The one in which I whinge.

Be warned.  This is merely a vent.  It is not going to be very interesting.  So I will start off with the vaguely knitting-related content.

I finished the cowl I was knitting.  It’s beautiful. 

Even Vellan, who rejected the yarn she had spun, admits that it knits up nice. 

  It’s soft.  It’s warm.  The colours are enchanting.  I am even coming around to that weird, muddy green.

One problem.  As raveled, here.  It’s too big.

At first I thought it was just a teeny bit too big.  I did cast on ten too many stitches, and although that should have been accounted for by the fact that my gauge was off, I could see how maybe it didn’t quite work out.  Gauge is tricksy, after all.

I wore it yesterday.  In the morning, I tucked it into my jacket, and folded the front over diagonally, like a pidge.  It sort of worked.  Trying to get it to work on the way home was a dismal failure, thought.

When I got home, I pulled it so that it sat where I would want it.  I haven’t counted the stitches yet, but it’d be somewhere closer to 40 or even 50.  Le sigh.

 

See, I think the idea is to wear it like this:

Up over your head.  Hood like.  And, if you don’t want to wear it thusly, it will be tall enough that it will stand up anyway.  Well, mine isn’t tall enough.  I ran out of yarn before I hit the recommended amount of repeats.  I didn’t mind, because I will never ever ever desire to wear it as a hood.  ever.

But it’s not working.  So it will be frogged.  Once I can get up the energy to find the damn ends.  And I washed and blocked it and everything.  Also, it means I will have to magic loop it, since it will be too small for my smallest circ.  I hate magic loop.  It’s fiddly and annoying and disrupts my rythm and isn’t relaxing at all.

cowl: #1 it’s never quite right.

Well, technically it’s #2, but I don’t have photos of #1

Which would be my CPH.  Which is done, but I don’t have any photographs of it.  It’s still drying from being blocked.  Which hopefully (ha!) will fix a lot of what was wrong with it.  I.e:

  1. The sleeves are tight.  Tight enough that I wouldn’t be able to wear anything but a tshirt under it, comfortably.
  2. The sleeves are also too long.  Not a big deal, but annoying.
  3. The ribbing is tight.  This means that it bunches around the bottom.  Since I knit it an extra repeat long, it hits nicely at exactly my widest point. 
  4. This means that it doesn’t come together nicely.  It can.  It just doesn’t naturally sit that way.  Because, you see, the ribbing keeps pulling it open.  Which means, since I can’t wear anything but a tishirt under it, that my boobs get cold.
  5. This means that I think I might have to put in bottons.  Which means that I have to unpick the cast off on the button band and put button holes in.  I do not want to do this because one row of that freaking button band took me an hour to knit.  I dislike 2×2 rib.  A lot.

Sigh. 

 

#3.  The monkeys.

I am wearing them now.  They are pretty.  They are soft.  They are warm but not too warm.  They are GREEN.

They are too long.

Not a lot too long.  Just that teeny tiny bit enough too long.  Half an inch shorter, and it would be no probs.

I was going to knit them a half an inch shorter, but my last pair of green socks are currently on my friend’s feet and not mine because the last time I shortened a pattern they were too short.

 

 

 

 

Wah wah wah.  Poor little me.  Nothing is ever right.

This concludes the knitting part of this post.

I am tired.  I am sick and tired.  And I am sick and tired of listening to myself whinge about how sick and tired I am of everything.

I am sick of looking at people, talking to people, listening to people.  I am sick of having to think for people who can’t manage simple, day-to-day tasks.  I am already sick of my disruptive office mate, who has been back from leave for all of an hour and is already being… well… disruptive.  I am sick of my family, some of the worst of whom I will be dining with tonight.  I am sick of my house being a mess and things not having a home.  I am sick of work, where nothing ever seems to go smoothly, or work right the first time.  I am sick of being admin, so that this is my problem.

I do not have the headspace for other people’s problems.  They are not my job.  Really.  Only, somehow, they are.  Somehow, because person A doesn’t understand written instructions, she has to stand over me for ten minutes explaining what is already written on the page for me to do.  At length.  In words of one syllable.  Because person B has technology blindness, they have to come and get me because the printer is ‘broken’.  The printer, in fact, is telling us to press a particular button.  Once this button is pressed, the printer works fine.  This is why printers have little screens with words on.

