You should have been there at Knit Night last night. My friend was telling about the lovely place they stayed while on a business trip to the 50th state, how the frogs and the birds would sing, loudly and persistently, at all hours. And [this is the part where I was not paying strict attention, as I was counting stitches] the people who run the resort are very effective at keeping the feral cat population under control.
But what I heard was, “They have a really good management system: trap, neuter, and release.” While the rational part of my mind was thinking “oh, feral cats,” the office worker part of my mind was thinking “that would really help with middle management.” Not in terms of my current working conditions, which with the exception of no electricity in the building until mid-morning yesterday, are typically excellent. I have no quarrel with either the office manager or the managing attorney. But I had my share of jobs-from-hell, long ago in a universe far, far away.
And I started laughing, the kind where your shoulders heave, and tears squirt out of your eyes, and you can’t tell people why you are laughing so hard. I did finally manage to catch my breath after a minute or so, and I shared my insight, and then we were all gasping and chortling and snorting.
And people think that knitting is boring.
The new guy made it through the second round of chemo, and the side effects were accelerated. Cold hands (warm heart) and as he describes it, zombified. He did call me. We did talk. Both of us were yawning. He is hoping that if he has started feeling yucky so quickly, he will also work through it more quickly, and that maybe by Saturday he will be on the upswing again. He won’t find out his cancer count until his appointment next week.
I have eaten more watermelon in the past 24+ hours than I would have thought possible for this particular mortal to hold. Right foot, ankle, and leg are still feeling pretty good. Left foot, ankle, and leg are pouting. It’s almost as if they are jealous that the other side got more attention.
We will fix that at the next appointment. I am thinking that I do not want to wait until Friday week to make that happen. Meanwhile, last night I did what my massage therapist and LittleBit’s guy suggested: I rolled a golf ball up and down my ankles, feet, and calves. I could feel the shar-pei-ness of the left ankle soften almost instantly into smoosh. I am going to repeat the process in a few minutes, before heading to the shower. I was sensible and drank almost a half gallon of water yesterday, plus the milk and the buttermilk that also went down the hatch.
Put four rows on the stealth project yesterday, two at lunch and two at Knit Night. I need to sit down with the chart, because my count is off by one stitch, and I’m not sure if it’s in the first segment, or the last. Either way, I can fake a yarnover or tink an extra decrease. I just need to know which to do, and where. Failing that, I can tink back two rows, but I would rather not, because the penultimate row involved moving a dozen or so stitch markers one stitch to the left.
Not difficult, just fiddly. With a side order of mild exasperation, induced by the heat more than anything else. My Facebook friends were all posting yesterday’s high temperatures last night. This is one of those cases where I believe that ignorance looks astonishingly like its sibling, bliss.
And this is the part where I kill the last of the buttermilk, eat a couple of graham crackers, give my limbs a quick massage, and figure out what I’m wearing to work, as there were way too many children inside the laundromat for my level of patience last night, and I just drove through the parking lot and went home.
Tonight, after my haircut, there will either be laundry or enough desperate shopping to see me through the rest of the work week.