Ends

A picture for my friends who hate weaving in ends. I was able to pretend that I found it therapeutic, most of the time.

I keep telling them they don't fit

Online Dating

Future Blog posts:

"Transferable skill sets, or: How teaching prepares you for going on three dates in one day."

"You said you were 39, but you look like my dad. No really."

"Self-obsessed woman-hater seeks sugar mama."

"What not to write in your first message."

"7 reasons you shouldn't be surprised that no one writes back."

"Sometimes 'Let's pay separately' means 'I like feeling independent', sometimes it means 'That was excruciating'. Here is 1 simple clue to help you guess which."

Thanks, mum

 Mum took some photos of the vest yesterday.

The day started cold and mucky, but picked up in the afternoon

This vest was super easy, but time consuming. Took me 6 months...

Duck Vest - Neverending

At first neverending because of the diamonds (easy but fiddly).















Then I knit the bodice, tried it on, a little too small. I went for the classic 'oh, blocking will Make It Right', and knit the borders.

But there was no denying that it looked ridiculous, so I ripped. That was nearly the end of me.

Lack of yarn meant that most of the added fabric went into bewb shaping (those being the major ... problem after all).

It is still a little small, but there is no more yarn. I think, after yesterday's heat, it will be finished blocking, so I might try wearing it this morning.

P.S. all the ends were woven in as I went (it took about 40 minutes to weave in ends on a row of diamonds) and all I have to do is cut off the bits you can see in the picture.

ravelled

Herbivore

The whole time I was knitting this yarn (and it started out as several projects before herbivore suited it) it was going to be for me. But then the colour was making me look a little jaundiced (or maybe that was just how I was feeling).

At any rate, I caught up with a friend whom it looks fabulous on and passed it along.

More cupcakes, more year twelves

Tomorrow is my last class with my year 12s. I don't think I have ever had such a demoralising, dispiriting year. I approached today's class with a mix of dread and relief. I have been counting down since 64 to go. I went to see a therapist in May who charged me a lot of money, told me I wouldn't make it to November and confirmed all the stereotypes I had about therapists. Silly bint.

I have been planning baking cupcakes for a class of 12s I don't teach, but hadn't really considered mine until this morning. I got the guilts about all the lovely kids in the class. And then I went to class and all the lovely kids had got together and bought me a present and it turns out the lovely kids out number the others 17 to 3. A kid who wasn't supposed to be at school today turned up for the class just for the gift giving. I wanted to cry and throw up and it all fell a bit flat and felt weird because I couldn't say thank you and I couldn't say 'I loved teaching you guys this year'.

And now I have to go to bed.

pity this busy monster, manunkind,

pity this busy monster, manunkind,

not. Progress is a comfortable disease:
your victim (death and life safely beyond)

plays with the bigness of his littleness
--- electrons deify one razorblade
into a mountainrange; lenses extend
unwish through curving wherewhen till unwish
returns on its unself.
A world of made
is not a world of born --- pity poor flesh

and trees, poor stars and stones, but never this
fine specimen of hypermagical

ultraomnipotence. We doctors know

a hopeless case if --- listen: there's a hell
of a good universe next door; let's go 

e e cummings.