The failing-est month

Earlier today, my door was just slightly ajar, hiding the majority of the view. If you had popped your head in, you would have found me bundled up in my suit jacket and a scarf and standing on my desk while brandishing a tube of paper — the former because I was transported into the arctic region upon crossing the threshold of my doorway and the latter because I had had just about enough of the resident roach. Like a mini UFO, it hovered around the room on zippy wings and landed upside-down, sideways, and right side up on any surface that was beyond the reach of my outstretched arms. I noticed that it gravitated toward the window and decided to make my move. I rolled up some papers I no longer needed, eased my door shut, and climbed up on my desk for leverage. Stalking my prey, I slowly raised the Venetian blinds to give myself more swinging room. Three whacks later, the roach was on its shield-shaped back, legs curled, gasping its last breath. Before sweeping it into the garbage can, along with my weapon, I noted grimly that it was about the size of a nickel. They call me the hunter. Roar.

Despite this surprising swell of fortitude, I have been feeling rather unaccomplished lately. I have been hoping that no one has noticed that I read all of one book last month, which is a mere 25% of what I intended, if I’ve got that math right. To make matters worse, the one book I managed to read last month was an easy read about dog behavior, not some literary behemoth, and I haven’t even started my first book for October. Poor Angela’s Ashes has been languishing by my bed laying on the guilt-trip every night for three weeks now. Agh. I feel so illiterate, unmotivated, and dull.

I blame it all on the knitting. I know, I know, I alone volunteered to knit scarves for the volleyball seniors. I wanted to be able to say, “Why, yes, I made ten whole scarves in just nine weeks. No, it wasn’t a problem at all! Look how crafty I am! Look how committed I am to my husband’s volleyball team!” What’s that saying? Pride cometh before something? Here I am, with six days to go (oh, heaven help me) and I am feeling the crunch. Despite the boon of a senior quitting mid-season and reducing the scarf total to nine, I am still behind schedule if I am to finish all of this knitting, much less the festive fringing. Scarf #8 is still only a quarter of the way complete and my willing it to become exponentially longer has not been effective.

To state the obvious, I can’t do much of anything else while I’m knitting because it’s a two-handed, eyes-needed activity. No playing with Ted. No cooking. No eating. No reading. No sleeping. No driving. I can pretty much only watch TV, which narrows my available knitting time to about two hours per night, max. For my own sanity, I am resisting the urge to compare my remaining, expected knitting time to the time I have in reality. Because I must finish the scarves — knitting, fringing, and cute packaging — regardless of reality.

As is the case at work, when conflicting deadlines arise, one must prioritize (hey, that’s kind of catchy!), and so it is with this knitting project. The scarves are for the girls, but the reading is for me, so something has to give. Even if it makes me feel like a slug.