Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Could be worse, could be Tuesday.

"Could be worse, could be Tuesday." My college buddy Steve G. said this every time something wasn't going quite right with his fruit flies (we were both molecular-biologists-in-training back then), the dish sanitizer (we lived in the same off-campus townhouse, along with twenty-two other eigteen-to-twenty-four year olds), or his love life (which always seemed more exotic and interesting than mine, although, looking back, was probably about the same in angst and anxiety levels). It was the catchall expression when anything looked hopless, to bolster us up, and remind us that there's always hope, if you know how to find it, and make yourself believe.

I still find myself using that phrase, at least a decade since I last laid eyes on Steve. So: it's Tuesday, so it can't get any worse, right?
  1. Last week, I was pretty ill; I'm all better now.
  2. Last week, the incredibly competent secretary we found after a three-year search quit (she had good reason, believe me). I'm not sure we're going to bother looking for a replacement, but we'll be okay, and hopefully she'll find the perfect job for her this time around.
  3. Last week, NaNoWriMo started, and since I was home sick, and not able to move very far, I got about 5,000 (or 1/10 of the goal) fired off right off the bat, and haven't written anything since. I'm not that far behind, though - I could easily catch up today, if work stays quiet.
  4. Last week, I was bombarded by election ads and candidates; today, I voted, and hopefully, that will make a difference.
It's times like these that I'm really glad I'm a knitter. Things may be bad, but they'll get better, and that explains my knitting philosophy (and, by extension, my life philosophy.

For example, today's carry-around project is the button-hole front side of the Unnamed Sweater, and it'll be done by the end of lunch (assuming I figure out what I want to do with the neck, and if baling string and binder clips can actually be converted into stitch-holders). I'll get to cast on the next piece - the other front side (did I put the button holes on the correct side for a girl-sweater? I have no idea).

Starting new things is incredibly soothing. Casting on has all sorts of possibilities. Danger (the lone ball of yarn, spiraling down the aisle of the subway car as it winds itself around other passengers' legs)! Adventure (trying to fish knitting needles out of the restricted area of a subway car, without being hauled away for Suspicious Activity)! Drama (finding a hole in your lace forty rows past said hole)! Tears (the only proper response to any of the preceding)! Joy (actually finishing something)!

As you may have guessed from my UFO numbers (only fifty-nine as of today, and I don't really think more than ten of those are knitting... I'd have to check the master log), that last one isn't my usual outcome, except in rare instances. I, typical Aries that I am, find far too much happiness in the what-might-happen-next of casting on a new project. The potential that really, just this once, I might actually finish in a timely manner. That I might actually have the Cat Sweater to wear this Winter, or the Peacock Scarf or Secret of the Stole Stole to wear to the Hello 2008 New Year's party. That the Stoplight Sweater might actually get steeked and grow sleeves and a zipper before the last snowfall.

I never count on this, of course... but there's always the delicious possibility. I firmly believe that. And that, my friends, is the essence of "hope".

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