When I left work on Saturday night, I packed four projects to take home for the rest of the "weekend"--a shawl to finish, a pair of socks to start, a crewelwork project to wrap up and a cross stitch sampler to start, both a birthday present to myself and a reward once I've finished the crewelwork.
I'm always so blissed out by the idea of a day off, I invariably pack my schedule with an obscene amount of stitchwork. Like I'm on vacation. Like I don't have six loads of laundry, three weeks worth of dust buffalo to vacuum or a bathroom to deep clean have no other obligations in life. Like there's a chance I'm going to run out of something to do.
It's obvious to me now that I am unequivocally delusional about the amount of stitching my two hands can manage over the course of 41 hours.
But still. I managed to cast on and knit about five inches on a new sock (a gift for someone I'm fairly certain does not read this blog) and I alllllllmost finished the X on my sampler last night while watching several episodes of Rome, Season 1.
(This is an older picture of the sampler. With just three letters left, I've been at a standstill since mid-February. What's wrong with me?!?)
At least no one can say I lack ambition. But endurance, wherewithal, stick-to-itiveness?