oh BOYoh. October. She’s at the half-way point. When did that happen?
There’s some kind of weird interval acceleration that happens after the age of 35, isn’t there? Like someone cranks the handle of the Time Machine and you’re zooming into the next day just when you’ve barely said good-night to the last.
Add that phenom to jobs with a deadline and at some point you just have to Sit Down. Stop. I see people where I work running down the hallways sometimes with sheaves of paper in their hands, and I want to yell, like a hall monitor: “No Running!” But they’re on a mission, they have to deliver. If what they do doesn’t get to the target, the show does not go on.
Luckily, my personal show can grind to little halts here and there.
Here I sit on the couch this weekend. Sprawled actually, feet right, legs akimbo, one under, one flung. At some point, as I was knitting along on a lacy sleeve, I looked up and realized I was in the middle of most of my WIPs, so suspended in the magic that is the Weekend Afternoon, that I didn’t even notice.
Scattered the way you see someone with the Sunday paper, there’s a sweater to the left, one beyond that in a heap, patterns everywhere, a tee shirt I just traded for (I love trading have I hit you up yet just wait), pillows, and bits of yarn (and popcorn) from Last Week’s sprawl. There’s spillage on the floor because it’s a slippery old sofa