A Late Afternoon Yarn Along (by Bethany)

Yarn Along 7.10

Usually I try to be super speedy in getting my Yarn Along posts up on Wednesday mornings. I live on the west coast, and Ginny – who hosts Yarn Along on her blog Small Things – lives on the east coast, so when I wake up in the morning, Ginny’s Yarn Along post is usually up and running already. Usually I prepare my Yarn Along post on Tuesday, so on Wednesday I can just hit “publish” and be done. But yesterday I just couldn’t deal with it. I’m exhausted, and I am also struggling with the mental challenge of accepting the fact that my workaholism has once again reached pathological levels. I am absolutely incapable of keeping reasonable work hours. I can stay in bed and read all day, or I can devote every last second of my waking hours to work. I can’t seem to find a third option.

Knitting, of course, provides a nice respite from this angst every so often, and last weekend I cast on a pair of socks. I’m using Yankee Knitter’s basic sock pattern and a dark mauvey-pink lambswool-acrylic blend. So far, so good, although I don’t anticipate that I’ll have a lot of time to knit in my near future.

The book in the photo is Victor Davis Hanson’s The Father of us All: War and History, Ancient and Modern. It’s a very readable (though not well written – more on that when I review it) collection of essays on the relationships between historical wars and the classics of military history, with a focus on the ancient historians like Thucydides and Xenophon. Every so often I need to indulge my need to pretend that I’m a historian, and Hanson is providing my current fix.

So yeah, that’s what I’m doing on this foggy Wednesday afternoon: knitting pink socks and reading about war. Oh, and also contemplating the fact that my psyche seems consistently determined to confuse work for love. Yes, also that.

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One Response to A Late Afternoon Yarn Along (by Bethany)

  1. Maria says:

    Oh, that confusion of work for love! It caused quite a bit of collateral damage in a family I know.

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