I'm doing a pair of socks. Yes, another pair of socks. I'm using some of the Lisa Souza sock yarn, though, which after all the cotton/wool blend and rotgut wool superwash is heavenly. And the colors are delightful. I just hope I don't finish them before Thursday. I'm so nervous, I find myself picking them up incessantly.
If I can motivate myself out the door, I'm also going to put together everything I need to make this sweater, which is in a pattern book I couldn't resist.
Only, I'm making it in a kind of soft gray for the main color and a darker moss green for the border. Because that's what I have in my stash (see, I'm saving money and cleaning out the infernal craft closet – that's called "multitasking"). But I need a pair of #4 circulars of at least 36" circumference.
Oh, and I feel great! I feel better right now than I have felt in literally months!!
See, here's what I think is happening. My gallbladder is kissing up to me right now. It's saying, "Oh, heh heh, no! No, it wasn't me! There's nothing wrong here, we're still buds!! It was…uh…the mayo! At Wendy's! That's what happened! And the flu, you must have had the flu! Just the flu, and bad mayo!...dude…you're not really going to take me out, are you? After all the good times we've had? All the laughs? The steak and fries and deep-fried zucchini we've shared?"
Seriously. I feel so good that, my short-term memory being rather poor and my horror of All Things Medical being of long standing, I'm second-guessing the whole thing.
Sure, yes, it was miserable, but I feel fine right now! I feel up to a super double cheese-bacon-lard-spread burger and a double bag of fries! With a milkshake!
How in the world could there possibly be anything wrong with my gallbladder?
Or at least, anything wrong enough to justify going to the hospital and having it taken out.
I even ate (checks to see if her doctor is reading over her shoulder) a couple onion rings last week. Nothing happened. Well. I take that back. A little cramping, and a lot of belching. But nothing, you know, dreadful. My kids thought the belching was hysterical, and after all – what could be bad about something that makes the eight-and-under set laugh maniacally and scream, "Do it again, Mommy!"?
Yes, that's me. A delicate little bloom of femininity.