Mundane Morning In Maine

There is something comforting in "the familiar."  I like knowing what's coming next.  Predictability is my friend.  And I try to extend that little comfort to you.

Nowhere else in the blogosphere can you find more in the way of The Usual.  I keep it constant for ya!  I'm good like that.  Let's take a look at some of the ways in which I endeavor to ensure an endless loop for you all.

*I knit socks.

*I knit one or two row scarves.

*I knit more socks and scarves.

*When I don't knit socks and scarves, I invariable write lengthy dissertations on how the universe conspired against me and why the three thousand things that went horribly awry on the project that was not a scarf or sock were not my fault.  And, if I do say so myself, these are crafted in such a way as to tug the heartstrings mightily.  You might even call them, "stirring."  

*Then I knit a sock.

I do it for you.  You are good folk who deserve a safe place in this crazy world where anyone anywhere can suddenly decide to bang out a lace shawl or some sort of cable-ridden sweater.  Or, heaven forbid....miters!  ::shiver::

But, last night there was a subtle shift in The Norm.  I don't know what came over me.  There was this feeling.  I dunno...I can't explain it.  But, I think it might have been something along the lines of boredom.  I'd just cast off the second Sort Of Purple Sock That Might Match Something I Own, slipped the pair on my hooves and declared them Good.  And then I was at a loss.  What to do?  I'll tell you what I did.

I knit a Maine Morning Mitt.

Well...not a whole one.  But almost a whole one.  I finished it up this afternoon whilst riding the exercise bike.  But I knit almost all of it last night.  And I was entranced.  Just entranced, I tellya!  Sure, there were a few issues.  The Noro and I had a little disagreement over just how hard I should be tugging on the yarn to close the gap between the needles.  We were able to reach consensus on this matter, though.  I agreed to stop cranking on it like I was starting a lawn mower and the yarn agreed to stop disintegrating every two minutes.  This seemed fair.  And things hummed along amazingly.  I forgot the time.  I forgot the lame television viewing.  It was all MMM for me.  I had broken the sock/scarf chain.  I was knitting something different.

In fact, I was so enamoured of the whole process that I forgot to eat my second black and white cookie.  This, in turn, led to a shattering of the "you can have black and white cookies on Sunday and you only get two so you'd better ration them accordingly" rule.  This forced me to eat a black and white cookie on a Monday because the only thing worse than not eating a black and white cookie on a Sunday is letting it go bad.  I'm so far out of my rut that I couldn't fall back into it with a good push and a little extra gravity on the side.

I've taken away your safe place.  I couldn't feel worse if I tried.  You come here for the comforting familiarity and now I'm just knitting strange stuff all willy-nilly.  I feel like I should make it up to you somehow.  

I like to think that this is why I messed up the thumb so badly.  Yeah...that's it.  

I did it for you.

SA