Grrr.

Stupid, stupid gusset.

There's a hole, and I did something too long to explain that had me on 4 DPNs where there should have been 3. Don't even ask.

However, I fudged and wrangled and grumbled, and I think it will be OK. I will just darn the hole.

I think the next pair will be in Koigu, which is at least a bit thicker and I can probably get away with 1s.

*~*~*~*~*

I didn't go out today, and I should have. I cleaned up the dishes from last night, and made dinner, and changed the sheets, straightened up, sock-wrangled, had a bath, watched some CSI, and read a bit. But I should always make a point of getting out of the house. I used to go to a Starbucks with a big patio after Mass on Sundays, and I think I may start that again next week.

I just feel out of sorts.


*~*~*~*~*

And sort of melancholy, in a way hard to describe. It's hard to miss what you haven't had, but I do. And that's about all I can say about that.

I've never liked Sunday nights. Sundays have always felt like a squished in-between sort of day, jammed between the freedom of Saturday and the drudgery of Monday, and Sunday nights have historically been full of dread for me -- first, as a kid, I always felt I'd forgotten something for school the next day. As an adult, just the yoke of work settling back round my shoulders.

I was saying to one of my math-and-science-guy friends today that I envied him his variations and freedom in work, that I'm a sprinter but my job is a marathon, and I told him what I said the other day -- next life, I'm coming back as a math and science guy.

Must. Cheer. Up.