Remember this? The afghan that I was going to crank out in, oh, say, a week? Mmm, I took a little longer than that. Somehow, impossible deadlines have been a theme of mine lately, and knitting was no exception.
I did finish, though. Yesterday. And even though it took a little longer than I wanted, I still finished it wonderfully fast. Four weeks isn't bad for something this size...
What I'd like to know is: why do I sing crazy songs to myself in the first place? These strange lullabies of invincibility and limitless energy, when it turns out that energy is quite limited after all.
Why knit an enormous afghan in a week when you could take four? Why tell yourself you can write 300 pages in two weeks when you might have six?
I've made some kind of virtue out of speed... I think I'd rather embrace a slower pace for a while. The grace of more time, time enough to soak into every good project. It's summer, after all. Time to slow down.