So I knit this little dear over the weekend for a friend/co-worker’s little girl Zoe.

Purple is her absolute favorite color (she fights daily to wear her favorite purple pants…), and she loves her own cats so very much (in the traditional toddler way, sometimes a little too much), so I knew it would go over well. She apparently totally gets it that hat=kitty, which makes me so happy. Toddlers are great people.

It is the Official Kittyville Hat by Kitty Schmidt, sized down from an adult size. I used the remainder of the Malabrigo from the previous hat.

One of my very best friends, M, is coming to visit this weekend from Philly. It’s perfect timing. I’m feeling a bit freaked out this week. I know she will be exactly what I need to feel like myself again. (Isn’t that an odd phrase “I’m not feeling like myself”?)

Tonight I had to say goodbye to an ex-boyfriend who will be moving to New York on Friday morning to study painting. We called off our 2-year relationship right before Thanksgiving on better terms that I thought were ever possible. It was mutual decision based on thoughtful consideration (vs. being caused by some traumatic event.) While we’ve hung out randomly since then, we’ve spent less and less time together as the weeks and months have passed. This was exactly the plan. I barely ever see him at all now, usually just by chance. But now he is leaving for The City. The place that has drawn so many others before. The place where Things happen.

But I am not the best with change. Yes, this is something I am so very happy to have happen for him - after all, he has wanted to move to New York since before we met. It just was never the right time. Then, within a couple weeks after our break-up all the pieces fell into place: 1) the property where he was living was suddenly going to be sold and he would have to move out; 2) his truck was finally reaching the point of breaking down, which is significant since it has been in the process of dying since I’ve known him; 3) he was suddenly forced to work with a new company that had an abundance of projects requiring lots of overtime, giving him an unexpected jolt in savings.

I managed to get out of Octane tonight without a tear, but on the ride home the finality of it all hit me. I know there’s not a reason in the world for this change not to happen, and I would be so sad for him if he never made it up there. But even if I agree wholeheartedly, it is difficult to face a definite end to a stage in my life that was filled with such nice memories. It is hard to move on sometimes, even if it is right & necessary & earnestly desired. My mother always reminds me that I never wanted to leave preschool either.

Who am I going to call now to fix a broken coffee table if drop, say, a mattress or a 1982 television on it?