My Hovercraft is Full of Eels (and other diffucult translations)

Although the sparkly thing from my last post was complete in plenty of time to wear for my birthday party, I inexplicably lost interest in it the moment it was off the needles.  Haven't even blocked it yet.  No idea why.  Another instance of a completed project who needs a trip to the Aging Closet in order to be appreciated by its maker.  Fickle knitter.

I slammed the works into reverse, thinking that I had holdover guilt from Unfulfilled Sock Camp Energy:

The astute among you, Gentle Readers, will immediately observe that these are the PINKEST  socks ever witnessed by Humankind.  The closure of finishing them did not provide the release I expected, although I have to admit a small degree of smugness at having completed them in less than a week, Epic Sock Camp Scavenger Hunt duties notwithstanding.

I immediately ground the gears into sweater-from-sock-yarn mode, whereby I wound this beauty into balls and discovered Garter Stitch.  While thrilling, for reasons which defy explanation, Garter Stitch began to make me feel cross, somewhere around the 45th row on a size three needle with 240 stitches on it.  Go Figure.

There is simply no accounting for this inability to commit to a project.  It's not as if I haven't tried, for heaven's sake.  It isn't as though any distractions (sanitation standards in a building I have not inhabited in many days, and will be leaving again soon) are pulling my focus.  Heaven knows, I've been paying attention to the yarn, for goodness sake.  I've been whispering to it in a way that would make my husband jealous (if he were here, and not busy with grad school finals).  I've been caressing the skeins with the ardor of a misunderstood nobleman in a bodice-ripper romance.

And does it speak to me?  Does it beckon me to Cast On?  Not a Whit, Gentle Readers.  Clearly my muse has left the building. 

Undaunted (or unwilling to face the topsoil on the kitchen floor), I spun.  Here is Asia, painted by Abstract Fiber .  Nice bit of spinning, but still not quite the diversion I required. 

So what's my problem, anyway?  No idea.  Maybe I just miss my new friends from Camp.  Maybe I'm raring up to pitch the proposal for my new book, and it has me slightly worried.  Sophomore effort, and all that. 

Here's what I do know:  In a world where all the children don't have a good meal and a hot bath and a story before bedtime, my tiny woes are hardly worth mentioning.  Really?  You don't know which gorgeous pile of fiber to play with next?  Let me get out my violin.  In a world where war, and poverty, and want are everywhere, my little struggle with creativity (or the want thereof) is a pretty fine problem, indeed.  Lucy girl I am.  Even if my hovercraft IS full of eels.