Contrary to the impression of late, I am still a knitter. You just might not know it from reading this blog.
Bear with me. I've some fun to stuff to show, once Marilyn's illustrations are further along and my brother-in-law's Web site is quite finished and everybody who has ordered a print from me has got the print and my effing shoulder no longer feels like it's being bitten by a long-toothed rodent whenever I move it a certain way.
One thing I've discovered is that knitting has become so much a part of my daily routine that when it's removed, it actively disturbs my brain. I keep reaching for yarn and needles that are not there. Last night, I fell asleep mentally working the chart of my gansey in my head.
Twenty-four hours in a day used to seem interminably long. Now I'm afraid I'm going to have to write to Yarn Harlot and find out where she purchased the additional 12 hours per day that allow her to get her work done and still knit fair isle that makes my eyes cross.