Dear diary,
I am sorry I forgot you the other morning when my heart was full enough to spill into your pages.
I was busy, out on the front stoop, watching a silver squirrel and talking to my universe.
I was telling my universe about how luxuriously interminable my four days off seemed to feel, about how everything makes sense when a Kitty is there to pinch things just that way and all of a sudden the sewing machine IS MY BITCH.
The universe asked me about how it felt to be draped in muslin whilst giggling with one of my very best friends, and I was telling it about spinach salad for lunch and learning from her every inspired move.
Pinned to my t-shirt the muslin mockup of the dress looks like Jonah's potato sack (for some reason Jonah and the whale was a particularly impactful bible story in my childhood) but in the jungle of my imagination it looks like the trees themselves.
I'm not even sure what colour it will be but I don't care. Everything about it feels just so right and wonderful that I'm filled with that bubbling surge of happy that I've been encountering lately.
And then this morning I admitted to myself that I have an addictive personality.
It's a hard thing to admit, especially for someone so inordinately proud of every notch of strength to her determination.
Pride and determination of course remain intact, but when the clock ticked past 8:25 and I was still in the living room needles in hand I finally admitted to myself that despite my careful watching of my habits and control of my tendencies, my primary tendency is towards addictive behaviour.
We bought wool and knitting needles in Guelph, you see.
We had lunch with Dave's brother between his niece's hockey tournaments, and afterwards jaunted into the crafts store in the mall across the street.
The point of taking up knitting of course is all part of the gradner scheme of "learning to sit still".
I have a tendancy to get whacky with my crocheting and decided to try the more traditional knitting since the actual manipulation is just slightly more intricate (for me, at least, since I crotcheted just about anything into the shape of anything while trying to find something for my fingers to do when studying for university exams) and...
Knitting is right for so many reasons. It gives me something to do that allows me to avoid the guilt of sitting still with its very productivity, it keeps my fingers and mind just occupied enough to not ask umpteen billion questions during movie-time ont he couch, it keeps me sitting still and relatively content and TURNS MY BRAIN off and away from this or that near-future accomplishment that I really don't need to be obsessing over.
Ergo: knitting good hobby. Sewing also excellent hobby and also relaxing and feel-gooding, but I can't do it from the cuddle-couch with my beloved.
So last night said beloved went to bed early with sniffles, whilst I stayed up watching the rest of James Bond's "Never say Never".
First of all, I willingly sat in front of the television, alone. Weird and unusual but unless it happens often not a bad things.
Second of all, I had just unravelled my previous work having decided to make a few changes, and wanted to get a few rows in before I forgot what I wanted to do.
"I'll be up in half an hour".
An hour and a half later the credits had finished rolling and my needles clicked in the silence as I started "just one more row".
This morning I was on my way to put on my shoes when I espied the little green ball of wool and since I was early and my carpool had called in sick I told myself "I have ten more minutes before I have to leave, and a row only takes me seven minutes..."
Twenty one minutes later I was marvelling at how cluttered the Lakeshore gets that late into rush hour.
"Just one more row..."
Heh.
So I have an addictive personality. Not so addictive that it has yet (I don't think) caused harm to anyone, nor myself, but just enough to be mildly amusing and something to watch out for.
And hey, maybe my lack of extensive retarded habits is a sign that I'm doing pretty good in the light of most things.
Ah, dear diary, but how I am chipper today.
And in other news, would the delightful Katherine who has been commenting on my entries as of late please leave me a clue as to how to reply to some of her thought-provoking words now and then? Your advice and insight is most definitely welcome, but sometimes I have questions for elaborations, see...
You don't get away with being insightful at me THAT easily. :D
Oh, and Saturday's sewing practice taught me something. I had spent a good twenty minutes pinning the rounded-eased-basted pocket onto the apron with the edges turned under twice when I realized that it was a little crooked. Alright, the rounded corners were a lot crooked.
So I put it away in a huff of patience until I had the focus to undo it and pin it on properly again. Taking that step for doing things right is a BIG lesson in my universe.
And I learned that one all on my own.
(as for the potluck on Saturday night, we're going to have to have more of those. What an utterly stress-free wonderfully warm evening!)