Oh, man. Sometimes Mondays look like . . .
You can convince yourself that . . . it's just the laceweight. (Because things always look wonky with laceweight.)
But then it becomes all too obvious on the last row. (That satisfying last row, y'know . . . that really pulls everything together.)
That there is Something Very Wrong.
Something you really should have caught (and done something about) 8 or 10 rows ago.
Because half-way through the final row, you can see that . . . everything is not pulling together anymore.
You apparently lost the plot. Right there in the middle of a row. 8 or 10 rows back.
(Turns out it wasn't the laceweight.)
And so. . . it is not to be.
Not now. Probably not ever.
Because you don't have the time.
Or the energy.
Or the mindset.
To fix this.
I'm sure there's a metaphor in there somewhere.
But I'm not going to find it now.
Sometimes Mondays . . . show you that letting go is the only way.
(And it's going to be just fine.)