Craptacular, Craptacular, No Word In The Vernacular…

It is just one of those days.

And by those, I mean the kind of day where you order a bucket-sized sugar free, nonfat caramel latte while the barista stares at you with a concerned and slightly wary look. And even the latte mirrored my day. The poor girl had to remake it twice because the on the first two attempts, the milk curdled, and the conclusion was they had not one but two bad jugs of skim milk. Precisely like my day.

My day in fact began at 4 a.m. for no good reason. I woke up with the Barenaked Ladies song, Pollywog in a Bog, obsessively on loop in my head. I couldn’t shake it with a few dozen Hail Marys and Our Fathers. If I can make it through an entire 5 decade rosary, counted on my fingers in the dark, and not fall back asleep, then there is simply no hope. I rolled out of bed, stumbled to the coffee pot, jabbed at the off button a few times before I realized it was the off button, hit the right button, and found my way to the couch where Miralda was demurely waiting for me.

I am not a speed knitter by any stretch, but I am not molasses slow either, yet after 30 minutes, I found myself at only the center stitch of the shawl and realized that was a good time to go pour that much needed cup of coffee. When I got to the pot, all I found was clear water. Uh…my first thought was maybe we didn’t set up the filter last night, but upon opening the lid, there was a nice dry filter, full of coffee, waiting for hot water to flow. So I had a pot full of hot, clear water, and a basket full of dry coffee.

I believe this is the point when I started growling.

I had not poured the carafe of water into the chamber the night before. So, I put the water where it belonged, restarted the whole coffee making process (this time hitting the right button on only the second attempt), and grumbling, went back to Miralda.

Fifteen minutes later, I had another one of these.
Knitting could recommence.

Then my poor mother came downstairs and asked if I couldn’t sleep. Because my mother is a saint, I did not speak aloud the first thought that came to my mind, which was “Nope, I am sitting here sleep knitting,” along with something to the effect of “Here’s yer sign!” No, I quelled that utterance as it would have violated the “Honor thy father and mother” commandment, and grumbled something to the effect that I could not, in fact, sleep. Apparently, she and I both awoke for no apparent reason around 4 a.m., and neither of us were able to go back to sleep because of infectious tunes in our heads, and both of us began puttering around in our respective areas.

In two hours, I only managed to knit four rows on Miralda. Granted, that is about 1300 stitches, but 1300 stitches in two hours averages not quite 11 stitches per minute. God help me, if I keep up this pace for the rest of the shawl, it should be ready in time for me to wear to my 50th wedding anniversary.

Not an auspicious start to my day, but it did improve with the waking of the little one. Grace was an absolute hoot this morning. The girl just makes me smile. She helped me pick out my work clothes (though she wanted me to wear Daddy’s Tigger tie, which I did try to explain was only for Daddy to wear, to no avail) and spending time with her helped make up for the early morning rise.

The reprieve was temporary as Byram and I clashed over something ridiculous on the way to work. Hey, we’re married. Sometimes we disagree. It happens. If someone tells me they never have disagreements in their marriage, I believe they are either lying or well medicated. So yes, we disagreed about something and as a result, I haven’t spoken to my best friend in four hours, which is really way too long to let anything this stupid go on. However, I am not willing to concede his point unless he acknowledges the 11 empty cans of diet coke that I cleared out of my truck last night. See, I told you it was ridiculous.

Work has not improved my mood. As I mentioned, even the mood-adjusting latte came with its own set of issues.

Hurricane Earl is threatening the Eastern Seaboard, and while I have lived off the coast for almost 8 years, that is apparently not long enough to take out the genetically-engrained self-preserving instinct to fill the bathtub with water, check and see how many batteries we have, and watch the Weather Channel 23 hours a day. I know it’s ridiculous, but you can take the girl out of the Tidewater, but you can’t…well, you get the idea. It doesn’t help that my little brother lives on the oceanfront in Virginia Beach and I would like to see him well away from the area, but I know how he is, and I also suspect he will make a killing at the pub he works at when all the locals come in to drink while Earl sweeps past.

What I can say that is good about my day is that while I may have averaged a snail’s pace with Miralda this morning, I have gotten over half way through the lace edge. It really does look like progress, even if the numbers do not prove it.

I hope that once Miralda and the Peacock and Leaves scarf are finished, I will have kicked the lace bug for a bit. I love knitting lace. I adore lace projects. But there is a whole whack of family members who need knitted Christmas presents who would not be caught dead wearing a lace shawl. It’s the last day of August and the final thing weighing down on me on this craptacular day is the stark reality that the season will be changing. Winter is coming.

So with that in mind, I thumb my nose at the thought of January with the perfect image of Summer.


One response to this post.

  1. I have had those days, but never would be able to say it as well as this!
    I also have been on a lace kick, with no one to give to. Who wears lace shawls? Everyone like stockinette. Boring. But, gifts are gifts, and it is still August, even if only for one more day.
    Here hoping your day improves. Surely that yummy coffee helped? :)


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