Announcement.

click for bigger I don't know what to say.

Brown is the new ugly.

There's a foreign couch in my living room. And I need to write about it because it's slowly causing me to come completely unraveled. Our neighbor is moving to California on Sunday and needed to get rid of some furniture. Upon seeing the stuff she needed to get rid of, I instantly wanted her brown (what?) velvet (WHAT?) sofa. The Boyfriend and I hauled it over to our place, I gouged a chunk out of the hallway floor in the process, and it now sits in our living room. And I hate it. It smells funny (this girl wore some intense musky perfume), it doesn't match any of our other furniture, it's way too low to the floor, and it'll be a big sweaty sponge come summer time. I can offer no explanation as to what I was thinking when we took it. None. I have considered that I was asleep, but gouging the floorboards is definitely something I'd do while awake. And the couch sits there in my living room like an ugly, taciturn houseguest who has overstayed his welcome. I very undone over this thing. I'm also just very neurotic and emotional this week. I think I'd be handling things much better if it wasn't for the couch. Having something physically amiss in my nice, safe apartment is just not working well with my stress levels right now. Please, someone, tell me that being distraught over a sofa does not mean that I've finally lost it.

I have a problem.

And it is this: I messed up my sweater. And for the most ridiculous reason, too. I didn't knit a test swatch, and the body is way too loose for me. I wouldn't mind if it was less than skin-tight, but all the extra material is really bothering me. I was able to wear it (test drive it) around the house this afternoon for about 30 minutes before it just got too annoying. It bunches under the arms, bunches under a coat, and generally just bunches all over the place. So, aside from kicking myself over not making the swatch, I'm trying to decide what to do with the frumpy sweater. The Boyfriend insists it looks fine and that I should keep it to wear around the house. My picky fashion sense insists that I frog it and make something else, since I'll never wear this if it's a) uncomfortable, and b) unflattering. I wish I didn't love the neckline so much, which would make it much easier to let the pattern go. If I do rip it up, I probably won't make another sweater until late summer (to have it for the fall, you see). I desperately want to make Amelia Raitte's "Jemina," so I think the yarn might go toward this. ----------------------------------------------- The Spring Quarter has begun, and today the course I'm taking met for the first time. I'm technically not supposed to be taking a course, only taking independent study hours to prepare for my MA portfolio defense. But this is an Old English seminar with a professor I've never worked with, and if I'm leaving this university I want to have one more Old English paper in my repetoire. Nevermind that doing the exam prep and taking this class is going to drive me crazy, I just want to get as much as possible out of my last quarter here. And besides, just look at it. How beautiful is this language? (click for bigger) Still no definitive news about a phd program. The admissions coordinator at UTenn told me to "be optimistic," but I'm finding that very hard to do. Still, at least Spring is starting to creep in. I can wait a year to enroll again if only we get some more sun in Ohio.

In which the blogger refrains from making a Fight Club reference.

First off, I want to apologize. I broke two of my previously unarticulated, but nonetheless important, Rules of Blog. 1st Rule of Blog: Do not whine. You may explain yourself, and you may complain about a situation that is unjust, but you must not whine. Ever. This is what separates you from the hordes of 13 year old emo/goth kids with live/deadjournals. Not that they don't contribute to the web in their own valuable way. 2nd Rule of Blog: Do not post anything that you would not want to be ridiculed for. In other words, nothing too serious. You run the risk of pouring your heart out to the vast internet and looking like a sap or an emotional spacko. I broke both of these rules in my last two posts. I whined shamelessly about my academic situation -- a situation which, I'll readily admit, I'm very lucky to have in the first place. And then I sentimentally prattled on about ballet. This doesn't seem that bad, but I know that somewhere out there, a witty guy with a PBR and a Black Flag poster is making fun of my continuing attachment to those damn shoes. And while I wouldn't care about ridicule for knitting, school, teaching rants, etc; I still am attached to ballet. And the emotional involvement makes the fun-poking harder to take. ---------------------------------- Tonight, I finally took myself to Wholly Craft. It's a very small store, but absolutely crammed with handmade clothes, bags, stationery, etc. The things they sell are gorgeous, if a bit out of my price range. I just can't plunk down $35 for a silkscreened t-shirt, no matter how much I like the kissing birds on the front. I went in looking for cheap fabric, yarn, or needles; and I came away with some buttons and a ball of claret lambswool. Not a large selection of knitting supplies -- or any supplies, for that matter -- but it has a great atmosphere. The kind that's way too cool for me, so I bought my measly ball of yarn and got out of there. But not without having the following embarrassing conversation with the hip girl sewing something by the cash register. Me: Where do you get your yarn supplies? Her: Mostly thrift stores. And Florida. I go to Florida a lot. Me: Oh, I'll bet they don't need much yarn in Florida. Her: Me: Or sweaters, really. Her: Me: Because it's so warm... I just should not be allowed to associate with people who are clearly cooler than I am.

