How, I ask you . . .

So, I'm not much of a blogger. I am, if I do say so myself, a funny and entertaining person. I even deign to call myself a writer at times. (Hence, the word "deign". And "hence".) But, for some reason, if you sit me down in front of a computer with a blog site on the screen, I turn into a drooling moron. I have no idea what to write about, and even if I did, I wouldn't know how to say it. And there is always the nagging thought: Who would actually want to read this stuff? But desperation and exasperation have led me to this:

I am, among other things, a knitter. I am usually a relatively quick and accurate knitter. I very rarely have to frog a project, unless I decide I don't like the pattern, which happens much more often than I would like to admit. I do my fair share of tinking, but who doesn't, right? So, how, I ask you, how could I have knit the last 16 inches of my lovely brushed baby alpaca scarf (which was so close to being finished) . . .

backwards? That's right. Back. Wards. Backwards.

Who does something like that. I am currently waving my alpaca-fuzz-covered arm in the air. Ooh! Oooh!

And, as it turns out, brushed alpaca is not a yarn you really want to have to unravel. It sticks to itself. Somehow, in the knitting process, it wraps lovely, soft tendrils around nearby lengths of yarn, like a cuddly white kudzu vine. And it's just as hard to get loose.

So, note to self: No matter how desperate I am to finish a project, no matter how close the end seems, I will stand back occasionally and actually look at the damn thing.

And so I give you my first post. I hope you feel my pain.