knot

 This morning I’ve made a pile of every scrap of crochet I’ve attempted.

I’m not a natural crafter. As I type that I can feel a tumble of sharp thoughts. Thoughts with hard, straight edges and stabby corners. Geometric weaponry. Left it too late to start. Slow, stiff arthriticy fingers. Glasses forever sliding down my nose. Should be doing something more productive. Keep forgetting what you’ve learnt and having to go back and relearn it again. That neck light’s a pain in the arse. Why aren’t you knitting instead? Why don’t you know how to use your sewing machine? You’ll only give it up after splurging a load of cash.

Instagram says I did my first yarn over, pull through on the 23^rd of October last year. I kept company with youtube videos and did… okay. A lovely friend did a lovely thing and sent a book on Granny Squares to me instead of to the charity shop. She said they were really easy. My head blocked up. Christmas arrived and I packed up the stuff on the kitchen table. This included, of course, the crochet. Of course it did. And of course it stayed packed up until this morning.

So, I’m slow, I’m uncertain, with a full head of sharp, bouncing plastic geometry. I would like a head of soft wool. Of colours and patterns. Of warm things to give. Let’s see how it goes.