Knitting in Motion: The Real Me

April at Coffee Crazy Knitter wrote a beautiful post about being herself. She talked about how she has grown to be comfortable in her skin. And she shared a photo of her knitting. Not staged, just her, sitting in her jammies, knitting.

She asked for other "Real" photos.

So last night I asked The Greatest to take a picture of me while I was knitting.

"Why?"

"For my blog."

"Why are you going to put a picture of you in that robe on your blog?"

"Because...It's this thing...All my friends are doing it."

Shaking his head "You have some weird friends. Where's the camera?"



This is me in one of the two places I knit. The Greatest and I are odd. We are almost always in the same room together. We just are. Rarely are we home at the same time and we're not in the same room. I can't explain it. I didn't even think of it consciously until I started writing this post. We just like to be in the same room. So if The Greatest is playing a computer game I sit on the bed and watch TV and knit.

That's me in my pink robe. I have two, one long and furry for winter, one short and terry for summer. I love them, they're comfy and pink. The Greatest hates both of them. Much to his displeasure I wear them anyways. To my left is my knitting bag with the stuff for my latest project. I'm knitting two socks on two circular needles, my favorite way to knit socks. One yarn ball in on my left side, the other on my right. Off frame on my right is my Vogue Stictionary. I'm working on a new sock pattern. But that's how I sit, bag on my left, instructions on my right, legs out in front of me. I look pretty good because I took a shower earlier that day.

The other place I knit is my couch. Different location, but the pose is still the same, ugly robe, bag on left, instructions on right, legs propped up on the coffee table.

I understand what April was saying about feeling comfortable in her skin. I never want to be a teenager in again. Sometimes I wanted to scream just to relieve this consuming feeling of want that was inside me. I couldn't define it or explain it, or make it go away. It was rage, and desire, and emptiness, a longing for something but for what I couldn't say, this big nothing that was tearing at my soul. It's so nice to not have that anymore. I'm just me. That's enough. I don't want more or less. I'm just me in my pink robe.

But my legs do look pretty good in that picture. You can tell The Greatest took the photo.