Last night, in a state of sleep deprivation which Sighkey assures me could lead to psychosis, I went ahead with my Fair Isle swatch socks. As you see, and as I see now that I am more rested, I used a slightly different pattern for the second sock than I had for the first. Notice my use of the word “slightly,” as though it were hardly noticeable. I may take it out. I may leave it, too. I wasn’t that wild about the pattern I used for the instep on the first sock, actually, so I may take the opportunity to try a different one on the second sock, and pretend that it was all intentional. After all, that self-striping sock yarn turns out not-quite-matching socks. Dweezy spearheaded it with his socks of two different hand-dyed colors. Let’s see, I have blamed it on other people, suggested that it is a small difference that hardly matters, and come up with a cover story in case anyone notices– have I left anything out? Ah, yes — I will always wear these on Saturdays, with blue jeans. No one will see them anyway. Or of course I could do the Right Thing and frog it.

At work, I am still creating enticing vistas. I have finished the whole woodland glade-ripe berries thing and have moved on to seaside grottos filled with shells — architectura, murex, and conch gleaming pinkly in the sea spray. 

No, really, I finished language arts and moved on to teacher resources. I would of course prefer to be doing glades and grottos, but God saw fit not to entrust that task to me, so I am enjoying what I have to work with.

Since I know that by Friday the cumulative sleep-deprivation makes me bad-tempered, I tried hard to be sweet and kind and light-hearted to all. But there were some tough ones. There was a woman who stood there and broke a teaching clock right in front of me and then snuck out without paying for it while I was with another customer. And the kindergarten teacher who carried on at length about how important it was that the shape materials use the term “rhombus.” Most of the books and posters about shapes say “diamond,” an affront which we have to hear about daily. Finally, I asked her why. “It’s on the benchmarks!” she said, aghast. “Yes, I know,” I said, “but in daily life, that’s not the term people use. When would a kindergartner ever have the opportunity to use the term ‘rhombus’ in real life?”

I was right, of course, but it was unkind. At least she was someone I know fairly well. I know that she will not hold it against me, or even go home and question her entire life’s work.

I have a day off today. I think I will — after grocery shopping and housecleaning — go to visit my son-in-law’s grandmother. She wanted some hat patterns, and I have a nice book of them that I doubt I will use again. I just have to find the book.