At some point in the last year, while this shawl (the half-round from Victorian Lace Today) was rattling around in my knitting bag, something took a big bite out of the ball of yarn. If I didn't know better, I'd say it looks like someone took a knife to it, but there are no knives in my knitting bag and I haven't done anything like that since the Knitting Needle Incident of '06. So for some unknown reason the ball of yarn has at least four breaks in it, probably six. This has, obviously, diminished my enthusiasm significantly. (In fact, I'm bloody pissed off.)
My first thought is to pull it off the needles, chuck it in the trash, and say "Look! Another project finished!" but it's the only thing I have to knit down here, and I'll be here until at least Friday, and I really like the yarn, and... I'll probably finish the damned thing, with fifty thousand yarn ends to darn in.
My mother-in-law is treating me to a manicure today (since she had only sons, she quite enjoys the idea of doing girly things with her daughters-in-law). We're also taking the Goober to the beach. Tomorrow, the zoo.
As I sit here and type, I'm watching a guy down on the beach dig for what I assume are oysters or clams - he's got the rake, and is in the surf, slogging around. Pelicans just flew past. It's all very picturesque.