There is a small chance that I am freaking out. Just a small chance.

We had a wonderful visit with Scott’s Mom Karen and her beau Lee. While they were here, we relaxed, and we ate at restaurants (soooo many restaurants), and I cooked a couple of nice meals when I was able to slot it into our busy visiting schedule.  Karen and I knitted away on simple projects and chatted and planned future visits. It was wonderful, and it was too short, and it was a fantastic way to spend a week in autumn.

My afghan even has more squares.  Which I will show you.  Eventually.  I hope.

Because then they went back to Utah and I realized I had far, far too much to do before the Knitter’s Review Retreat next week.  I volunteered to organize the Stash Lounge this year. The Stash Lounge at the KR Retreat is a thing of wonder. Apparently, once upon a time, there was just a stash table, where one could drop off yarn that wasn’t quite right, and someone else could take it home and do something lovely with it. Those days are gone. The Stash Lounge is now two adjoining big hotel rooms. Intake, sorting, lay out, and donation are all major tasks now. And last year, while I was high on wool fumes, I volunteered to harness the Stash Lounge and the resulting donations so Clara and Martha could focus on the thousands of other things they need to do at the Retreat.

Yeah, so now I need to gather my supplies and talk to the staff at the inn and wrangle volunteers and keep in touch with the recipients of our donations and generally not lose my mind over this whole thing. I’m a bit of a perfectionist. The Little Hater in my brain is convinced that no one will like me anymore if I don’t make the Stash Lounge exactly what 100+ people want it to be. Ahem. The Little Hater needs to have her mouth taped shut. Thankfully, many people have volunteered to help, and planning what we want the lounge to be like and how to handle distribution has become a big group discussion.  I have a van to carry all of the organizational junk to and from Massachusetts, and I’ll be accompanied by the amazing Ruadhan, who can organize anything, and who will probably slip me a valium if I freak out too much.

I also have homework for a couple of the classes I’m taking at the retreat.  Um, yeah.  I may not be an A student this year.

And finally, because I hate rest, I also decided I needed to make a few dozen bags in time for the retreat.  Cataloging all of my yarn and fabric has been a great motivator, but it’s also a bit of a tool for self-flagellation.  Ahem.  I do use a production line method when I make bags, so I do think the pile I’ve cut is possible to finish in time, but it’s definitely cutting down on time for relaxation.  And cooking.  And eating.  Sigh.

I take all of this as proof that I am neither reading nor writing enough poetry. Translation, in particular, silences the Little Hater. I think it either confuses or fascinates her.  Writing has been one of the slowest things to return to normal for me, since the year of hell that was 2009.  I think my first depressive stabs at writing scared me off of it for a while.  I kept finding dark pools I was afraid to disturb.  But I have a few good things underway I really want to return to.  And, clearly, if I don’t write in private and revise until the work is ready to share, my oddities will bubble through here, and in actual public, and will perhaps make me drink too much of Jenny’s amazing, spicy Krupnik and act like an ass at Samhain.  I’m not saying–I’m just saying.

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