Since my last post I was doing the usual mong like recovery from the dosing in drugs I received last week. The lorazepam was getting me to sleep at night but during the day I felt fuzzy and spaced, and increasingly forgetful (welcome back my memory loss drug...).
I dabbled in staying in touch with work: making it on a pitch list on Thursday evening led to a flurry of excited phone calls; filling in a consultant's questionnaire; and get this, reading a book called BrandGym on the loo - how dedicated is that when my bathroom reading moves away from discarded sunday supplements and Geographical magazines to something dangerously close to being full of marketing bullshit.
But most of the time I sat on the sofa, monged out of my head, and made small in-roads into knitting various items. I have completed two hats. Both of which I have cocked up the sizing on so they are too large and look a little tea cosy ish. However, when my hair returns, maybe this will pad them out and mean they are perfect? Either way, they are cosy and i made them. So I'm proud of my own handiwork, however crap it is... Here's one of them...
I am now starting on a pair of hand warmers (or tramp gloves as R calls them) in the same wool as one of the hats. Plus a cute baby's bonnet thing with ears and eyes for a friend's newborn. But I keep making mistakes on the latter so it may not see the light of day.
R wants me to knit him a naff jumper. Like the sort that your grandma used to knit for you at Christmas and you'd have to wear for that one day a year to save her feelings. Except this one would have a twist. Instead of reindeers, or your name, it would have some rude, crude and offensive statement on it. Like "I am a twat" only if R had his way, probably ruder. He reckons it's a business idea. I'd agree if it wasn't for the fact that he's relying on me for his workforce. That would push the overheads up a bit...
But knitting is good therapy. Quite apart from the fact it's a practical solution to my problem (no hair? just knit yourself some...), the repetitive nature and detail of getting the stitches right is strangely soothing when my brain is full of cotton wool and the drugs just make me mong. You can see why basket weaving goes down so well for psychiatric patients. Pumped full of drugs, whether a mental patient or undergoing chemo, that blank-stare, non-thinking, yet doingandachieving action of something like knitting strikes just the right balance.
It's far better than starting a work email, or phone call, losing your thread halfway through and forgetting what it was you wanted to say in the first place and ending up feeling pretty pathetic.
I recommend it to you all.