I have been reluctant to pick up my knitting and continue with the Phildar shell, or to weave in the ends on Wine and Roses.
I got poison ivy last week, and although it did get all oozy, infected and crusty, I thought I was gettting better over the weekend in NYC -- despite having to wear long sleeves and then take refuge in any air-conditioned building to cool back down.
Unfortunately, in the mistaken belief that I was iimproving, I went to the gym Monday and the energy expenditure seems to have given my PI more of a kick in the butt than it gave me, and I was back to the rampantly spreading, oozing, nasty stuff within hours.
I am reluctant to knit because my arms seem to have found their inner connection to the primordial oooze. Despite the fact that they are wrapped in guaze and bandages and I am wearing long sleeves, a change of layers and clothing is required every few hours, luckily coinciding with my therapeutic soaks. The entire thought of some nastiness leaking onto my lovely yarn is enough to keep the needles out of my hands.
It is possible that the incipient socks may be small enough that I can work on them without achieving contact. My hands are not infected although my wrists are. I might be able to manage the double-pointed needles. Since my arms are swollen up and swaddled I look something like Bibi, the Michelin man, and it may be humerous to imagine my round swaddled arms hunched over those tiny size 0's.
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