I am sick of people sending me incomprehensible emails which take five minutes to wade through, and at the end, I know I am supposed to do some work for them, but I have no idea what.  I am sick of having to hold people’s hands.  ‘No, it’s fine.  No problems.  Have a nice day!  How was your trip?’

I keep finding myself in situations where I know there is a proper response/facial expression/comment.  But I just can’t summon it.  I look at the person, and my face just goes blank.  I don’t care.  I don’t care how their trip was and it is a problem and it’s not fine.  Or maybe it is fine, but the fact that I have to reassure you fifty times that it’s fine is a problem.

Wah wah wah.  Sob sob sob.  Poor little me and my first world freaking problems.  Woe!

I am SO SICK of hearing myself whinge.

Because I know I don’t have anything to complain about.  Well, that is not true.  Obviously I do.  But the things that are legitimate complaints are either:

  1. so ridiculously, insignificantly small in the scheme of things that, once articulated, I feel petty and squalid and ungrateful.
  2. not gonna change.  So deal with it.
  3. not really the other person’s problem.  They’re my problem, something internal.

The things that are getting to me are not really about what is happening, or even about what I’m thinking.  They’re about how I’m feeling.  I’m already feeling jangled, so my office mate talking under her breath as she talks is all the more disturbing.  I’m already feeling burdened, so having to be pleasant as I walk people through basic tasks that I’ve walked them through a dozen times before is too much.  I’m already feeling tired, on a soul deep level (please excuse my ennui), and so having to get up early to come into an office where nothing is quite right is exhausting.

Usually I deal with this pretty well.  People who know me might call me a pessimist.  I prefer to think that I’m a realist, but then, I would.  And I’m aware that I’m on the negative side of that.  I have fairly low expectations of other people – and myself, often.  I don’t really think that this is a bad thing.  (But then, I wouldn’t).  Thinking like this takes care of #2 above.  Usually.  I try to find that zen point.  Or daoist point, maybe.  That point where you know, without thinking about it, that the world is how it is.  That the fact that it’s imperfect doesn’t make it bad, or wrong.  That a perfect world would, in fact, not be desirable.  That it is what it is what it is, and the only thing you can change about it is how you see and deal with it.  And that that is a very real change.

Somehow I can’t find that place.  It moved, maybe.  I need to remap.  But I just can’t find the headspace, the calm, the quiet.  All the things that usually sing for me, that help me sens eout where that place is – the colours that soothe, the golden light that glows, the textures that hum… all that is dry and hard and my brain sees it, but it doesn’t seem to penetrate.  It’s not the compass I need it to be.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m not Depressed.  In fact, I’m pretty happy at the moment.  Which is weird.  I just… can’t quite click into my days.

I seem to post here a lot when I feel like this.  Partly it’s because that’s when I need the blog.  Studies show (say in news reader voice) that writing about your thoughts and emotions together is more therapuetic than seeing a counsellor, for some people.  It’s good to be reminded, too, that I felt like this before, not that long ago, and I got over myself fairly rapidly.  It’s good to sift through what I’m feeling and why, is this something that will change, is there somethign I can do to make that change?

Maybe I’m just hormonal.  Hormones have a lot to answer for, if you ask me.

Last weekend was great.  I slept in both days.  That deep, healing sleep where your limbs feel heavy when you wake up.  On Saturday I met up with friends, I did my shopping.  Sunday I ordered my house.  Not as much as I’d like, but enough that it was a pleasant place to be in.  Then, just as I was settling in for some defraging… it was Monday.

Always running.  Always slipping backwards.

How do people with real lives do it?  People with kids and proper houses and work and commitments and all that.  I can barely manage to keep my floor mopped these days.

Yeesh. 

I feel better now.  Thanks

 

Cannot WAIT for my holiday.

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2 thoughts on “The one in which I whinge.

  1. I love you. And I feel your pain.

    But think. If everyone were as smart and capable as you are, then you wouldn’t be smart or capable any more. You’d just be average. Where’s the fun in that?

    And I know what the problem is. I have your DVDs.

  2. Yep. I feel where you are coming from.
    Never enough time to quite catch up and feel settled.

    Family, yes they can be total pains but think about all the fantastic stories you can write about them to include in your family history.
    Imagine the giggles future generations will have 😛

Whadya reckon?

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