I am trudging through a particularly dull patch of black stockinette. This would be the third incarnation of the Frog Prince sleeve, whose glamour is well and truly off, at the moment. It's one of those stretches whose progress is both slow and invisible; measurable only by the intensity of the cramp forming in my brain.
Slow doesn't begin to describe it.
I looked across my desk for validation, if not inspiration, from Clementine. She reminded me that the new pet I got her, Gary, could probably feel my pain.
Gary, as you can see, is an actual snail. I got him as a present for Clementine, to keep her company, and to clean up around the place (not much of a housekeeper, my fish). So far Gary does a bang-up job in both respects. But he does neither job quickly, nor would Clementine expect him to.
And then, clever beast that I am, I made the connection: The issue is not that my sleeve is slow to progress; it's that my perception of how long a sleeve should take is wrong. It's wrong because I have started the sleeve three times, which cumulatively should add up to at least one finished sleeve, even though it hasn't. Ever sit in traffic for a really long time and think "I could have driven to Fargo North Dakota by now"? That's this sleeve. I could have been to Fargo, but I haven't even gotten across town.
None of this would bother Gary. His pace is exactly as it should be, which is Snailworthy. No amount of fretting or flagellation is going to increase the acreage he covers.
Humans should be so patient. That's what we get for coming out of our shells.