in ways never before imagined.
After loosing several rows of lace (I was mad with fever, because why else would I have tried to rip back lace??) I finally wove thru a rather late lifeline and after a half hour of agony (why I didn’t put it down and walk away, I still know not) had a whopping migraine that had been threatening to overcome my conciousness all afternoon.
I laid down in the dark for three hours, and gave up because of the sheer boredom caused by laying in the dark for three hours. St M called during that time so I did get to emerge from my dark refuge to take her call. The Knit Shop is in need of volunteers for… um, I forget. Something about moving yarn. I think there was a bribe involved. Er… I’ll call her in the morning about that, since I agreed to help. I shouldn’t be expected to make sound decisions whilst suffering a migraine.
And, bloody hell, I sound like a 19th century Romanticist.
I’ve edited the sidebars, since I’ve hated the layout for a while. I hate everything about it, as usual. I doubt I’ll ever be satisfied, but that’s life.
The only truly good news I have to report is the fact that I managed to print out the pattern and directions for Crimson’s post-Christmas/ pre-New Year’s gift. Yay.
I think I shall go and lie down again in the dark.