Lagging

So, it's been a while, hasn't it?

I showed off my new shawl, talked a little about the shop, and just fucked right off for months.

I could say that the shop has been consuming all of my time, but that's not exactly true. Don't get me wrong, it's A LOT of work, but not so much that I couldn't have written a blog post or two.

If I'm honest with myself, I think I've been hiding from the world. If I didn't write about the sheer hell happening, I wouldn't have to acknowledge it. I wouldn't have to deal with it. I was shielding myself. 

I wouldn't have a record here of what all had happened. And maybe in time, the memories wouldn't be as traumatic since I wouldn't be able to remember it all clearly. 

But that's still not all of it.

I actually went back and read all my blog posts from this year and found this from "Threadbare" I wrote in January.

"I just feel so utterly lost right now. I've barely been knitting. Everything I've cast on has been thrown to the side soon after with disgust because NOTHING feels good in my hands. Or I would make a mistake that previously probably wouldn't have bothered me, but now I just can't live with it.

I even tried crocheting again, hoping to bring back the spark of passion with wool. I couldn't even get past the first 4 rows without frogging it.

I had planned on having some new craft goal for 2020, but I don't think I can. I don't even know what my creative abilities are going to look like at the end of the next 12 months."

And this one from "In Sheep's Clothing" in February.

"I know we're not supposed to compare ourselves with other people. We should be proud of what we as individuals can accomplish. But I follow so many accounts on social media just absolutely filled with folks seemingly churning out colorwork sweaters, socks, and other garments at a frightening pace.

It seems every week these folks have new projects falling off the needles.

And I'm sitting back here, hoping to finish one project in less than 2 months.

How do you push yourself through this?"

And I can't help but still feel like this. Seeing people on like their dozenth quarantine sweater tends to make one feel quite inadequate. Especially when it took me two bloody weeks to knit a simple pair of fingerless mitts.

"But Ashtan," you say. "We're going through a global pandemic and a new earth-shattering event like every other week. Surely it's okay to not be making as much stuff?"

Yeah, well, let me sum up how I feel about that in a handy-dandy meme format.

But somehow, miraculously, with the cooler weather here I'm wanting to knit again. I'm making again. I've found a fierce little flame of joy and I am holding onto it with everything I've got right now. 

I've actually finished two large projects within the last week. I've already cast on my next project and I can't wait to get back to it after finishing this post up.

And if that wasn't enough, I also already have my next post started to show off the shawl that I knit earlier this year that FINALLY captured my spouse's heart enough to steal it right from my hands. 

(Yeah, I haven't been completely paralyzed. I have managed to make some things, but never had the heart or energy to post them here.)

Did I mention that it also features an utterly ridiculous Ashtan story with it?

Here's a little preview.

My friends, I've missed you. And I am so, so happy to be back.

In Sheep's Clothing

Do you ever have those moments where you look at your work, those thousands of hours dedicated to your craft, and find yourself absolutely disgusted?

Why are you bothering?

Why do you try so hard?

You aren't shit.

I'm dealing with this hard right now.

I'm looking at my lace work and questioning why I knit.

I know we're not supposed to compare ourselves with other people. We should be proud of what we as individuals can accomplish. But I follow so many accounts on social media just absolutely filled with folks seemingly churning out colorwork sweaters, socks, and other garments at a frightening pace.

It seems every week these folks have new projects falling off the needles.

And I'm sitting back here, hoping to finish one project in less than 2 months.

How do you push yourself through this?

I'm trying hard to be realistic. Most of these people are half my size, which means half the work to do. So even if I could knit as fast as they do, I still couldn't do the work in the same amount of time.

I also can't financially afford to knit sweaters often. It's the same principle as the time cost. Bigger person = more yarn needed. A shawl is much less of a material cost (most of them at least).

Glancing through the worsted weight sweaters in my ravelry favorites, none of them use less than 1500 yards for someone with my bust size.

