Tuesday's mildly irritated throat bloomed, by yesterday noon, into a full-on debilitating bug. In spite of a pile of stuff to do, I decided to leave work and rest, rather than continuing to sit in front of the computer listlessly pecking at the keyboard. Dreadful thing, a bug in Chicago in February. I trudged the mile from the office to the train though the biting wind, longing for death.
I did sleep for quite a while at home, but found myself ready to climb the walls after a couple of hours. So I popped volume two of the documentary about Elizabeth I into the player (thank you, Netflix) and sat down with the sweater.
About two hours later, just as Elizabeth was getting wise to the Earl of Essex, I finished the back. And I realized I was feeling remarkably better - this without medicating myself to the gills. I swear, it must be due at least in part to the knitting. Makes sense, when you think about it: It kept me still, it calmed me down, it distracted my mind from worrying about what I was not getting finished at work. And it didn't give me that horrible floaty feeling I get from NyQuil, DayQuil, AfternoonQuil, BrunchQuil, or OverQuil.
After a pause to determine whether I was hungry (I was) and whether my wrists were feeling sore (they were not) I took a little dinner break, and then pressed on. By the time I went to bed, I'd done my first three-needle bind-off and finished the collar. Get me, Gertrude.
Need to take a picture of it, or at least of the collar. There is something about seeing the collar finished that gives me a real feeling of accomplishment.
I will admit to a slight nervousness about said collar actually fitting over my fat head when the sweater is done, but my approximation of a try-on was promising.
Sleeves next. Intarsia. Scary spooky intarsia. Eek.
Need to start a hat or something, because there's no way in hell I'm going to try to work on this at Stitch 'n' Bitch.