Partly Cloudy

The view from my lap today looks like this (I like to knit cross-legged = ergonomic nightmare, but it somehow works for me so I haven't changed):

Do not be fooled:  The lace pattern you see (still unblocked, of course - use your imagination) is working at long last, but only because it (wee bugger of a lower border) has been frogged no less than three times.  Please Note:  This is a lace pattern I have executed successfully in something like twenty incarnations. 

My propensity to beat the tar out of a concept once I have mastered it causes me to recycle certain design elements until I lose interest in them, or until someone else points out that it's enough already, whichever happens first.  It's like when you finally find a recipe that everyone in the room will eat, doesn't cost a fortune and requires mostly normal ingredients (a convergence of cosmic proportions), and then you keep serving that dish until everyone is sick to death of it, mostly you.  This is the lace version of chicken and rice: Delicious and nutritious, and no one has noticed (YET) that it's the 4th time this week.  My time with this one is clearly at an end, however, and this is how I know:  I can't knit it anymore.  Sick of it.  It's dead to me.  I'll love it again a year from now, but for today I wish it were over.

The real problem, of course, is that I have angered the Knitting Gods, and they are toying with me.  I knew I was dangerously close to running afoul of their good graces, but I brazenly flaunted my new love affair with spinning, anyway.  I am just too besotted for any class of self-control.  If loving yarn is wrong, I don't wanna be right.  Last night I made my first 3-ply, and you would think I had cured the common cold.  I showed it to the smallies, who did their best to humor me: "Wow, Mom, that's really yarny".  Then to Phillip: "Where'dya get that from?" (evidently failed to notice the new spinning wheel in the living room floor, or the spouse glued to it).  Then, in desperation, the Dog:  Nothing.  Crickets chirped in the distance. 

It was a wake-up call, of sorts.  I resolved to stop tempting fate by neglecting my first love.  I reminded myself that the blog is labeled quite clearly "Knitting", not "Spinning", and that I have a responsibility not to bite the craft that feeds me by rambling on and posting endlessly about spinning. 

Too late.  Knitting Gods pissed off = lace border all jacked up. 

Bought and paid for it, I did, with my frivolous disregard for the danger inherent in flouting the rules.  Let's hope I can mend my evil wandering ways before this poor little cardigan pays the ultimate price.  The retribution of the petty and vengeful Knitting Gods is both swift and fierce.  Let's hope I can avoid further Wrath.  Me=Reformed. 

As If.