So let's do some fun math and assume 1 skein of indie dyed worsted yarn retails for $25 and has at least 200 yards. I need 8 skeins, which means that knitting that sweater is going to cost me $200 in materials straight off the bat.

How about something more affordable like Knit Picks' WotA? It retails for $3 a ball, but only has 110 yards per ball. I need 14 balls. That's $42. A wee bit better, true, but now my color selection is limited, plus I don't get to support the people I really want to.

So it's better for me to just support indie dyers and showcase the smaller quantity of yarn used in projects like my shawls, right?

But am I growing stagnant by focusing on just lacework and shawls specifically? Shouldn't I challenge myself and always push myself to do bigger and better things?

I like the look of color work, but I HATE doing it. Absolutely loathe it. It slows me down considerably, I get frustrated when my yarn gets tangled, and I'm always so anxious that my floats are too tight.

Lacework, though... lacework I can do in my sleep.

It's fierce joy and revelation watching the pattern emerge from just a series of seemingly random holes and decreases.

And I think I'm decently good at lacework.

But I'm playing it safe, aren't I? I've pushed myself into a box that I'm unwilling to come out of.

I feel like an imposter. Like a little kid who finds themselves at the table with much more capable adults. Getting little pats on the head and a, "Good job, sweetie! You'll make real projects when you grow up!"

And I don't know what to do about these feelings.

I know this is all on me (and my ridiculous brain) because my friends are nothing but supportive and lovely.

But I just can't shake it.

I don't have any solutions, no hopeful observations.

I guess I just sit quietly with it and keep knitting.

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Threadbare

I'm tired, y'all.

Exhausted.

Worn out and worn thin.

And I owe all of you an apology.

When I started writing this blog, my only intention was to share my knitting.

Over the years, though, it became not only that, but an extension of my soul. Of all my thoughts and feelings, as well as my crafting accomplishments. A way for me to connect and share with all of you.

But these last 6 months or so (maybe longer) I haven't been honest with you. I've just been plastering on a smile and repeating the mantra that I've forced myself into for so long.

"It's fine... everything is fine."

It was easier.

It was so much easier to just listen to that little voice in the back of my head...

"Just share the good things here! No one actually cares about how bad things have deteriorated inside your head. They're only here to see your ridiculous projects and if you don't have anything good to share, what use are you?"

My goal became to just shove everything down in and survive. I didn't have the energy to focus on myself because I was also trying to help my spouse through their own deteriorating mental health.

Yeah, that's been great, let me tell you, having to somehow learn how to help each other get through the times that our bad days overlap.

We're probably both better off dealing with this than some other people might be because we've been navigating my mental illnesses for 14 years together, but it hasn't been easy. My instinct is to only focus on them, damn everything else.

I almost lost other relationships because of this. I missed the signs of someone close's depression worsening. And while I am already working on fixing these problems, I'm still angry with myself for letting it happen in the first place.

And with me shoving everything down as far as I could and focusing on anything but myself, I ended up having two very bad (for me) suicidal episodes at different points this year. Not to mention a return of the days of all day anxiety. Being terrified to go to bed. Depression days so bad I could hardly breathe.

I thought I'd finally improved enough to not have to deal with these anymore. Or at least not as much as I have in the past. Finding out that's not the case has been soul-crushing.

I just feel so utterly lost right now. I've barely been knitting. Everything I've cast on has been thrown to the side soon after with disgust because NOTHING feels good in my hands. Or I would make a mistake that previously probably wouldn't have bothered me, but now I just can't live with it.

I even tried crocheting again, hoping to bring back the spark of passion with wool. I couldn't even get past the first 4 rows without frogging it.

I had planned on having some new craft goal for 2020, but I don't think I can. I don't even know what my creative abilities are going to look like at the end of the next 12 months.

At this point, I'm just taking things day to day to see what I feel like doing. A lot of that time has been drowning myself in books. I'm on my 14th book since January 1st already. I can lose myself in my stories and try to live through another day.

