It is funny how I have forced myself to change in some ways. Almost a year ago (hey, I was on pred then too!) I broke that bone in my foot reacting to the timer. A moment in time well remembered.
Now, when the timer goes off, I don't go running. There are times that I can tell it is driving Howard nuts, but I can let it ring. Stupid thing rings for a minute.
I don't always learn quickly. I don't always learn well. But I did learn that running to turn off a timer can be counter-productive, in fact, painful!
Timers are my friend, but I need to be in control of them, as opposed to them being in control of me!
I did get the stitches picked up for the collar. One by one by one. A slow process, hindered by this odd desire to save as much of the waste yarn as possible. Let me think about this. Waste yarn. By definition, to be thrown away. So what is my compulsion to save it? I have ounces of this pink yarn that was given to me. Some of it double stranded, some not. I have used it for waste yarn for several years now, um, longer than I really want to think. At least the early 90s? Serena was still in high school. There is probably enough to last me until I die and beyond. Yet I still try to salvage it when I use it. Who knows. I do remember Jane Carrigan, who gave the yarn to me way back when. She had started a top for herself and abandoned it. I got the yarn. It is wonderful for the waste yarn. Crochet up a chain (I can do that much) and pick up the stitches. But, I picked them up stitch by stitch, unraveling as I could, and snipping when it became necessary. Through all of that waste yarn in the trash when I was done. Ready to go on to the next step.