I’m starting to feel a little frayed around the edges. It could be due to a variety of things: the first stirrings of my annual “Holy-Crap-Is-Winter-Over-Already?” doldrums, cumulative strain due to Émilie’s health issues (she’s doing well, we’ve just turned – somewhat understandably, I think you’ll agree – into a bunch of raving hypochondriacs chez Dear, and nothing is “ordinary” anymore. Evil lurks in every corner.), or even just plain boredom with what I’ve got on the needles now.
Anyway, the point is that I’m starting to wig out. Wait, strike that. I am officially wigging. I’m reeling it in as far as retail therapy is concerned and trying to channel it into so-called “positive” activities like running on the treadmill and yoga and… honestly dudes, I think it’s only a matter of time before I bug the hell out completely.
So what’s a woman on the edge to do? Cast on for something new? Go crazy with stash enhancement? Book a flight to Aruba?
I’ve no idea. Right now I’m taking the “Try-to-cram-in-as-much-as-possible-in-the-2-hours-a-day-of-“me-time”-you-get” approach (trademark pending), which is both profoundly unsatisfying and a not-a-little exhausting.
I’ve been discussing it with Phil, and we’ve realized that what I really need is a girls’ crafty weekend. I need to sit by a fireplace, drink tea/wine, laugh, knit, and eat chocolate. In short: I need to chill the eff out.
Who’s with me?