I make things with yarn.
Usually dark yarn.
And I write stories.
Usually dark stories.
(I get jokes.)
I’m working and trying and fighting to do more of both.
This hat was fast to crochet together. And then it wasn’t because it turned out to be enormous. So I tried to heat it and shrink it and then generally beat it into being a lesser hat. It would not.
So I unraveled it. A very zen experience in patience and a reminder of the impermanence of objects. Most unlike me. Then I took a breath and made it again. Also kinda unlike me. Pleasant when a story or a character surprises you.
It’s still a pretty enormous hat. It’s not my head, which is probably biggish, like all my bits. Except, you know, boobs. So it’s possible the pattern has an issue, not me. Which is nice for a change.
But zen moments and work and trying aside, I have a newly-made-by-me hat. It’s warm and it cuddles my head and it’s a lovely dark red. Gives my brain lovely dark ideas.
I’m ready to start on my new things and eager to see what stitches and words are on my next page.