Sometimes I forget to brush my teeth.

Middle of the night clarity

I was looking at another knitter's blog the other day, which has not been updated in ages. I even felt a little irked about the lack of new material. Then I realized it was time to take a good long look in the mirror. It's been almost a month since my last post. Prolific isn't a word that describes me anymore. Maybe it's because I'm a part time hermit. Not much happening Chez Ash. I doubt that anyone wants to read about my Mah Jongg marathons, fascination with British television, or giving the mailman the side eye (which turned out to be a mistake). These things aren't that compelling to me, and it's my life. So I scribble lists of ideas on scraps of graph paper, hoping that they'll make an entertaining post, but I can't put my back into it these days.

I am having a one of those big, round number birthdays this weekend and I don't know how I feel about it. Everyone else seems freaked out, including my grandmother, who didn't tell anyone that she was turning eighty last year. Oh, and when I tell people, they make a face and react as though I'd just told them that I have a potentially fatal tropical disease. Every birthday is just another step towards the undiscovered country.

My birthday gift to myself this year? No longer giving a shit. I've been thinking about all of the drama of the last year, all of the calamities that befell me and I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. Fuck that shit and feeling that I somehow deserved any of it. I'm done with my low self esteem decade. I've decided that I'm going to enjoy being an adult, despite all of its less than fun elements. I like being old enough to drink, smoke, drive my own car, not treat my body like a temple as I promised to in DARE, make my own decisions and live with them, feel confident in my skills, have a passport with stamps in it, and have "colorful" friends. I'm tired of feeling like a pathetic shit magnet. I don't want to hesitate to dream or live anymore, to not feel good enough to try to obtain or achieve anything I want.

So, I'll celebrate my birthday how I want this year, with whom I please. I'll have my traditional Shamrock shake and eat and drink too much. I decided to put my frankly large foot down this year, because I want to enjoy myself, instead of pleasing everyone else and being miserable. And, yes, I do know that Shamrock shakes are disgusting.

Reluctant Tweet

Sorry for the cut and paste posts lately. I know that I am capable of better, and more, but lately I haven't had the creativity or material to write a good blog post. I actually had a five minute conversation about my cat the other day, which I realize is not terribly interesting to most people. Although he did have to have a bath recently, resulting in a patchouli scented cat.... I digress.
Maybe the little sparks that make up my weaker posts have become tweets instead. I will admit that I like twitter, because it's lazy blogging. I'm following a few people now and can see how twitter can be fun sometimes. I still think that it's superficial due to its constraints and throw away culture. I also don't want everyone to know everything all the time. All of the new technologies that are supposed to bring us together freak me out. For example, GPS friend locating software. For the discriminating stalker? I don't want to sound like a tinfoil hat wearing conspiracy theorist, but I really believe discretion is the better part of valor. Let's leave a bit of mystery.

I have a small start of startitis. Not to be confused with salmonella, against which my cousin reminded me after I ate some peanut butter. It didn't kill me. The misplaced knitting motivation is season related. When we had the amazing warm spell, I started a short sleeve cardigan in Dream in Color. It's adapted from the wildly popular Wicked pattern, but referred to as "peachy keen" in the project list. The ladies of Dream in Color named the colorway "giant peach" after the Roald Dahl book, which I find amusing. I'm not amused by the word giant in reference to any of my garments.
Once the weather returned to a more seasonal attitude, I cast on for a chunky alpaca cardigan with big ribbed collar and seed stitch texture. It's a free pattern I found on Ravelry, Sedum, but my version is called berlinale. The alpaca feels like butter, but has a surprising amount of plant matter in it. It isn't a Noro yarn. I don't know how long I'll be on this project, but I'd like to finish it while it's still cold enough to wear alpaca.
I spent a good hour grading the Sedum pattern the other day. I'm not bad at math (just trig, who knew that it would be so helpful in sound engineering?), but all of the math involved in resizing a top down raglan by 20% made my head hurt. It might seem as though the numbers would be fairly straightforward, but as knitting creates a three dimensional object, that is not always the case. I decided to knit it from the hem up instead and used Elizabeth Zimmerman's percentage system to work out the math on the yoke.
You might also have noticed that most of my projects are adaptations or alterations of published patterns. I think I may be moving towards not using patterns or writing my own. When I first started knitting, I found the European knitters who didn't use patterns so intimidating, but now I understand that patterns aren't always necessary. I talked to my pal Kristen, who is a professional designer, about it the other day. She was very encouraging, though she did say that being able to grade a pattern is a huge part of pattern writing. Further study is definitely required.