And this weekend I’ll be far away. Santa Monica, to be exact. I *love* traveling to California. Firstly, it’s usually a roadtrip, which gives me hours of scenery watching, knitting–whatever. Secondly, our California trips are usually undertaken at transistional points in the year. At semester’s end, they’re a celebration of freedom. At semester’s start, they’re one last hurrah in the Land of Excess before reality hits like a full cement mixer. No matter that this is not officially semester’s end–I still have one final after we get back on Monday. But I’ll have a nice long ride in which to study verbos y cultura y vocabulario, and…
FINISH THE VELMA SWEATER!
Previously known as the Fitted Ribbed Turtleneck. But it was knitted for Velma in the live-action Scooby Doo movie, so it really is the Velma sweater. I’m quite excited: that thing has been collecting dust behind my bed for ages, and now I will actually have it off my FO list. There is no doubt about it being finished. We are going to see the Nutcracker one night, and I have nothing else to wear there. If I do not finish it, I do not go, but because I must go, I must finish the sweater. That may not pass for standard logic, but it makes perfect sense to me.
The finish-or-freeze tactic is how I finished my last sweater, too. That was a gray argyle cardigan, my own pattern, that I called the Black Arrow Cardigan. I was very proud of myself: I did all the finishing on a bus, and was didn’t have to redo any of it after I got home.
*Sigh* Days like today make me wish I could knit at work. It’s gray and wet outside, warm and quiet inside. No people, no fiddly work. The desks are perfect, too: super-high, more counters, really, so I could sit with my knitting hidden discreetly in my lap as I worked and drop it to the side if someone came up with a question. But no. But what would people think if they saw you knitting? That was how I was told “get your needles in your locker.” I really, really wanted to ask what people would think if they saw me with my head on the countertop, drooling slightly as I dozed. But I refrained. And so W is for Wendolene who died of ennui