I had one goal today. All I cared about accomplishing was finishing the blanket I've had in progress since December. It's a gift for my neighbor, and I don't feel like I can start a single new thing until it's done. When I started this morning, I had a half skein attached to it, and one more large one in the bin, ready to go. Now, as I'm settled in, waiting for SNL to start, I still haven't quite started the final skein. I sat in one spot all day, crocheting until I was dizzy, taking short Twitter breaks and then getting right back at it. I sat still for so long, I actually hurt myself. When I finally tried to walk around and get away from crochet, I felt like I had shin splints. Who knew that being a dedicated athlete and a chair-bound slug could result in the same injuries? I'm mildly embarrassed to know that now.
We are getting a close approximation of the snowstorm I've been begging the weather gods to send us. It's a solid snow, even if it's not knee-deep like I wanted. It comes with bone-chilling cold, so I thought it would be so nice to give T his blanket. It'll be cold through Monday, so perhaps I can get it done, wash the cat hair out of it, and hang fringe on the ends before the cold snap breaks. It means getting back at it right now.
When I tried to walk around and failed, I thought an Epsom salt soak would do me some good. I tuned in to the basketball game on the radio and spent an hour in the bath. I have learned never to shut the door in the bathroom, to prevent feline outrage. Everyone in the Pride came through to say hello and to inspect my bathwater. Most of them only looked at the water, and sniffed a little at the lavender and eucalyptus scent. Harvey tested the water more closely, to make sure it was safe for mommy to be in it. It had been safe, until a flailing, splashing kitty boy went claws-first into it. At least he's clean now.
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