This is where I am after a visit from a large, warty frog:
I'm back to the point I was when I discovered a major counting error.
Before all the ripping (and weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth), I had grandiose plans for this piece and the upcoming week-end. I had it all figured out.
I was going to get this section completely stitched by bedtime last night, then I was going to stitch the two cartouches on either side of the center panel tonight, then I was going to work half of the lower border tomorrow and finish it all up on Sunday. Never mind that the number of hours it would take to do this meant that I would plop my large and lovely self into the wing chair tonight and not budge until Sunday. After all, this whole vine is worked in Smyrna cross stitches, and they take twice as long as regular cross stitches.
By the time I did all those Smyrnas, my arms would have fallen out of their sockets, my hands would be permanently cramped around the needle, my eyes would be totally crossed, and I would have severe posterior paralysis.
It's going to be a gorgeous fall week-end, if the weatherman can be trusted, perfect for walks and getting out and about.
It's time to start pulling out the fall and winter clothes and shifting closets around.
I haven't worked on any finish-finishing for several weeks and I need to get back to it.
And there are other projects that need some attention.
Besides, as Dearly Beloved pointed out when I was pitching a hissy fit over my miscounting error, I don't have a deadline.
So I'm taking a deep breath and reminding myself that needlework is not a duty but a pleasure. And I'm going to thread a needle and enjoy myself. With no pressure and no deadlines.