I finished painting my office and moved my desk back in.
My office will never be this tidy again.
I finished the knitting on this sweater which will take up residence in Kerrytown once Spun reopens.
I still need to weave in the ends and block it.
And I finished spending time with Thomas Cromwell.
I held my breath while reading the last pages and then immediately re-read them.
Normally I enjoy the feeling of accomplishment when I finish things, but these are strange days we're living through and I'm left thinking that a more aware person would have staggered their projects and made sure they didn't all end on the same day.
I was aware of a reluctance to finish all of these things while I was doing them: I'm not the fastest knitter but I avoided this sweater for the past few weeks because finishing it would make not being at Spun (which is an utterly delightful place to work) feel more real. I am a fast reader, but I intentionally did not let myself gobble down this book because I didn't want the trilogy to end. At the end of a section, I set it aside for a few days and thought about it and once I started the next section, I only allowed myself a chapter a day. And I took way more time than I normally would in painting my office, from the sorting and culling of the bookshelves (there are more books to give away coming soon) to how carefully I taped off the woodwork and cut in the corners, because I didn't have to notice how weird the world has become if I was worrying about paint drips.
Tonight, to comfort myself and distract from these melancholy thoughts, I'm going to pour a glass of Irish whisky and finish one more thing:
The last slice of a gf chocolate cake I made earlier in the week, topped with raspberry jam and whipped cream. At least this finish will be sweet.