I got a bad cough last week–Typhoid John brought it back from the Pentagon. It laid me low. Coughing, sleeping, and–get this–not really knitting very much. Miserable, that. And then I ran out of yarn for the second teal bag’s straps, so I can’t finish it until a box comes from Knitpicks. I have no new socks on the needles, and I haven’t worked up the gumption to start either sweater I’m thinking on. And, bitching the whole time, I made an orange rabbit similar to Legs, which I need to stuff and felt. And I did some work on the ruana.

But, all the while, I’ve felt like a whiny little brat. It’s as if I blame knitting for my cough and for the rain and for all of the website work I’ve had to do here. But, really, I blame my knitting for . . . get this . . . me watching one episode of Carnivale after another, so that now there are only a few episodes left in the first season. I didn’t knit while I watched the episodes, so my snake brain expects that if I abstain from knitting there will magically be more episodes–not bloody likely. We don’t have HBO, of course, so yet again I’m running through an amazing serial too quickly, despite the fact that there is no second dose in sight. And I need to hide from people with HBO so I don’t know what is happening this season. Ugh. Of course my knitting isn’t pretty enough after watching this show–it’s one of the most visually stimulating shows anyone has ever aired on TV. And the music! Oh, the music.

It’s wrong of me to lash out at the knitting. The knitting didn’t make Carnivale and can’t live up to it’s myriad charms. The knitting is humble and lovely and blameless. Netflix, however, is not blameless. Netflix hasn’t sent the next episodes yet, despite the fact that I mailed back four (FOUR!) DVDs Monday morning. Frickin fracking netflix ruining my frickin frackin life. They’d better send those next two DVDs today or I’m gonna pop.

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