And while it's been nice to do so, I miss *making*.  I miss the feelings of accomplishing things. I need a goal again. Something to work towards. But I don't know what. I hope Henry comes back to me soon and grants me his favor again.

Until then, I guess I just keep cautiously moving forward in the fog.

As for the blog, I still have a few things in reserve to talk about, including the shawl I finished at the end of last year. So I'll do my best to get those out soon.

But after? I only ask for your patience as I try to find myself again. But this time, I promise I'll be honest about how I'm feeling. I owe it to you.. and to myself.

So, onwards we go, friends.

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Pause

John and I have this new thing we've been doing a couple nights a week.

While he is driving home from work, I am heating up water... picking out cups... laying everything out just so.

Brewing tea for him, making coffee for me, and putting it in individual tea pots.

I make sure the sugar bowl is filled and my creamer is out.

The curtains between the dining room and living room are closed, giving us the illusion of privacy... at least until the cats start darting through said curtains, chasing each other.

We sit at the dining room table, phones down, and we just put everything else on pause.

It gives us a chance to talk about how we're feeling...really check in with each other. And lately, we've been needing it more than ever.

It's also been a great way for me to refocus my brain when I've had a really shitty day. The routine of making everything and setting everything out keeps my mind busy and slowly my anxiety and/or depression lessen enough for me to handle it.

I know that most of you can use a break, too. So consider this blog post your own chance to pause, to check in, to take a breath. To join us in the partaking of your favorite hot beverage and letting the burdens you bear lessen for just a moment.

You know me, I'm always here for support. And we'll always have a cup waiting for you.

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The F Word

Let's get something straight here.

I am fat.

This is an objective fact.

I'm not "curvy" or "husky" or any of your other empty platitudes.

I am fat.

Don't tell me I'm not. And don't immediately follow it up with "you're beautiful!"

I. Am. Fat.

And I am beautiful.

One does not preclude the other.

My body is large and round and soft.

It has carried me through nearly 29 years of existence.

It has been broken. And hurt. And told over and over again that it's somehow worth less than someone who has a smaller body.

My body requires more fabric to clothe it.

And as a knitter, a maker of things, I have had to learn how to change and adapt my craft to accommodate me.

Because designers don't care to include people with bodies like mine in their works.

So when you marvel at how easily I seem to be able to magically make what I want appear off my needles, know that it's from years of tears and frustration and looking longingly in the distance at the straight sized bodies on parade with their perfectly fitted garments.

I don't love my body every day.

Sometimes I hate it.

Because I've been told since I was seven years old that I needed to be skinnier. That I needed to diet. That because I didn't want to be in sports, I was useless.

And gross.

And deserved to be ridiculed.

I've only been taught to hate myself.

Never to love myself.

By family. By friends. By strangers.

Don't think I've forgotten about the mother and daughter who laughed at me openly when I dared to look at a shirt in the straight sized section.

Or the kids on the playground who would run away from me because my fat body was an object of disgust to them.

Or the caregivers who tried to starve me into acquiescence of their designs for my person.

A lifetime of these stories and experiences.

You tried to shape me into a ball of loathing and disgust.

You tried to beat my spirit into the ground.

But in the dirt is where life grows.

You told me I'd never bloom into anything beautiful, but I defied you.

I grew into a vibrant and untamed bed of wildflowers.

I am all of the beauty that the sad and barren dirt patch of a heart you have wishes it could be.

And spare me the bullshit of "but your health!"

I don't owe you my health.

I don't owe you anything.

I am not your before picture, your dieting failure, your bad example, your cautionary tale.

I am a person.

I am a human being.

With thoughts and feelings and a thousand different dreams.

And none of those dreams include you and your ignorance.

I have had to fight so hard to love myself.

A veritable gauntlet of education, self-reflection, and conquering my inner-hate.

Of tears, and self-harm.

Of looking at myself and wanting to rend the very flesh from my bones.

But now, when I look in the mirror, I don't see the monster you have so long claimed me to be.

I see me.

All of me.

All of my wonder and beauty and creativity and intelligence.

