Thus Begins my Tale of Woe:
My computer broke. And "broke" here means that I had to reinstall the operating system, and either relocate/reinstall everything in the whole digital world that matters to me, or learn to live without it. 3 day Odyssey. Lotsa missing e-mail.
I have a cold. The hamburger-throat, soaring fever, streaming face kind. Makes me DELIGHTFUL company, as observed by my family, who go back and forth between taking pity on me and avoiding all contact in fear of infection. Typhoid Mary, Table for One.
My editor would like me to hurry up, already, with my review of the page proofs for my new book. This is a grueling process by which I look AGAIN at everything I said, and everything I made, and everything there are pictures of. And there are more than 300 pictures. I hate to seem ungrateful, but I'm kinda tired of this book now.
A certain Knitting Superstar, whom for now we'll just call Ms. Crazy Pants, would like me to participate in a train wreck freak show beauty pageant showcase of knitting teachers where, let's just say we'll be impressing people, but not with our knitting. No pressure.
I made a knitalong. My first one. And I worked super-hard on it, leaving nothing to chance. I strong-armed my friends the yarnmakers to get involved. I got hundreds of trusting souls to sign up for it, and to buy a pattern they couldn't even see. I hired the best technical editor in the whole wide world to make sure the pattern was perfect - after all, can you imagine what would happen if all those knitters got mad at me for some stupid mistake? They are KNITTERS, after all. They have access to many sharp, pointy sticks. They all trusted me to do a good job. And then the Gods of Arithmetic kicked me. Hard. In the teeth. It seems that I caused, through my uncanny ability to get the !*@(^!(? numbers wrong, All of the Yarn kits to be short of yardage. And not a little bit short. Short by about HALF, as far as I can tell. Of the many and varied Dumbass Mistakes I've made, this one is more embarrassing than most. The knitters are being really nice (mostly), but until I can make it right (which requires yet MORE intrusion on my poor friends the yarnmakers), things are gonna be pretty ugly.
And that's how I know I've somehow run afoul of the Universe. All the signs are there: Technological Malfunction, Physical Torment, Public Humiliation, and Math. It's official, Gentle Readers. I'm that crippled one-eyed dog they call "Lucky".