I've got about an inch to go on sleeve one of the Husbeast Gansey. I could have finished it last night, but my fingers were numb (having problems with that lately... hope I don't wind up back at the hand specialist's) so I knocked off early last night. Today I plan to finish it, join it on to the body, and start sleeve two. Good news, it took less yarn than I thought to knit the sleeve so we're looking good on yarn. I always worry that I'll run out, and when I ordered books from Elann this week I wanted to order a couple more balls of yarn but they were totally out of this color. Eeep. However, once I finish sleeve two, I should have seven balls of yarn left for the chest/shoulders, so all should be well.
After I quit knitting last night, I attempted to clean up my office. (The in-laws are coming for Thanksgiving and my office doubles as the guest room. It might be nice if they can find the floor.) I spent an hour and a half going through knitting magazines dating all the way back to 1990. Know what? They've always sucked. I thought this current trend toward the unwearable and ridiculous was new, but it's not. Even in 1990 they were publishing stuff most people wouldn't be caught dead in. The only thing that seemed new was the trend toward specialty yarns - cashmere, silk, angora; I suspect that's because they're newly available. If it had been possible to buy cashmere knitting yarn in 1990, they'd have been flogging it.
I did cull out a dozen or so magazines with designs in them that I want to knit (because, as we know, I don't have nearly enough ideas for stuff to knit, I need more). I figure if something from 1995 still looks cool and wearable, I've got a classic on my hands that I'll be able to wear for another ten years and it's safe to knit.
The cat is doing all right. Her tail still hurts but she's milking this for all it's worth. She's spent more time on my lap in the last three days than in the last month. Usually when I'm working at my desk I don't let her on my lap because she bats the keyboard keys; these days I feel guilty and I put up with it. She's loving it.
Today, I clean my desk. If I'm never heard from again, you'll know that the multi-celled organisms living in the back corners of the pigeonholes evolved enough to produce toxins. Or else the whole thing collapsed into a black hole and sucked me in.