What Was I Thinking?
How did this happen? How could I blithely knit on and on and on and not notice the garishness of my color scheme? I recall wanting to go with “jewel tones”—emerald, topaz, garnet, sapphire, onyx—and I swear that’s how they looked in the yarn store, but in my living room where the afghan, once finished, was to reside, they look more like Chemlawn™, harvest gold, bing cherry, goofy grape, and black. The black/onyx color is really the only one I’m happy with.
What am I to do? I’ve already put so much work into knitting all those little squares, I don’t exactly want to abandon it, but do I really want to spend the time to knit up six more harvest golds and eighteen garnet/bing cherry squares and then endure the tedium of stitching them all together just so I can have an afghan that will have to live out its life in the basement because it is too ugly to be seen by the general public? The whole raison d’etre for knitting the afghan was so I could use it to cover up B’s hideous 80s chair. Cruelly and ironically the afghan is going to be more hideous than the chair. Is there any way I can salvage this thing? What if I knit up all the garnets, and swap them out for the Chemlawn™ squares? Then maybe, just maybe, would the thing look somewhat OK?
Also, what is the deal with oysters? I had this enormous oyster po’ boy last night and a few hours later I conked out with the lights on and a book in my hand. I thought oysters were supposed to have aphrodisiac properties, but clearly they had quite the opposite effect. An effect that was still with me when I woke up this morning. I dragged around in a completely unmotivated and lethargic state—too sluggish to put a load of laundry in the washer and far too dopey to do something as ambitious as cut down the dead dahlias by the doorstep or saw up the gigantic Christmas-tree sized Doug fir branch that snapped off and crashed down into the garden a few days ago. I didn’t even want to read—too energy consuming.
I was ready to spend the day staring out the back window watching these astonishingly fat squirrels frolic. Seriously, that was all I had the energy for. I truly felt like I was under the influence of some really potent soporific/hypnotic drug. B finally talked me into getting outside and marching up and down a bunch of hills and breathing in lungfuls of damp and chilly air, which more or less eventually snapped me out of my stupor, but still—what the heck? Do oysters have a totally undeserved reputation or what? And what is going to happen when I eat the other half of the po' boy for lunch tomorrow?