Sisyphean Dreams

Someone said once that dreams are the only way a sane man may express his madness.**

Well. I must have some serious unexpressed madness about me lately. For the past three nights in a row, I've had what I can only describe as Sisyphean dreams. Dreams of being given a completely impossible, unending, and frustrating task, of trying so, so hard to get it done, and of feeling like I can't walk away from it. The task is different every night, and to be honest I can't remember the details, mostly (although I think one of the tasks was trying to keep Paris Hilton from buying anything while in a ten-floor posh shopping mall, and how weird is it that I was dreaming about that?). But I wake up exhausted, and discouraged.

If I had to guess, I'd guess that it's about the total lack of control I'm experiencing over large events in my life, and my inability to be at peace with that lack of control. A lesson which you might think I should already have learned (and you'd be right about that), but at which I am apparently quite a stubborn pupil.

So if you have any suggestions -- preferably of the non-trite variety -- for hastening the learning process, I'd be grateful for a good night's sleep. One in which I actually rest.

** I googled my little fingers off and couldn't find the exact quote; if you know what it is, I'd be delighted to credit it.

A Little Fainting Spell (and, Knitting Again At Last)

Oh, well, actually ... not quite. I've always thought it would be romantic to faint (preferably dead away, and preferably with a prodigiously handsome man nearby to catch me), but I've never managed it.

I did squeal like a little girl, though. My very attentive husband thought I'd been shot. Or seen a mouse. What brought on this excitement, you ask? I was mentioned by The Yarn Harlot herself. (It took awhile to explain to him why this was so eventful that it was necessary to give him a mild heart attack. I'm not sure he gets it yet. I don't understand why none of my links show up, so we're even.)

I feel like I've been allowed to touch the hem of her garment. I'm inspired to cast on all sorts of things that are far beyond my ability. I, too, can knit multiple baby sweaters in just a few days! *cue Chariots of Fire theme*

Righto.

I am knitting again, though, which is Very Good. I know it sounds silly, but honestly I could hardly think of my own name there for awhile. I could just manage some garter stitch if I concentrated really very hard, and went along at a pace at which snails would scoff. Now, though, I'm five days out of quarantine and back on the thyroid medication.

I'm not back to normal (or what usually passes for it), but I'm making progress and have graduated to working on Annie's little surprise for Italy again. I've committed to finishing that before I cast on a Tuscany shawl for myself in Pumpkin (lovely, lovely dark-ish orange) Sea Silk.

I'm still deciding whether to rip out the Dashing I finished, or knit another and give the set as a gift to someone. Here's a picture:



It just does not fit me and my manly wrists. But it might be lovely for someone else. What do you think?

In other news, I noticed that I got "occurrence" wrong in the title of my last post, which I've now fixed. I used to be an editor, for heaven's sake. That's just embarrassing. And now I'll wait for someone to point out something awful I've done in this post as well.

An Occurrence that Shouldn't Be Newsworthy, But Is

I just got off the phone with someone at our health insurance company who:

- knew what he was doing,
- got me the answers I needed,
- apologized sincerely for the month-long runaround I've been getting, and
- seemed to actually give a hoot.

I don't have words.

Wait, I do:

Thank you, Michael.