Shining out from this body of mine.

And if we are all stardust, comprised of the universe...

Well, that would mean my greater concentration of mass makes my star outshine all of your loathing and hate.

I am me.

I am worth everything.

I am fat.

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When the Mighty Fall

There's a post that I see floating around facebook frequently that says something like, "Check on your strong friends." The point being that your friends and loved ones who always seem to be the strongest, the most okay, could probably definitely use someone to talk to from time to time.

I'm here to tell you that *I* am that friend.

For the last two months, my mental health has crashed hard. Almost to the level I was at 3 years ago. I've been waking up nearly every day with some sort of anxiety. Some days it's just a little knot of dread in my stomach. Others, it's been full panic attacks.

My depression days, which had leveled out to maybe once a month, are now happening nearly every week.

I can tell you exactly why it's happening again.

I always talk about having a support net rather than a support pole. That you should never rely entirely on one person for your emotional support. You need to be able to spread that out so no one person gets overwhelmed and overburden with caring for you.

If you go to one person and say, "I need help. Can I talk to you about this?" and they reply with, "I cannot help right now because I need to focus on myself," it leaves you with other options to help you through whatever you're facing.

Or maybe someone has asked you to help them first, so you know they're in a vulnerable place and not able to offer you help themselves.

Then you move to a different support point on your net.

There's no resentment or disappointment. No anger. Just understanding that even though they can't help you right now, it doesn't mean that they won't be able to in the future.

You give and you take. You shore each other up when you are able to, recognizing that you're all in this together.

But what happens when every support point in your net isn't able to help?

What happens when everyone is so overwhelmed with what they're dealing with that they can't really help you?

Before I go any further, let me make this clear: I WILL NEVER, EVER BE MAD WHEN YOU NEED TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF. YOU AND YOUR MENTAL WELL BEING ARE YOUR OWN TOP PRIORITY.

I never want people to hurt their own mental well being at the expense of helping me.

Okay, now that I've said that, you want to guess who hasn't been following her own advice?

I know, I know.

My ability to put up boundaries and say "I can't do more than just listen a bit right now" has been pretty much destroyed. I've been wanting to just take on everyone else's problems and take care of them.

So many of my friends (like, all of them) are going through huge life changes, struggling with their identities, or just in a bad mental state themselves. How could I add to that burden?

I couldn't force myself to ask for help this time.

Even from John and Lily.

Yep, I felt like I couldn't even ask the two people who love me the most in this world if I could talk to them about what was going on in my head.

And that's just in my personal life.

In a slightly larger sphere around me, I've also been trying to keep up with all the discussions still taking place in the fiber community on Instagram. Sharing what I could, trying to support people who needed it, discussing the issues with others who aren't aware of what is happening.

But the problem is that I went from trying to educate myself and help out to an unhealthy obsession.

I felt like I HAD to keep up with every little thing. To the point where I was developing real anxiety if I wasn't checking Instagram constantly.

What if I missed something? What if someone did something horrible and I didn't know and I bought from them or supported them in some way inadvertently?

My brain was being relentless.

And on top of all this is the ever present looming doom that is everything this fucking administration is currently doing.

Rather than, you know, dealing with all of this, I've been shoving it down deep and letting it fester.

Or finding ways to unhealthily deal with it... Like weeding every flower bed, destroying my wrist in the process, pushing myself past my physical limits, just to wear myself out enough that I might actually be able to get some goddamned rest.

So Saturday when I found myself absolutely sobbing into a napkin during what was supposed to be a relaxing day out, pouring my heart out, choking out the words that I've locked away for so long about everything I'd been feeling and dealing with, I realized that I HAVE to do something.

I'm so tired of feeling like this... of being absolutely exhausted from fighting my own brain constantly, unendingly. I want to get back to the healthier mental state I'd been enjoying for so long.

So, I'm going to do what should I have done a long time ago. I'm going to focus on me.

I need to rest. To step back and take a breath.

This doesn't mean that I'm giving up on my friends or my activism.

