April 5, 2012

Shadows is here!

Unnnngh, continued indefinitely

 

Diane in MN

Your condition reminds me of the last time I had real, honest-to-goodness influenza, a couple of decades ago. I made it worse by attempting to go to work on the days I felt marginally better–that was the first week; the second week I just stayed home. My husband had been out of town the first week, but since he caught it as soon as he got home, we were both knocked out the second week, barely able to stagger downstairs to heat up soup. I hope you do NOT have honest-to-goodness flu and see the end of your current affliction very soon. 

Yes, along about the third day you have trouble getting out of bed you start thinking about the Spanish flu that killed 50 million (or so) people in 1918, right?  A little learning is a dangerous thing, especially when you’re ill and less emotionally stable than your usual calm, sane self.*

            I finally heard from Hannah today (we having missed connections mainly due to germ ramifications this last week) that she got home and went down with bronchitis.  Joy.  I can’t wait to find out that’s next on my agenda.  At the moment it’s mostly a really alarming head cold with this bloody cough, and some fantastically exciting gastric complications.  And I didn’t fever-spike last night which I want to believe is a good sign.  I’m getting the hellhounds hurtled.  Where is my medal.  But I do miss breathing.  And tasting my food.  And my eyes not starting to go fuzzy after about two hours of reading or staring at a computer screen.  Yet another mark for the excellence of knitting:  you can knit when your eyes are too fluy to focus on print.  

EMoon 

I agree–don’t know how I survived waiting and boring events before knitting.  

Boring events including having flu.  Here I thought it was just about badly organised handbell evenings and very long stoplights on your way to your voice lesson. 

jmeadows 

I don’t think I’ve mentioned that I am not merely working on the second leg warmer, but that I cast on and immediately started ribbing—not only without having to redo the first few rows about forty-seven times, but without even thinking about it. I cast on and started knitting. Yaaay. Progress.

YAY!!! *so proud* 

Well at least you’re continuing to accept responsibility for your part in my yarny downfall.

Isn’t that an awesome feeling? Just . . . casting on and knitting? 

Um. . . . Okay.  Yes. 

I won’t lie and say you’ll never have to fiddle and retry ever again 

If at the point where I can do the exact same ribbing I just did for 1,000,000,000 rows for the first world’s longest leg warmer without thinking about it for the second, there were no challenges left ahead of me . . . knitting would clearly be unworthy of us.  So what a good thing I HAVE MANY HOURS OF BEING DRIVEN OUT OF MY TINY FREAKED-OUT MIND to look forward to. 

 – because it happens to EVERY knitter no matter how long she’s been knitting – 

Especially if she keeps being drawn farther and farther into the dark side.  A friend is sending me the pattern for a rose intarsia pullover—or I think it’s intarsia;  I don’t actually need to know at this stage—that I have about as much chance of making successfully as I do making the world safe, happy, peaceful and environmentally sound by pointing out that the majority of our heads of state are morons.  And blondviolinist tweeted me this today:  http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/0307586715/ref=sib_dp_pt/181-5660244-9068349#reader-link which I instantly found over here and ordered, despite the fact that I’m pretty sure even the flowers the author has labelled ‘starting out’ will be beyond me—and besides, I want to knit the rose, which is probably in the ‘resolute’ category. 

but that’s a great step. 

Yes, actually, it is, isn’t it?  Hee.  Also, I really need to FINISH something.  

Mockorange 

But may I just say that it amuses me that yesterday’s blog, preoccupied as it was with not only handbells but the miseries of illness, roused comments about what on the forum? Knitting

Well, naturally. Some of us are knitting again for the first time in years entirely due to your proselytising on this blog. Let’s see if we can derail to knitting again. KNITTING! KNITTING! KNITTING! KNITTING! 

All right, you woodwork-lurking knitters:  go for it.  And I’m delighted to be able to provide the evil role model of degradation and despair for a few of you that jmeadows and blondviolinist so generously offered to me.  

Birdreader 

I hope you feel better soon. Of course you had your knitting. It can be an ice breaker, with some curious person coming over to be interested in what you are making. (We shy people are absolutely not hiding behind handiwork – of course not!)  

Well—are you certain it is shyness?  Shyness has the implication that you can’t talk, that your mind goes blank or you’re overwhelmed or something.  Maybe you just don’t want to talk, maybe you don’t want to be in this situation, whatever it is, and knitting is a way of preventing you from doing something you might regret later, like throwing a chair through the window and running away.**   Most social occasions make me uncomfortable and I’m mostly bad at them, but it’s more about being introverted and cranky with it.  

Diane in MN 

You were absolutely primed to be a knitter by ringing handbells. You HAVE TO COUNT if you’re a knitter, too. (You also have to add, subtract, multiply, and divide. Knitters get plenty of arithmetical practice.) 

I am not hyperventilating.  I am not hyperventilating.  I no longer fear and dread maths.  I don’t.  No. 

            . . . But I’ve told you, haven’t I, that the tower captain at my old tower—East Persnickety, a million years and a century ago—used to say that his wife picked up change ringing instantly because she was a lifelong committed*** knitter? 

PamAdams 

Then I went back to bed (which was popular with hellhounds†)

I find that cats are equally helpful in an emergency such as this. During my own bout with the Martian Death Bug earlier this year, I was constantly surrounded by and/or covered in cats. 

Oh, the Martian Death Bug?  Maybe that’s what I have?  NOBODY SHOULD FEEL THIS CRUMMY.  ESPECIALLY NOT DAY AFTER DAY.  Oh, and let’s have a little sideswipe at ‘the wisdom of the body’, okay?  I love homeopathy, and I do think it keeps me on the road—and, for example, is the reason why hellhounds are still being hurtled right now and I’m not in an oxygen tent at the local hospital—but there are times when the la-la-la aspects do get to me a little, and now is one of them.   So, in the depths of my illness, what does the wisdom of my particular body declare?   Chiefly that it craves strong black tea and champagne†, and it doesn’t want ANY FOOD AT ALL.††  And if I attempt to remonstrate with it, it turns nasty.  Oh, and ‘if you feed a cold you will have to starve a fever’?  Bulltiddly.  Or maybe this depends on what stage of life and/or immune system you are.  But I have to eat.  Aside from being dragged out behind a brace of hellhounds twice a day.

† Oh reckless dog owner beware of precedent.

On the other hand, they do make adequate substitutes for the electric blanket…… 

It’s the self-motivating factor I find problematic.  This includes the bizarre hierarchical struggles to do with Contact with the Hellgoddess.  The last generation got this sorted pretty well immediately.  These guys are still at it after (almost) six years.

            . . . . Is it late enough?  Can I go back to bed yet? 

Ajlr

I am an obsessive listener to Radio 3

I’m more of a Radio 4 addict – sleep comes peacefully after listening to the Shipping Forecast. 

That’s it!  I need an endless loop of the Shipping Forecast! 

* * *

*  Who?  What?  

** Not an option the other night.  In the first place we were in the undercroft, and in the second place, Niall was my ride home.  I wasn’t going to make seven leagues on foot, thank you very much, especially not this week. 

*** No remarks please 

† Cider, prosecco, whatever.  Alcohol with bubbles.  But it needs to be alcohol.  Fizzy water is inadequate.  And my wise body wants more than its two units. 

†† Not even chocolate.  I am truly not myself.

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