I can’t think of a thing to say that doesn’t either dwell on, or gloss over, the never-ending downward spiral that is my mental state. I feel like I’m wrestling lions most days. Such is life. Such is my life, in winter. Such is my life in winter, without prescription pain medication.
I have gotten into the habit of putting one foot in front of the other, as is necessary to keep going on this path, although for what purpose and for how long is anyone’s guess. I can’t find joy in anything.
Brief flashes of hope come in the shape of beautiful yarn, or pretty stitch markers, or treasure hunting vintage things (that antique postcard of my Cambridge alma mater made me actually smile for goodness sake – that view has not changed in a hundred years). I distract myself and bribe myself in equal measure.
I’m still knitting, of course. The steady rhythm of the needles soothes me. Plans for what this sweater will look like provide a buoy to aim towards. I’ve even got plans for dying yarn when the weather improves – I don’t really have the room, but dying things is just plain fun no matter how mental you are, and there’s something a little bit magical about an item going into the pot one thing and emerging having metamorphosised into something else. Have I just made that word up? Jolly good.
Little bits of pretty to soothe my weary soul and shattered head.