I’m pleased to report that I finally started a book that has no pictures and can still hold my attention. The Flatshare by Beth O’Leary is the last of my #TBTBSanta gifts, and I’d been holding onto it for … today, I guess.

It’s about two Londoners who come to share a one-bedroom apartment — one sleeps in it during the day and the other at night. They communicate via post-it notes, and it’s sweet and exactly right for a point in time when we’re also living sub-optimally. I only began it this evening and am already past the crucial 50-page mark. I assume I know how it’s going to end, and I’m glad. I crave concrete happy endings right now. I don’t want wishy-washy. I don’t want to be continued in the next volume. I want mostly forward movement and “they lived happily ever after. The end.”

Otherwise, I’m intermittently listening to Size 12 Is Not Fat, by Meg Cabot, and, with Rudi, Good Omens by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. I still have The Cruelest Month out in audiobook, but I haven’t had it in me to listen to it this past week. I probably should finish it off, though, since April ends next week. It just makes me so tired to think about.

In the same way that I’ve been having a hard time concentrating on books, I’m also having a hard time focusing on knitting. Probably I need to find something to knit on big needles that is just back and forth or round and round. When life gets too much, sometimes it’s helpful if your yarn size grows, too. Or at least that’s what I’ve occasionally found in the past.

But I haven’t moved forward with finding a worsted or bulky project, so I content myself with having knit three rounds on the second Smock Madness sock since last week. Hey we knitters know that eventually all those small efforts will add up.

Check out As Kat Knits for people who manage to knit whole rows at a time and who’ve finished bunches of books.