But it does mean I'm going to change how I approach it.

For the foreseeable future, I'll continue to share the information I come across when I have the energy to.

If I'm having a low energy day, I'm going to allow myself to just turn off for that time. I HAVE to be able to. I need to be able to let my brain rest.

And I will NOT let myself feel guilty about this, no matter what that little, rotten voice in the back of my head says.

As for my friends, I will be better about asking for help when I need it. And being honest with them when I can only offer to passively listen rather than actively help them with problems.

This has been absolutely exhausting to write, so I hope you'll excuse me for a brief goodbye. There's some neglected knitting that needs some attention.

Brave at Heart

So, today's going to be a little weird for some of you. Because this is going to be both deeply personal and incredibly nerdy.

To help with this, (and hopefully to keep you reading) I'm going to finally show off my personal library. Especially since it fits what I want to talk about.

At the last pj party, some good-natured ribbing was happening in the little circle of friends around me. I was being harassed for being a "basic bitch Gryffindor." The people around me were Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and hell, probably a Slytherin, too. I was the single Lion amongst them.

I was trying to not take it personally. Afterall, these were people who I know and love.

But it did get to me a bit more than I realized.

I started feeling embarrassed... ashamed... like I had to apologize and justify why I identify with the House that I do.

"I'm not just a mindless person who only likes popular things!"

I wanted to yell it.

"I have good reasons for why I'm a Gryffindor! I swear!"

It's popular to shit all over Gryffindors because that was the main House featured in the Harry Potter books. So if you identify as a member, you're considered to be just following the crowd.

"You're only a Gryffindor because Harry was a Gryffindor!"

It's easy to look at me and put me in any other House but Gryffindor.

I have the creativity of a Ravenclaw.

The friendliness of a Hufflepuff.

The cleverness of a Slytherin.

But it's Gryffindor that calls to my heart and makes me strive to be better.

To really understand why, first we must examine my history with the series.

I first discovered Harry Potter on a weekend that I was stuck with my dad and his wife. We were at Target, my sister and I forced to just sit around, waiting for her to decide on her next piece of boring beige housewares. My sister and I ended up in the books/electronics section with my dad.

I remember seeing the book on the bottom shelf.

I was entranced by the cover, with the strange bird-horse looking creature, a boy and girl on its back, the shadow of a person in a tower.

I picked it up, opened to the first chapter, and started reading.

"Owl Post" was the name of the chapter.

I sat on the floor and started reading.

"Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways..."

I don't know how long I sat there until being pulled away.

But even that brief moment was enough.

I was hooked.

I wanted more. I wanted to devour everything this world that I had gotten the tiniest glimpse of had to offer.

Dad and Her, of course, wouldn't even consider buying the book for me. She hated how much I read. (Did I ever tell you about the time I had a hardback book thrown at my face while being screamed at for reading so much?)

So, I asked grandma to get them for me.

And being the supporting, amazing person she is, she did.

In fact, she read them, too.

I've read the first 2 books over 40 times each, the 3rd closer to 50. The rest of the series is somewhere in the 20's.

I went to the midnight release for Goblet of Fire.

My room was painted to look like the Quidditch field.

I spent many, many hours of my life pretending to run about the castle with Harry, Hermione, and Ron, having adventures, learning magic. Grabbing sticks out of the yard to use as a magic wand, beating back the dementors.

I, like so many kids my age, desperately hoped that my letter to Hogwarts would arrive at my door. So I could go and be sorted into Gryffindor by the Sorting Hat and be the best student I could.

Anything to escape the hell I was dealing with at the time.

I was, sadly, disappointed in that regard.

I read those books over and over again, to lose myself in the story as often as I could.

I identified with Harry so much.

How could I not? A sad, lonely little kid who couldn't understand why the people who were supposed to love him despised him so much. That sense of hopelessness as the people who did care about him had to watch as he unwillingly went back to his abusers again and again.

Harry could have easily given into the dark nature that those circumstances can bring. To be the cruel, evil person like the people who abused you.

