My jellyfish fever has yet to break.
This weekend I had any number of grand plans.
I was going to get so many things done.
There was yarn to destash, crochet books to sort through, projects to be put away, but the grand plans in my head gave way to the reality of the jellyfish that have attached themselves to my life with their hyperbolic crochet tentacles, and instead of lovely organized spaces, I instead have this second bloom of crochet jellyfish:
as well as these four jellyfish in waiting:
When we set out to tell our stories, we often imagine that we are in charge to a much greater degree than we are, and while we are sometimes able to create and then execute a plan as we had expected, more often we find ourselves adapting to the circumstances are in front of us.
I had had other crochet plans for June, but the jellyfish arrived and for reasons I don’t understand, I feel compelled to crochet them, so I am.
When we begin a journey of any kind it is impossible to know at the outset where, ultimately, it will lead, but despite ourselves we continue to move forward one step (or, as the case may be, one stitch) at a time