Things I Used to Do #1

I used to dance a lot. My happiest summer was when I was 15. I spent four weeks at an intensive dance camp in Pittsburgh: dancing six (or more) hours a day and then collapsing at night, utterly exhausted. I was constantly sore and always feeling somewhat inadequate, but I loved it anyway. The wonderful thing about dance (or any performing art) is that when you're on stage, the only thing that matters is that you can do it well. No one cares if you're socially awkward, desperately need a haircut, or said something mean/rude/embarrassing to your best friend/boyfriend/mother/etc. All that matters is that you can make the dance look easy. It was a kind of selfless devotion to an art that took a physical intensity I've never found in anything else, and I miss it. But, I gained weight during my last year of high school. Not a lot, just enough that not being able to lose it ruined my chances of ever being able to dance professionally. I'd convinced myself that there was no money in it anyway, and that being washed up at 35 didn't sound like a good idea, so it wasn't too harsh of a loss. I just stuck my nose into some books and haven't taken it out since (although I still do keep the shoes with me).

Meltdown.

I've been having an incredibly hard time thinking of things to post about. My mind is fried from finals week, and my ego's a bit crushed by turning out such mediocre papers. The 10-week quarter system really does no one any good. The classes are so short (two times a week for ten weeks) and we have to cram in as much reading as the same course at semester-universities (which run on 15 week class schedules), so it's very hard to find time for research while trying to get through the reading for the courses. Not to mention grading, lesson planning, conferences with students, maintaining a relationship, eating, sleeping, and sometimes watching Jeopardy!. What this adds up to (for me and many other grad students, anyway) is a frantic dash to pull together something brilliant in 7 days. It rarely works. The only paper I've ever felt confident about -- and by confident I don't mean that I thought it was great, just solid scholarship -- was written at the cost of the reading for the other class I was taking. And I haven't managed since then to consciously and knowingly put aside some assigned reading so I can get started on personal research. I think I might be wired all wrong for this kind of work. Anyway. Tired. Brain like mush. Have been mindlessly knitting and playing Animal Crossing. That game was made for people like me who are tired of thinking about anything even vaguely intellectual, intelligent, or clever. I just want to win the fishing contest I'm in with Bill the Duck and find some medicine for the sick eagle. Oh, and possibly find a bodice for the cat who lives by the orange trees. He's been after one for days now. P.S. New yarn. Mmmm, tropical storm.

Finale

I promise I'm not dead. This is final exam week at my university, so I'll be spending the next four days buried in books as I try to pull together two brilliant papers. I keep thinking about driving by graveyards in a school bus when I was in high school. Everyone would hold their breath as we drove by the cemetery, and then let it out in a big collective and loud gasp when we'd passed. This is kind of like that. One long, agonizing period of not breathing -- and then a mental gasp as my brain catches up with the rest of my body and completely shuts down. This week I will be brilliant; next week I'll be a gibbering fool. Which is different than usual. Really. Here are the projects I've been able to work on: I frogged and re-knit the sleeves on my Tubey, making them 3/4 length instead of long belled, swishy things. I like it so much better this way, and I think A.G. does, too. And I started a sock, but haven't been back to it for a while. It's, uh, swirly. And now, back to the books. See everyone on the other side.

Furtive late night socks.

I have a confession to make. I don't like belled sleeves. They look fantastic on other people, don't misunderstand me. I think they look graceful, feminine, and just medieval enough to appeal to my non-academic love of all things pre-17th century. In fact, I love the way they look so much that I have several be-belled sweaters and shirts in my closet right now. The problem is that I never wear them. I just can't stand all that material flapping around my wrist while I try to do things like writing, cooking (*woosh* says the flappy sleeve near the stove), typing, and knitting. Even close-fitting sleeves are always pushed up to my elbows after I've had the shirt on for an hour or two. I know, I'm a strange, sad girl with claustrophobic wrists and I need help. But I also need to stop acquiring shirts with those swooshy sleeves. I realized this when I was working on my Tubey last night. I was once again convincing myself that I'd love the sleeves when I was done, because the sweater looked so great on Cassie in the photos. And then it hit me. I don't need to make the sleeves the way they are in the pattern. My god, I can alter that baby until it's just a tube top if I want. I won't, of course, but I think I am going to frog the sleeves to the elbows and make them 3/4 length instead. More pictures as this develops. And I started making a sock tonight. No pattern, just messing around with colors -- ok, two different shades of grey -- and seeing what comes out.

Shameless yarn exposure.

