Knitting on the Telephone -- & -- I don't want to be a grownup anymore, please

With the new TV season being such a [blessed] drag, I'm not left with much time to knit. That is to say, I started knitting to have something to do with my hands while watching TV -- I cut out Laini's Ladies for so long when I used to make them by hand, that now, idle hands really do feel like the devil's. . . wait, how does that proverb go? The devil's workshop? Tools? Playthings? Anyway, the knitting has progressed very slowly. I've been working on a small alpaca blanket for about 6 months, and I recently finished a long stripey scarf that took me longer than that -- but I use the term "finished" loosely because I still haven't woven in the bazillion-jillion loose ends -- it's a very long, very stripey scarf! In fact, I do not have a large eye-needle for the purpose of weaving in ends, and so the scarf is sitting in a shaggy, endy heap, waiting for me to leave the house and go anywhere in the neighborhood of a knitting shop. It should not hold its breath.

I don't leave the house much these days. These are Silksinger days. But I do knit when I'm on the phone, which isn't often. I started this striped alpaca scarf for Jim. So, there's my knitting update: slow. Some time in the post-Silksinger future, I need to go in for a second round of knitting classes and learn some new tricks. But this will do for now.

So, this morning I called my mother and told her I didn't want to be a grownup anymore, please. Judging by her snorting laugh, she doesn't exactly think I behave too terribly like a grownup anyway, but I mean it. I'm through with this new-furnace monkey business, and this tow truck malarkey. I mean, who needs it? I would like someone to bring me macaroni and cheese at noon and make sure I take a nap, and draw a bath for me and test the temperature of the water, and cut the crusts off my sandwiches. And buy me a new furnace, and a new starter for the car. Yes. The car!! When the car wouldn't start yesterday, my shock was probably a bit comical. My disbelief. I am not accustomed to cars not starting, and our car is like a calm and sedate robot being. It doesn't do things like this. It's mature. Responsible. How could this be?

Ah, my poor husband. If it were up to me, right now, with my complete disregard of everything not-Silksinger, I would, if left to my own devices: a) not get a furnace, but wear fingerless gloves and twelve layers of clothes and if things got too bad, go to a coffeehouse to write (isn't that how JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter?), and b) I would have to walk to the coffeeshop, because I couldn't be bothered getting the car fixed. I would eat every sad, unsavory can of unwanted food in the back of the pantry before going in desperation to the store -- "Ah, honey, chick peas and heart of palm for dinner again??" -- and I would not change light bulbs, or my socks, for weeks. Thankfully, my sweet husband does things like call tow trucks and go to the grocery store. He even went to the post office for me last week, so if you received something from me, you really have Jim to thank. I do, however, change my own socks.

The furnace guys are supposedly installing tomorrow. We'll see how that goes.

Waaaa! Where's my binky? I think I'll go bake cookies.