It’s December — well into December, as I realized with horror yesterday — and my idiotic resolution to knit ALL the presents has become a resigned determination to knit some of the presents and hope against hope that the mail moves at supersonic speed. In case I should get this idea again, I shall set a reminder for next October to look at this post, in which I now write the following message:
Dear Future Me: You cannot knit all the presents. I know it seems like a good idea now. I know that you are having visions, filmed in soft focus, of your beloved family opening their presents, seeing the lovingly crafted hand knits contained therein, and clapping their hands with delight. I know you think how wonderful it will be for them to venture out into the driving sleet and rain of a Vancouver winter, protected from the cold by beautiful, colourful knits, and warmed inside by the love and thought that you send with them. And it would be wonderful, indeed.
But here’s the thing: you don’t have time. You really don’t. That Wisp that will only take a couple of evenings and will look so elegant? It will take much longer than that. As will everything else. Face it, Future Me: you suck at estimating how long it will take to make something, and you are pathologically incapable of sticking to one project from beginning to end, so need to factor in some time for the socks you will suddenly decide you need, the WIP you will suddenly want to finish, and the eleventy design ideas you will need to swatch to stop them from banging around in your head. Then there will be at least two calls for submissions that you will want to participate in, and those will eat into your gift knitting time until you’re left with five panic-filled days in early-to-mid December when you realize that short of teaching the cats to knit and opening your own kitty sweatshop in your basement, there is no way you will be finished in time. Save yourself this anguish. Do not knit all the presents. Knit for the children, do it well, and come up with something else for the rest of the family. They will understand, and at least they’ll get their presents in time.
Tomorrow: more breed spinning. Because there’s always time for spinning.
Edit, Monday: What the hell was I thinking? When was I going to write that? Soon, though. Soon.
One thought on “A letter to Future Me”
I find it works best if I only give presents every 5 years. That way, I’ve usually completed at least one of them.