Under the Gun

I meant today to be the day I would relax and write a lovely, long, meandering post about the joys of knitting. Not gonna happen.

Reality has caught up with me. The space-time continuum has, once again, failed to bend itself to my will. (Note to self, have heart-to-heart chat with those responsible for the Order of the Universe. Isn't it all supposed to be relative? Where's that Einstein guy when you really need him?) It is an inescapable fact that Clare's birthday is Tuesday. The Perfect Sweater is not done. It's close. At least, I think it is. Behold, four pieces.

Two almost completed sleeves. At 17 inches I can start decreasing for the sleeve cap. Very close, indeed.
Still, I must, obviously, spend today knitting my little heart out, tonight blocking my little heart out, and, I hope Sunday and a possible part of Monday head down in the joys of assembly. If I get it to Office Depot on Monday by 4, UPS will get it to Urbana on Tuesday. Sanity will be preserved with the help of the DVD of the new Jane Eyre that PBS aired last month. (The joys of living among males are many, but an appreciation of Jane Eyre is not among them. I also have to watch Emma - not the Gwyneth Paltrow one, and Pride and Prejudice on my own. So sad.)

Time to put my nose to the grindstone, my shoulder to the wheel, grit my teeth, keep a stiff upper lip, and then try knitting like that. You may expect to hear from me next, heart-whole and with the Perfect Sweater on its way to the Perfect Daughter, or a puddle of mush and guilt.