I have the funk and it's bad.

I'm in a strange funk lately.
I've enough yarn to keep me going for many, many months. I have a folder of patterns printed out, and a stack of knitting books and magazines. Gods know I could do with finishing the blue cardigan of doom. Or, y'know, the other Kaffe Fassett sock for the misters birthday present (which is tomorrow. He's getting one sock.).

The funk, however, means that I'm not really getting anything done. After a flurry of clearing up and organising stash last week (I even assigned yarn to actual projects!) I find myself feeling listless, choosing to make washcloths out of cheap cotton yarn, instead of diving face first into the Lion and Lamb that arrived for my reward-to-myself clapotis.

It's even gotten to the stage where the one thing I'm itching to make (since, ooh, yesterday) is the Swallowtail shawl, which I can't start, because the yarn that I have which would suit it is in my parents house.

No, I'm not quite mean enough to phone my mother and ask her to a)locate said yarn in correct shade and b) express post it to me so that I can start before the urge to knit it turns into another "meh".

Has it something to do with the changing of the season? Well, possibly, but that would imply that I actually get some daylight hours outside, instead of staring through the window at it all.

Ok, perhaps all of this is just me trying to get away from one simple fact. I don't have the funk. I have SSS.

There's a skein of Collinette Jitterbug on my desk, and every now and again I catch myself fondling it when I get buried in email. I would cast it on in a heartbeat, except I can't possibly do it when himself is sitting downstairs, patiently waiting for his second sock to materialise. (I even caught him fondling sock one while he was reading a book on the sofa last night. He claimed he was checking it for cooties.)

Ah love, ain't it grand?