What do you do when the fairy dust clears from your eyes?

I’ve been in a bit of a knitting funk the last few days.

The purple raglan cardigan languishes (reproachfully) in her clear plastic zippered bag. I’m not turned on by my Simple Knitted Bodice, beautiful as she is in all her Fleece Artist Kidsilk glory. There’s no magic in either of them for me right now.

I am trying to muster up the enthusiasm to cast on some sock-weight merino for a lace shawl, with either some of the rich mottled brown or the tone-on-tone deep orange, both of which followed me home in the last couple of weeks. I have several sweaters' worth of all kinds of delicious stuff I could be making into something warm and lovely. There’s a mountain of gorgeous Manos upstairs just waiting to become a fabulous sweater-coat. Whatever.

Even the socks aren’t doing it for me (et tu, Koigu?), though I give them a few rows to keep faith with my Socktoberfest pledge. I might not get to the fancy ones at all, but I am determined to have actual wearable PAIRS of socks by month's end, so I am dutifully knitting up the partners to my lonely singles.

Sigh. It’s just not happening for me. I'm not even interested spelunking through my stash bins for inspiration. I feel somewhat bereft and abandoned by my knitting muse.

Maybe I should just go make an acrylic scarf.