Dropped Stitch

Time is running out for the crafting of presents, and somehow I went from 19 stitches to 18 and had to rip out a couple hours work. How the bookmark unravels, I suppose.

As I've mentioned, this week and next are all about the making and baking. I'm not going to divulge all of what I have my hands on and in* because some of the people who are getting that stuff are also reading these words.

I'm really enjoying it, I have to say, though there is some stress involved. Mostly deadline related. I'm not sure I'm going to be ready for Espig Xmas this weekend. It may involve a very late night on Saturday or a very early Sunday morning.

In other news, I concur with Jennifer and cannot wait for my holidays. I've got 10 or 11 days off and it cannot come fast enough.

It's no secret I've had a difficult fall. Problem is, it just seems to be getting worse. I talked to Shelley tonight and she said "Sweetie, you just sound beat down." At least my outside matches my inside, I suppose.

I always think of my ups and downs in terms of light, which is stupidly hokey to write, but feels true. When I'm happy and everything is going well, it feels like I emit streaks of bright light, somewhere on the yellow spectrum. When I'm normal, there's a little glow around me. Right now, I would say that there's a candle in there somewhere, sheltered under a perforated box.

People respond in kind, interestingly. When I'm at my brightest, people smile at me on the street. Probably because I'm smiling at then. When I'm at about where I am now, it's like I'm invisible. People bump into me more, notice me less.

I've read the women's rag self-help blah blah, and know that I should just paste a smile on my face and then my currently fragile ego will be boosted by the goodness that comes back.

But you know, there's not much creepier than a death's head smile backlit by a dull flicker.