Check out the sassy new button on the sidebar. I've signed up for Flash Your Stash 2006 and you should, too! This basically means I'm going to prop my yarn up on windowsills with cups of tea, and try to make my shots look as gorgeous as Jane's (over at Yarnstorm, also see sidebar). Today was my LAST DAY of teaching this awful 7:30 am English class. In celebration, I've worked a bit more on the Tubey. The sweater is modeled by my childhood bear, A.G. My parents and I have never been able to figure out where his name comes from, apart from some dim recollections that when I first got him (at the age of 5 or so) he wore a blue corduroy shirt embroidered with those letters. He originally came with a kind of electronic voice box stuffed into a zippered pouch in his back. It responded to sounds by making a kind of "eeerrrrrrrrr-orrrrrrrrr" noise, which was terrifying to 5 year old me. The voice box didn't last long, and for the past 18 years I've kept special things in his pouch. Does anyone else have a bear like this, or know where they come from? In addition to working more on the Tubey, I'm itching to start some other small project. All the other knit-bloggers I know (ok, read) work on several projects at once, while I've always had monogamous relationships with my WIPs. I'd like to get a little dangerous and try doing more than one thing at once, but I can't find anything small that really catches my eye. I'd love to do some socks, but my severe shortage of sock yarn and small budget mean that I'm stuck working from my stash this month. I foresee lots of lace scarves in my future.

Buy! Sell!

Just a quick note to show everyone this: Etsy.com I'm probably the last to hear about this, but I remain captivated by the supplies category and have probably wasted hours paging through the button selection. Some things seem overpriced, some under -- so I'm not endorsing the pricing at all. But if you're the kind of knitter/crafter who makes things just to make them, you probably have finished (or half-finished. GET TO IT.) projects sitting around. Hey, extra money is extra money. Sell that scarf and buy yourself some yarn.

Lemons and tires

This weekend has been rushed and busy, and I am myself rushed and busy at the moment, so this is going to be a fly-by update. Finished: another toy for the cat. The sleeves on my Tubey. Overcame: the situation with the tire. The Boyfriend hit a curb on Friday and after many phone calls to towing companies, garages, and tires sales places (do these exist?), he decided that we should change the tire ourselves. This took an hour and a half, and explains why I didn't get much reading done on Saturday. The van (Bessie), is now fixed and happy with her new tire. Purchased: Odd Ball Knitting: Creative Ideas for Leftover Yarn by Barbara Albright (the felted rug will be gracing our floors sometime soon). Read: A short story about a folklorist (I resent this -- I'd rather that my professor had not assigned reading than assigned something "fun." I have many, many more important things to do), only one essay about Medieval bestiaries, and only eight of my students' rough drafts. This leaves me with 12 to do tonight. I'm averaging 20 minutes per paper, so this shouldn't keep me up too late. Cooked: Eggplant Parmesan last night. It was so easy, I'm kicking myself over the years that I didn't make this thinking it was too easy to mess up. Tonight I've made lemon and rosemary tofu which is in the oven right now. I was craving something light that isn't made of pasta, bread, cheese, or any combination of the three. The apartment smells lemony and herby, and I think I chose the right dish. Learned: that Wisconsin has turned down my PhD application. Despite my attempts to imagine Madison as a crummy town, the rejection still stings. I have a feeling this is the first of many. My dilemma now is: if I don't get into any schools, do I want to try again next year? My gut says yes (although right now it's mostly thinking about tofu), but my head is wondering if I'm cut out for life as a harried academic. As a professor/scholar you have very little time to read for pleasure, go on vacations, or have weekends off. You're never "off," and this is what bothers me. At the moment, I'm very envious of my friends who work desk jobs and get to leave it all behind them when they leave at 5:00. I leave campus after a day of teaching and taking classes, and doing work in between, to come home and do more work until I collapse around 2 or 3 in the morning. I realize the pace slows down a bit once you're hired (hell, it slows down once you're done with course work and working on your dissertation), but you're still always "on." I'm hoping that I just need a break from the break-neck pace of the academic life. I have a feeling that working a different (normal) job, if I don't get accepted anywhere, will make me want back in on academia.

A sense of some accomplishment.

This is the first thing I have completed for myself in a long time. (You hear that, cat? No more new toys for you until you drag the old ones out from under the couch.) The pros and cons of this clapotis: Con: the colors. Yikes. I feel like some kind of sassy circus clown in these pinks and blues. Pro: the way it drapes. Very elegant in a sassy clown kind of way. Con: no comments on said draping while wearing the 'Tis (as I call it) around the English Dept. building today. Pro: no negative comments or smothered laughter while wearing it around the English Dept. today. Pro: finishing! Now that this is over, and I know I can make one without bursting into tears or stabbing a needle through my monitor, making one for my Mom will be breezy. ---------------------------------- Nice thing that happened today: When I picked up some books from the library, they came with some extra love on the request slips. Ok, so, those could be "B"s. But I want to believe that the library, as a building of some sentimentality, has a certain affection for me. It will miss me next year.