A contented evening by the fire, wool socks on my feet, knitting in my hands and a book in my ears.
And a suspicion confirmed.
Knitting does an abundance of things for me. I can be excited about what I am knitting and find that I cannot knit fast enough. It occupies me in waiting rooms and carpool lines. It is my quiet companion during television shows, and is a constructive outlet for nervous energy when I watch the Young Man's sporting events. I depend on my knitting (probably more than I know) to relax and put me in that happy place called Contentment.
There have been occasions, though, when I get a bit too relaxed and find myself starting to doze off with my knitting at hand. When I rouse myself I wonder if, while I was nodding off, did I stop knitting? Because sometimes it doesn't feel like it.
Last night, with my feet toasty warm and another 2 inches of a rather dull 5 inches of knit 2 purl 2 ribbing ahead of me, I got, let's say, really relaxed. Twice. And both times after nudging myself into a more conscious state, I looked down at my knitting and...yes, there it was. Evidence that I do in fact continue to knit in that semi-conscious Land of Nod. What I found was not knit 2 purl 2 ribbing, but several dozen purl stitches. Apparently I zoned out on a purl and just kept going. Before I had to correct a third round of errors, I took the hint and went to bed.
Where I read a few pages of my book until I fell asleep, and tonight I will have to reread the parts I don't remember reading last night. It's a wonder I get anything done.