This post title does not mean "in my sights" in the sense of "an inspiring goal I can see in the distance." It means "in my sights" in the sense of "I am going to shoot this sucker down with my imaginary rifle and kick its corpse in the ribs."
I told my son I'd make him a Cthulhuclava, but I have never been so weary of knitting something. There's normal "ready-to-be-done" knitting ennui and then there's "I-might-never-wear-this-because-I'm-so-tired-of-the-feel-and-smell-of-this-yarn" knitting enervation and then there's "if-I-gouged-my-own-liver-with-this-damned-DPN-maybe-Prometheus-and-his-vulture-would-come-and-finish-this-project-and-if-not-the-ensuing-hospitalization-would-seem-like-a-pleasant-respite-from-the-guilt-that-it's-not-yet-finished" knitting misery.
There's only a bit of knitting left, in objective terms: 4.5 of the 10 tentacles. The seaming will probably not take me a horribly long time (she said wearily). Then I'll only have to weave in a duotrigintillion ends and I'll be done! Dead and buried and decomposed, it's true, but done!
No. Wait. I will still have to stuff the tentacles and the brow and close them up. Here's hoping I can knit from beyond the grave.
Recent Comments