One Day At a Time

Or, how I am not-so-slowly losing my marbles

Have you ever had one of those days where it just feels like nothing is going right? I’m having quite a few of those of late – but yesterday? Yesterday was different.

Yesterday, it felt like nothing I was doing was being done right, an important and confidence-battering distinction.

I’ll spare you all the details, but it culminated in a moment of extreme pain when the knitting I’d been working on for an hour and a half – I had knit three rows in that time; I am what you could call a determined knitter, but you could never say I’m in any way fast, or efficient – slipped off the metal needles, and I couldn’t seem to get the stitches back on.

Instead of turning on the Big Light, taking a deep breath, or asking for help from my husband, who was sitting a mere four feet from me (he doesn’t knit but he does crochet, and above all else he is irritatingly stoic in the face of any and all occasions that would cause panic in anyone else, namely me), I started to cry.

As the tears began to flow down my cheeks, I tore the knitting from the needles and shouted, “oh perfect! I can’t cook! I can’t even make a fucking grilled cheese¹! I’M SHIT AT KNITTING!”

I did not turn to see what Brandin was making of this, instead throwing the offending wool, needles an’ all, on the floor. I grabbed my phone and my fake Stanley full of ice water, and stormed upstairs, an act slightly ruined by the baby gate, which I had to painstakingly open – and close – on my way to Stropsville.