I'm on the next-to-last pattern section of the Shawl of Doom. Remember the other photo? I drew a little line on it to give myself a landmark.
See the dark red line at the bottom? Gives an idea how far I've got to go. Looks like a little bit, but I just increased to 1728 stitches per round (not a typo) and so it's pretty slow going. Still, I'm finally knitting something different, instead of thirty rounds of the same pattern repeat, so that's something. And I'm into the "I'm almost done" mindset where I go nuts and knit like a fiend. I got almost four rounds done yesterday, which is nothing short of miraculous. (Of course I didn't get anything else done - like blog posts - but let's not dwell on that.)
I'm making grocery lists and menus for Thanksgiving. We're having beef roast this year because I'm sick of making ham and turkey. Yum. And the husbeast for once isn't complaining about his lack of a ham. I think because he got a load of the roast and decided it looked pretty good.
Another reason I hate anonymous comments -- I can't answer them directly. The vast majority of my comments are either funny, or nice, or insightful. And some of them, I'd like to answer. Some of them I do. But obviously I can't track down the anonymous folks too easily.
Anyway, someone mentioned I discussed my health a lot (it was said nicely, and in a nice context, so let's not get all het-up, okay?) And I do. Part of the reason is for the same reason I talk about the Goob a lot: I use this blog as a journal to document things, and I know with reasonable certainty it won't disappear. You wouldn't believe the things I've lost in moves before. (Well, then again, you might.) Books in particular tend to poof on moves, so slapping stuff up on the internet is a better system.
I confess, though, one of the reasons I talk about my chronic pain problem is because I've got a small crusade going to educate the populace. It's wasted on 90% of you guys - at least - because you're nice people who REALIZE you can't judge another person unless you've lived their health problems. But still. I can't help it. Chronic pain is so misunderstood and we've got such a reputation as whining babies, that I can't resist shoving in some information when I get the opportunity.
So there you go, why I do it.
Well, that and sometimes I just can't shut up. But we knew that.
And in the 'too much information' department, the other day I asked the Goob if she'd pooed in her diaper during her nap. She said "Yes. An' then..." and went off on a really long, too-articulate description of... everything. I'll spare all of you guys the details here. As she went through her account of how her diaper got full, I stood there marveling at her vocabulary and wondering if a smart kid was really a good thing to wish for. (Just kidding. I'd rather the horrifying information dump than some alternatives.)
The Goob has officially hit that stage of childhood where they don't shut up for ten years. Gonna be a good time. When it started, I didn't say anything to the husbeast, to see if he noticed it. First weekend he was in charge of her, by the time I got up that Saturday morning, he wanted to know 'Does she ever shut up?' I told him yes. When she's asleep.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go knit. And make another trip to the grocery store. And knit. And, um, kick the shit out of some hobbits on my computer game. And knit.
Anyone in Charleston know a cheap place to get Fiestaware?