I was running like a madwoman today behind a gal who was sweating quarts and quarts of sweat. Here, I was knocking down a few miles at a fast pace and a high incline, and there she was, strolling at a mere 3.2 miles per hour.
What does she have that I don't have? Am I just a dried up prune or something? Shoot: I can drink water and more water and crank up the volume and I'll drip maybe a little here and there, but work up a sweat that makes you gloriously glossy all over? The kind that convinces you you must be shedding all sorts of pounds? (Never.)
Sheesh. And to think today I was working on my latest project, noted a change in the air, sniffed here and there and realized that funky nasty sweat-smell was coming from me and had nothing at all to do with The Bunny's cat box.
I tell you what, I sniffed and sniffed and looked everywhere before I figured out where it was coming from. At first, I thought it was the homespun (not the Lion Brand kind). Nope, not the handspun.
Then I thought it might be the project that was laying over there on the floor drying ever so slowly.
And then, with a start, I realized that the funk was coming from me and it can only mean one thing.
I was scared. I was scared and squeezing my project and tightening my gauge so horribly that nothing was going right. Every time I approached that special section, I'd hyperventilate and re-check the reference books.
Friends. It was the Short-Rows that did it to me. The Short-Rows. The good ol' Wrap and Turn.
I've done them. I've done them a lot; I've done them all. But every time I do, I have to look up "Short Rows" or "Wrap and Turn" in every single one of my yarn and knitting reference books and the only thing I can do is wonder how the heck people can come up with so many different ways to perform a Short Row or a stupid ol' Wrap and Turn.
There's the Japanese kind that I didn't know existed until today (stay far away from them friends, because they involve these clippy thingys and honestly, if you're not from the region or have that nifty zen-like attitude about lots of steps; skip it). There's also the regular kind you find on About.com but doesn't really explain how to hide those nasty wraps. And then there's every Tom, Dick and Harry on the Internet who explains the whole thing away as if it were equivalent to riding in a horse-drawn carriage sipping champagne on a starry night, sans horse poop.
My sweat for the Short Rows smelled of fear.
You know what I'm talking about. There's plain old B.O. But then there is something entirely different when it comes to sweating and your general body smells. We're talking adrenaline, folks. The stink that can only come from sheer despair, agony and high anxiety.
It's a good thing I have an assistant to take pics of my latest passions. I don't know how he did it, but he managed to climb on top of our pergola for these. Reminds me of Santa Ynez (our nearest wine country). You'd think that with all the fear-stink about me the poor grape vines would die.
BTW: Thank you to my knitting friend for the lovely basket and sock yarn. (You do know how I love sock yarn. Maybe I'll wise up and display these hanks while I attack the project again tomorrow with all the Short Rows. Whenever the agitation starts to rise, I'll look up at these and become a the best kind of yarn zen creature.)