Me, waiting for the bus, next to a very shiny glass building.

Started on the metro tile wall embroidery.

I had a piece of Aida cloth in my stash at home, which I thought would work for this. Now I’m regretting the choice. It’s a bit of a pain to work with – not very stable, and tricky for longer stitches that tend to glide in between the warp and the weft. A stiff, stable canvas would have been much easier.

The stitches don’t cover the fabric entirely. That also bothered me at first, but I mind it less now. I don’t need a faithful reproduction of the wall, just an impression of it. I could fill in the gaps with some dark gray wool yarn to imply the grout between the tiles. Or it could just be as it is.

The embroidery club has agreed on the theme of “Stockholm metro” for this term. I was dithering about whether to join the project or not – figurative embroidery, trying to depict something, isn’t my favourite kind. But the more I think of the ceramic wall art at Stockholm Central station, the more I want to try and translate it into a textile version.

I bought embroidery thread for it today. I like working with wool yarn, but this really calls for the glossy shine of cotton. Or silk, I guess, but covering the fabric with silk thread would be rather expensive.

First bicycle commute for this season.

What I knew but had sort of forgotten:

How sore my sitting bones will be after the first few rides.

How much time with my own thoughts this gives me. It takes me roughly the same forty-five minutes to get to the office by train or by bike. By train, the trip is chopped up and full of distractions. I don’t experience it as a forty-five-minute period, but as a sequence of small stretches of time. Ten minutes to the station, wait a few minutes, find a place on the train. Read for ten minutes. Get off, get through the tangle of Stockholm central station. Repeat the above on the metro. Walk one last bit. Going by bike, in contrast, there is a lot of just… time passing while I move forward. Time to think. Or to not think.

How much energy it takes, when I haven’t been doing this for a while. I can’t really bike slowly. Not if I’ve got 13 km to go. It’s not that I go all out, but I definitely arrive with an elevated pulse. Do that twice a day, and in the evening I’m not up to much more than lounging in the sofa.

March is not winter, but also not spring. It’s not not cycling season, but it’s still cold enough for me to be tempted to take the train.

If I pack and prep everything now for tomorrow morning, then it’ll be easier to just grab the rucksack and cycle, than it would be to re-pack for a commute by train.

When there’s too much “stuff” going on around me, my executive function just shuts down and I do nothing. It happens mostly when I feel like I have no control over my time. One child wants to be woken so that we can have breakfast together. The other needs lunch to happen at a particular time, and then to be driven somewhere straight after. And then some more in the evening.

It’s not that it takes up a big part of the day. And it’s not at all that I don’t want to do these things. I am happy that they still prioritize mealtimes with me instead of being away with friends.

These fixed points spread out through the day chop it up and I feel like it all slips away from me. Then it feels like there’s no point even trying to take any control over the rest of it, and I just let time pass between those moments.

The mere knowledge that I could be interrupted at any time is almost as bad as actually being interrupted. When the day is over and everyone else has gone to bed and I know that nothing more will happen, that’s when I finally breathe out, look up, and feel like I could actually do something.

Charles Dickens reputedly felt similarly. “The mere consciousness of an engagement will sometimes worry a whole day,” he’s quoted to have written.

What can I do about this? Make a list. Commit in advance. Remove myself from the situation even for five minutes to get out of the tunnel and clear my head of this illusion.

The season’s second mosquito, already. I guess this is in line with birds not eating at the feeder any more – there are juicier meals out there.

AI is invading every space and it’s annoying the heck out of me.

Google gives me AI-generated slop instead of search results. Recipe searches result in AI-generated nonsense. Discussion threads get AI-generated replies. Customer support queries get useless AI-generated replies.

The administrator at my knitting club uses AI-generated banner images for the group’s Facebook events. Workshop participants turn to ChatGPT for generating creative ideas.

The other day I was co-interviewing a candidate for a role as a software developer in our team. Part of the interview was a pair coding exercise. We had turned off AI assistance in the code editor, and the candidate was completely helpless without it. Before diving into live coding, he had told us about all the problems he had solved and projects he had architected and completed. And yet, when given a keyboard and a text editor, he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t initialize an array. Couldn’t loop through one, either. Couldn’t explain any of the choices he had made in past projects – everything ended in “I’d have to ask Google or ChatGPT about that”. We concluded that we need to update the job requirements to clearly specify that candidates are expected to be able to code without AI assistance.

Some people are literally losing their ability for thinking. They’re outsourcing not just the boring tasks, but even the fun and creative stuff. And they even seem proud of it.

Third attempt. The second one came out too small. I’m not entirely sure about this one either. Should I make them looser? Well-fitting socks need to be tight but not too tight.

It’s a good thing that socks are small; I have time for a fourth attempt if needed. Maybe I’ll put this one to the side and start a slightly larger version in parallel and then see which one I believe more in.

There are two birthdays coming up in April, for people who deserve hand-knitted socks.

I’ve knit so many everyday socks for myself that it takes no effort. Knitting socks for someone else – whose foot I don’t have access to, for trying them on for size – is a whole other matter. I’m also using a thicker yarn than usual, so the numbers I’ve learned by heart don’t work at all.

This is my second attempt of the first sock. The label on the yarn suggested using 3 mm needles. The fabric came out way too drapey and floppy with those. Could have worked for a cardigan or something, I guess, but it was absolutely not right for socks. This is a sock yarn, both by fibre content and by name. Why would they suggest a needle size that won’t work for knitting actual socks? Argh.

The worst of it was that I discovered this at the knitting meet-up. And, trusting the label, had only brought my 3 mm needles. Luckily another knitter had extra 2.5 mm needles that they could lend me for the evening. I brought the sock home with the stitches on a piece of scrap yarn.