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I have often privately wondered why the hell it is that I don’t ever get around to all the knitting, patterns, spinning, projects etc etc etc that I would like to…

And then I’m like, oh yeah, we’ve moved 5 times in the last 5 years. Technically I’ve moved 12 times in the last 9 years (since college) but 1) I started knitting 5 years ago and 2) before that all I owned were my clothes, a mattress and some books. Moving wasn’t so hard.

Anyway. The last 5 years. We all know that moving sucks. It sucks up money, it sucks up energy, and it sucks up months of time. The time to look for an apartment, the time spent packing, the time spent actually moving, and then the time spent rooting around boxes looking for your utensils and that one shirt you know was in the closet before but…

Not to mention all the yarn. I have no idea where most of my knitting needles are right now (I set aside my harmony set for use during the moving time – in this case, most of the summer and probably most of the fall). My formidable stash is in numerous tupperware bins scattered through the house in strange and illogical places. The Rowan yarn bin is in the kitchen hutch. My untouched full fleece is next to EJ’s crib, still in the package from the mill. A bag full of Amy Boogie Spunky Eclectic fiber (a very large bag as I have an understandable weakness for Spunky Eclectic fiber) in the laundry area.

That’s in addition to the forest of boxes in the living room (read: the staging area) containing clothes and dishes and all the things we actually need to live. The kitchen can’t be set up until I scrub down all the cabinets and tear out all the old icky contact paper and re- line the shelves with non-stick foam matting. And so on.

By the way, this is by no means a complaint. We just bought a beautiful house on a gorgeous piece of land, in a picturesque town in New England, 10 minutes from my parents. The view from my window as I type this is tranquil and a lush, calm green. The air is clear and quiet, our well water is pristine. I’m thrilled to be working on a home that doesn’t have a lease looming in 12 months, signaling another move.


(There’s always a big but, right?)

I have to get my house in order, literally and figuratively, before I can return to the blog. I’m not giving it the attention you all deserve (I love your comments, I never get to respond), and I’d rather spend the little computer time I have reading your blogs than feeling guilty about the comments I haven’t responded to, and clicking ‘Mark All Read’ on my Google Reader, with nary a chance to glimpse what you’ve all been up to.

So, this is a long way of saying, so long, for now. I’ll be back when I have something to write about other than ‘oh my god I’m so tired, baby not sleeping, so many boxes, so many boxes, so many boxes’.