For the weather to turn cold and all the bugs to come into the house, looking for a nice place to winter over. Sekhmet and I found a giant roach (excuse me, palmetto bug) doing the back stroke in her water dish this morning. She's been on overtime killing ginormous bugs, and I've been going along after her picking them up. So far the baby hasn't gotten hold of any. Or if she has, I don't wanna know, because there's no evidence of it which means she's eaten them.
Definitely don't wanna know.
Since my hands are bothering me from the all day gansey marathon on Sunday (weight is bad, and the one drawback to seamless sweaters is, they get damn heavy when you've got all the sleeves and body and everything joined up for the last shoulder bit), I decided yesterday I was going to finish the mohair scarf I'd been working on.
Yes, finish. At the time, that didn't seem like an unreasonable goal. I can do a pattern repeat in about fifteen minutes and I had most of the day to dig into the thing. I'd already done about two feet, how much longer could it take?
Longer than a day, apparently. I knit most of yesterday on the damn thing; I don't know how many pattern repeats I did, but I lost count at eight, so more than that. It just goes on and on and on and on, and I swear the ball of yarn looks like I didn't do anything. It's as heavy and thick as it was yesterday morning.
I hate scarves.
Here's a closeup of the stitch pattern; it almost kinda sorta looks like leaves. Maybe. If you squint. (It's a bias pattern.)
And now I've done four rows on the gansey and my hands have started to hurt, which means working on the scarf for the rest of the day.