Broken needles. Broken dreams.

One thing I have learned from knitting blogs is that one really can knit anywhere, anytime: the movies, the doctor, waiting in line, hanging upside down on a gyrosphere. When I say "one," I mean, of course, "people who are not me." I brought my newly-begun sock (mate to beige tweed below) to the airport to pick up Lilyriver's sister, Lilyriver Deux, and nearly made myself carsick on the turnpike. If you know me, you know that I was not driving.

My knitting stayed, forgotten, in my tote (the Roxy bag from thisgalissewcrazy.etsy.com--the shop owner, Theresa, is lovely!) all day. At the movies this evening, I discovered the carnage: two of my size 0 birch doublepoints had snapped.

I sang a dirge for the tiny, toothpick-sized shards in my hands as the credits for Reno 911: Miami rolled. My fellow moviegoers gave me dirty looks, but it was only because they didn't understand.