I've hardly been knitting at all this past week, though I definitely need to be doing so. And therein, I think, lies the problem. Rebecca Danger said it best in her latest post, "I am spending my days dreaming of all the things I would like to be knitting instead of those things I have to be knitting." Granted, she's knitting pieces for her next book, and I'm only knitting pieces that I want to give as Christmas gifts (only 70 more days!). Still, the sentiment is the same.
It feels a lot like when I was in school (from grade school all the way through my two years earning my master's degree): I love to read. In fact, the one thing I got in the most trouble about when I was growing up was being sneaky and reading after everyone had gone to bed... sometimes until two or three o'clock in the morning. Yet, when a teacher assigned a book which had to be read by a certain date, I procrastinated and whined and complained and then was in a tizzy trying to complete the assignment. Often, I would end up absolutely loving the assigned book (and in fact, I myself assign many of them to my students now), but the idea of being made to do something caused me to balk. The same was true in college, especially when I reached the point that I was taking only the English and literature classes which were the focus of my degrees: I was assigned sometimes three books per week to read and to write papers about, and I turned into a petulant brat about my situation. However, during my breaks from school, I would pick up the latest Anne Rice novel and devour it in a night or two.
And so it is now with my knitting. I'm dutifully trudging along, making progress on my Christmas knits, but what I really want to do is to work on an afghan pattern I recently fell in love with, or to pick up my Noro Kureyon and find and start a pattern which will show off its gorgeous colors. *sigh* That petulant brat is rearing her ugly head again. Perhaps she needs a time out.