Hookey

The life of a designer is not without its frustrations. You know how every once in a while you’re trundling cheerfully along with a pattern and suddenly the incubus muse comes whomping down on your head and insists that you have to go off in a totally different direction? No? Let me tell you, it is not for the faint of stomach. You can argue until you’re blue in the face that it’s too late, that the thing is nearly done, that you’re already getting feedback from the test knitter… but the muse is an imperious and intransigent creature, and woe betide you if you try to disregard its promptings. They may or may not turn out to be right, but you have no choice about exploring them.

(The ludicrous aspect of applying this level of artistic intensity to socks, of all things, is not lost on me. But what can you do? I didn’t choose the medium any more than I chose the vocation. Some are born crazy, some achieve insanity, and some have madness thrust upon them. TSOCK doth sway my life.)

I’ve been ridden by one of these maddening whiplash experiences for several days now, and yesterday I woke up to find it had been haunting my dreams as well as my waking hours. So obviously there was only ONE thing to do.

I took the day off.

I had planned to take some time out anyway, because St. Patrick’s Day is Pea-Planting Day in these parts, as eny fule kno. If I hadn’t owed the muse a good kick in the butt I might not have made a whole day of it… as it is, I did and I’m not sorry.