I'd considered titling this post with the phrases I've been using most often while I've been (attempting to) knit for the last few days, but Mom reads this, and I know she doesn't approve of that much profanity.
Why the swearwords, you say?
What was I thinking??? Didn't I remember what a pain it was to cast the brown tube on? What the hell is wrong with me? Don't I have enough frustration in my life, without trying to cast on four needles' worth of tiny, tiny yarn stitches?
No. Obviously not. So, I'm sure you've noticed by now that my attempts to start these damned socks are not going well. But I am determined. I am!!! Mom keeps offering to start them for me (isn't she sweet? she really is sweet), and I'm not sure if it's because she doesn't like me to be this distressed, or if it's because she doesn't like phrases involving "fucking" "hell" "pig" "fist" and "cock" to be used in the same sentence in her house. So. No socks for me yet. I'm on try number sixty-five-million-and-three, but I will keep going. Because I can do this. Even if I need to wear my damned glasses to see the tiny yarn (yes, mom, i still know where they are. no, mom, i don't wear them if i can help it) on the tiny needles... I...WILL....make...this...work.... Sure, it's been three days, and all I have to show for my efforts is a ball of yarn (but it's a lovely, round, spherical ball), a pile of needles, and a pattern. Shit. But, as we say in my house, I am a Wood. When presented with a brick wall in my path, I will beat my head against it until either it moves or I pass out. And if I pass out, I will only beat my head against it more when I wake back up. That wall doesn't stand a chance against a Wood. So. I can do this. Maybe one more try before bed tonight. Maybe. I think I have a little rum, a little coke. Nope. Not strong enough. Anybody know where I can get some crack at ten p.m. on a Tuesday?