Heaven knows I've been there myself.

Harry had his own doubts and fears that he would become like that. Worries that he was as evil as Voldemort. That he was heir to a cruel lineage.

There were times that he lashed out and gave into those dark impulses. And the consequences for doing so were always painful.

But I also watched as he made the same choice over and over again. To stand up and fight for himself, his friends, the people he loved.

Even when he would lose everything to do so.

He CHOSE to be brave. He CHOSE to throw himself in the way to protect his friends.

He stood defiantly in face of the dark and came out the other side.

Not whole, not pure. But alive.

And it wasn't just Harry making these choices. Almost every single Gryffindor was an example of bravery, courage, and determination. They stood up for their friends and their principles. And to call out those same friends when needed. 

I'm not saying that they're all saintly human beings with no flaws. In fact, all of them were deeply flawed in some way. It made these fictional characters more human. More easy to identify with. 

If they could choose time and time again to be brave in the face of adversity, why couldn't I?

Afterall, Dumbledore told us that our choices define us more than anything.

'"Exactly," said Dumbledore, beaming once more. "Which makes you very different from Tom Riddle. It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."'

When I was at my darkest moments, imagining myself curled up in the Gryffindor common room, surrounded by my fictional friends, listening to the advice they likely would give me, kept me going.

They would tell me to be brave. To keep fighting. To keep surviving.

And I did.

I stood defiantly in face of the dark and came out the other side.

Not whole, not pure. But alive.

It takes a tremendous amount of bravery to keep going when everything in your head is screaming at you to give up. To just lay down and let the dark take you.

But when you say no, when you scream at that darkness, fighting tooth and nail to defy the odds, to live and breathe and be happy, you are truly the embodiment of what it means to be a Gryffindor.

Sure, the heroes in the stories fight monsters and slay dragons. But us? We fought ourselves. And we're still here.

I choose every single day to keep going.

To defy the cruelty I was taught and choose to be kind, generous, and loving.

To live and do my best to be happy.

And, like Harry himself, I choose to be a forevermore a Gryffindor.

"You might belong in Gryffindor,
Where dwell the brave at heart,
Their daring, nerve and chivalry
Set Gryffindors apart."

Thanks for letting me ramble on about something that's been in my head for a long time. Hope you enjoyed the library pictures along the way.

We'll get back to the knitting again soon, I promise. Afterall, I have a new shawl to show off.

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A Bout of Brain Dumps

This year has been extraordinarily hard in terms of crises, difficulties, and hurdles. It's been relentless, wave after wave after wave of stress, anxiety, and despair flooding not only my small little corner of life, but really much more of a global scale.

I feel like every other post from me has been, "Sorry! Bad place in my brain right now! Be better soon!" But I never hit "soon." Every time I get a foothold, something else comes and knocks me on my ass again.

I then get angry at myself for not following through with my goal of one post a week. And for not getting a chance to write about milestones because I'm not in a good place to do so. But what am I supposed to do? I don't want to to force myself into a false cheeriness that doesn't exist. So I'm stuck, just hoping things get better enough that I can write freely again.

It's exhausting.

I am exhausted.
Just... worn out.
Worn down.
Brittle.

I don't know what this post is, to be honest. Or what I'm hoping to accomplish.

Maybe I just needed to acknowledge out loud that this year has sucked, and will continue to do so in all likelihood.

Maybe I'm looking to forgive myself just a bit for breaking a promise to myself.

I don't know, I just wanted to get it out of my head.

I'm not going to end this with yet another platitude and promise.

I'll write when I can and feel accomplished when I do.

Besides, there's still three months of this year to fit knitting in to. I've made my Christmas knit list, queued up some shawl patterns, and started some socks.  I have some thoughts and ideas I want to write about, including some plans for next year.

So, I'm not stopping. Merely slowing down and doing my best to heal these wounds.

We keep moving forward because there is nothing else to do.

Keep fighting, friends.

