Shipwrecked and Comatose

This startitis is unprecedented.  I already have three projects on the needles which is bad enough.  I have the Obviously-Not-Impossible-Unsweater project which requires solitary confinement and good lighting to achieve forward momentum.  So I started socks for a low-maintenance travel companion.  Brilliant. 

I picked a Cookie A. pattern.

Go ahead, you can laugh.  It’s funny. 

So now I have a solitary sweater and a solitary pair of socks.  Enter socks the second.  I like this yarn.  I like this pattern.  I like them so much I’m on my third sock in the pair. 

Please don’t ask.

So three projects, all of which are making active progress and holding my attention, so why is it I’m absolutely itching to cast on two more scarves and tank?  I’ve been fantasizing about them for days in turn, and the only thing that’s stopping me is that I’m missing the yarn for two, a stitchionary for the third, and I haven’t been able to make it out to Gina’s shop... yet. 

In other news, I heard my four-year-old riffling through the bathroom cabinets the other day and went to investigate.

“What are you doing in there, kiddo?”

The kid emerges from the cabinet holding a new roll of toilet paper in one hand and the springy rod in the other.

“I used up the paper so I’m putting on a new one.”

I know what you’re thinking, but I’m sorry, ladies.  He won’t be of marrying age for about twenty years.

This week holds pi-day and the end of daylights savings, not to mention leprechauns and a very bad day to be Julius Caesar.  That’s too much to cope with for someone who doesn’t process human communication until a good three hours after sun-up on a good day. I feel jet-lagged and I haven’t even gone anywhere.  Happy groggy Guiness pie, I guess.