I am sick. My first head cold of 2012—leave it to the warm weather to slay me, every time, with a cold when everyone else is cavorting in the sunshine. Limited to liquids and the couch, I started knitting, after an hour’s worth of pattern-searching, the perfect project with just enough lace.
Japan sent my ability to multitask into overdrive. I had to have nine things going at once, all the time, to keep loneliness and shiftlessness from surging up and engulfing me. I had sims up and running for artificial people and noise, several chat windows, water boiling for tea, a translation project propped open with my electronic dictionary to hold my place, and some ornate knitted monstrosity draped over it all, in process. Since then, doing one thing at a time is unfulfilling for me. But since my responsibilities here are somewhat greater, by and large I have to focus and keep my frenetic multitasking to a minimum, lest work that actually matters suffer. I am always questing for the perfect balance of industry and relaxation, enough to feel productive without being so busy as to half-ass things.
This lacy throw, attended to while relistening to The Wheel of Time on tape, is perfect. I worked for five hours straight, which is unheard of for me lately. Being industrious is the only way I can relax without feeling guilty. What with the whole job situation and all.