New Math

I wasn't going to cast on any new socks. I thought that if I resisted that lure and focused on sweater knitting, I'd have a chance of finishing St. Brigid fairly soon.

Which would be true in theory, but doesn't quite work in practice.

I pulled out St. Brigid yesterday and went to sit in my big green knitting chair. Some of you know, I've recently gained some new roommates, courtesy of a bastard sonofabitch asshole piece of shit my sister very wisely, and at long last, is divorcing. (Not that I have formed an opinion of this man's character. These statements are all totally objective and based on clinical data. Ahem.)

So there I am in my big green chair, hunkering down for a spell o' knitting while watching the Purdue football game. And here's what happens --

-- The kid wants to watch cartoons. There are three other televisions in this house, but he wants this particular one. And this is the only one with a good knitting chair nearby. He whines when I tell him no, which is not too terrible to take, except that the whining is competing with the game.

-- My mother, currently in town again, decides to vacuum this room, muttering all the while about how there are two adult women living in this house and neither of them vacuums to her satisfaction. I wouldn't give a shit -- I have long practice in ignoring this sort of muttering -- but the noise was interfering with my ability to hear the game commentary. Vacuum + muttering mother + whining kid = starting to be a problem.

-- As soon as my mother leaves the room, my sister wants to complain about my mother's complaining. Mom's vacuuming other rooms now, and still muttering. Now we have Vacuum + muttering mother + whining kid + complaining sister = Goddamn, would you people shut up and let me watch the game and knit already.

-- Enter my father, who tolerates me watching football because he likes football quite a lot. But he wants the remote, and he wants to talk. A lot. He wants to talk about the game, which is a good thing, but I can't answer his questions about why the refs are making the calls they're making because I can't hear the commentary at all any longer. Also, he tends to change channels during commercials and replays, so we're missing quite a lot of commentary anyway.

Still with me? The end result:
Vacuum + muttering mother + whining kid + complaining sister + chatty father + constantly changing channels = mis-crossed cable in row 11.

Also, game? What game?

So I'll be saving St. Brigid for SnB nights, and when I need to knit at home, a simple sock will have to do. This one will be a 2x2 ribbed leg and instep out of Mountain Colors Bearfoot, a yarn I purchased about a thousand years ago from Nana's.

Worth noting: When I sat down at the kitchen table this morning to cast on and browse my Sensational Socks books for a leg pattern, the kid came in to play video games "with" me (a/k/a he plays and shows me the screen at intervals), my sister came in to complain about my mother, my mother came in to complain about housekeeping, and my father came in to talk football. The only difference from yesterday? Different room, no vacuum, and we were talking Bears instead of Boilermakers.

So I closed up the pattern books and opted for a simple ribbing.

Because sometimes, the best answer is the simplest one.