<3

A Farmer's Market Worth of Lemons

Today's blog post wasn't supposed to be like this.

It was supposed to be about how I triumphed in my mad dash of getting my shawl done in time to wear to Steph's wedding. There would be pictures from the venue, of loving friends, three of us sporting our shawls, of Mikayla and I happily knitting on our socks at the reception table, of us looking fabulous and amazing, showing off our new outfits, showing off our partners. Happy memories, joyous times...

But, the universe laughed and screamed, "FUCK THAT!"

I should have heeded the warnings.

Everything was going too well.

I found a fabulous dress in a color that I adored at a super deep discount. PLUS it matched a lip color that I had wanted to buy at Ulta (which I did) AND I found a matching eyeshadow.

I finished my shawl days before my deadline. It was easy to block out. Came out to the perfect size, despite me leaving off the last few rows.

The Red Tide even stayed away, which as a PCOS sufferer, is always a gamble.

It was all coming together.

Then Saturday dawned.

Everything went to shit Saturday. Everything was going wrong. But still, we made it out the door (extremely late, but not so late that we'd miss the wedding), looking good, makeup and hair perfect, and started towards the venue. We were about 40 minutes into the journey when our car decided that the rest of our day was going to go from bad to worse.

I'll spare you the details, but our car completely died on us. And there was no resurrecting it. We had to be towed back home.

Needless to say, we missed the wedding.

And, if that wasn't enough, it also ruined the surprise outing John had planned for today as my birthday present.

Yeah...

So, instead of the much lovelier post this should have been, you'll have to deal with just another regular finished shawl post.

What? We weren't about to waste looking this good by not at least going and taking pics.

So, I went back and forth about what shawl I actually wanted to do for this project. I knew I wanted to use my lovely speckled yarn, but was unsure of what I wanted to pair it with.

I just happened to stumble upon the newly released When You're Fast Asleep shawl pattern on instagram and knew I had found a winner.

The next issue was deciding what color I wanted to pair with it. Because the yarn had all manner of rainbow speckles, my choices were virtually limitless.

After much agonizing and deliberating, I decided on MadTosh Merino Light in Glazed Pecan. It was a good brassy gold, not too yellow, and not too muted. AND it was on sale.

The problem is that I took so long deciding that by the time I ordered the yarn and had it arrive, it was already Thursday the 6th. And I had to have the whole thing done and ready by the 15th. That, my friends, is a REALLY FRIGGIN TIGHT DEADLINE.

But, I got her done.

And she is rather lovely.

I decided to give my project the title of Carnival in the Castle for a few different reasons. One, the original pattern was based on Cinderella's castle. Two, the speckled yarn is the Carnival colorway from Malabrigo. And third, I'm just bloody clever like that.

It was a fairly straightforward knit, which was a blessing. The stockinette sections definitely got a little tedious, but the lace made up for it.

If I remember correctly, I came out with a 78 inch wingspan, which I was quite pleased about. Especially because my shawl is actually a few rows shorter than the pattern as written.

Yes, my friends. For the first time in my life, I KNIT A SHAWL SMALLER THAN THE PATTERN SAID TO!

Maybe I was just trying to get hell to freeze over since it's been so GATDAMNED hot here.

Orrrrr... maybe I was lazy and just didn't want to have to weave in two more ends.

Regardless, I really do love this shawl. And while I'm devastated about having to miss the wedding (the brain gremlins are being particularly nasty in that regard today), I figure I'll just have to find an excuse to wear this whole ensemble to some snazzy future event.

BONUS CONTENT!

Can't really leave off without showing off my hot-as-feck spouse.

He has fully embraced purple as his color and, I must say, the results are rather.... breathtaking.

..............................

I may have a case of the vapors.

ONE LAST THING

I had fully intended on getting my blog anniversary post done this weekend, but with my brain being all ridiculous and depression-y/anxiety-y right now, I'm going to hold off until I'm in a better state of mind.

I mean, I have yet to post one on the actual anniversary anyways. What's another couple of days?