Derailed

    I am filled with resentment tonight.

 Some days I am resentful of my kids, when they take an inordinate amount of my time, and I feel invisible. Then they do something cute and it goes away, and I remember that I'm the Mom and that's what I do. Even if I didn't get to knit one single stitch, or read a single page, or finish answering a single email...

    Sometimes I am resentful of The Big Guy, because he is a man and therefore (thinks he) has the ability to do what he wants, when he wants. For example, he can decide, in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon, that he should run to the mainland to buy a screw for the boat... just because. He steps onto any boat, hands free and unencumbered, and goes.

My trips to the mainland involve 2 kids, luggage, a snack cooler, carseats, lifevests, a babysitter for the post office, and a minimum of three days notice. (to obsessively check the weather.It sometimes also requires medication. That's a story for another day.)

     Today's resentment, though, comes in the form of PEOPLE WHO IMPOSE ON MY TIME WHEN I'M WORKING AGAINST A DEADLINE AND HAVE PLANNED AN ENTIRE UNINTERRUPTED AFTERNOON OF KNITTING.

 yeah, in caps, just like that.

And my whole day was derailed.

I didn't knit a single stitch.

Many forces are conspiring to work against me, my friends. 

There is the fact that sleeves suck, in general.

There is the fact that I am at a point in the pattern of said sleeve which is not just mindless stockinette, which I'm craving right about now.

There is the fact that I'm supposed to hand it over tomorrow afternoon, along with 3 other unfinished projects.

And there is the fact that it's June.

 June is fog season. Bet you didn't know there was such a season. There is, and we have it.

 Ever read Stephen King's "The Fog'? He's very perceptive, that Stephen. He may have spent some time on an island. Our fog is like nothing I had ever previously experienced. It's thick, and wraps around you like a blanket. A thick wet, salty blanket engulfing you, not with dainty tendrils, but fists. Obliterating the sun. Doom and gloom.

I've met fog before, of course. It mists around you, but sort of off in the distance. You walk, and it retreats a bit. You know that if someone is looking at you through the fog, you'd be a shape in a shadow.

Not this crap. It rolls down the street, like smoke, soaking everything in it's wake.

That's how thick it is. You step into it and your hair is as wet as if you sprayed it thoroughly with a spray bottle. Hosed.

You literally can't see your hand in front of your face sometimes.

And on the water, you see ...nothing. A wall of white. The guys drive by instruments, but they don't much like it. Could you drive your car by instruments, and trust them?!?

The fishermen can't see from buoy to buoy in the thick stuff, and it keeps them landlocked.

And that doesn't work for anybody involved!

And it's right on our horizon.

And people are getting a little....unstable.

At least, I hope it's the impending fog.

 Because my other theory involves a government conspiracy that involves Prozac in our water supply, or more specifically, the removal of Prozac from our water supply during the months of May and June, wreaking havoc on our inter-personal relationships.

I haven't worked out all the details yet. But judging from the last few days on this rock, this scenario is looking more and more plausible.