April 28, 2012
Day 5:The Life Cycle of a Knitting Project
Day Two: Rapid cellular growth, aka delusions of grandeur. "Maybe it could be a scarf. No, a hat. No, a sock. Maybe I could buy more and make a stole. Or a sweater! What if it could work for my cocktail dress to wear to the annual company Christmas party? I have months to work! Oh, this is going to be special!"
Day 3: Procrastination. This falls under the false attitude that says, "I am thinking about it. This project has to be just perfect. The yarn has not spoken to me yet." You circle the yarn daily, maybe hourly, staring at it. You tell yourself that after all, you have to work, cook, do laundry. Meanwhile, you really just can't decide.
Day 4: Realization. You are handling the yarn for the 25th time, touching it, falling in love with its smell. You re-read the label from the hand dyer, amazed at her skill. You realize that you cannot buy more as the dye lots will not match. Your mind settles agreeably on a small project. You would like to maybe wear a new pair of socks after the weekend, anyway. You can handle a 3 day project. It's been years since you made a sock, but its exactly like riding a bike. Right?
Day 5: Divination. Digging deep into your brain, you remember a sock pattern that you were just dying to make a few years back, you dismiss a sudden thought that it might be out of style. Who cares about that, anyway? When you memory banks fail to tell you which book the pattern is in, you hold out your new skein of yarn, willing it to point you to the pattern on your bookshelf.
Day 6: Osmosis. Once you find it, you read and re-read the pattern, trying to make sense of it and wondering why you loved it before as your frustration in understanding it grows. You take it to bed with you and fall asleep with the book on your face and your glasses still on. When you wake up, you still don't remember the attraction and your book has drool on it. The dog has your glasses and Monday has already arrived.
Day 7: Rapid Growth. You decide to just take that awesome hand dyed yarn and knit up a quick stockinette pair of crew socks. The yarn will speak for itself, you say out loud. You look up a video on Youtube for a refresher on socks. You work away for hours, focusing hard on the heel flap and gusset. Once you get down to the foot, you see that the color pattern is pooling and flashing. Suddenly you remember why you wanted that pattern out of the book.
Day 8: Puberty. You begin having wild mood swings, crying and screaming as you rip out the first sock that was almost done. You don't even know why you started this. Everything seems like a shambles. You need a clean slate. You run out and madly buy a few more hanks of plainer yarn. It makes you feel good again ( a little) and you tell yourself that, after all, a back up plan is in order.
Day 9: Maturity. After recovering from shopping therapy, you collect your wits you tell yourself that you will re-approach this project in a calm manner. You make a reviving cup of coffee. On this day, it's properties seem powerful, like smelling salts. Alert like never before, you go to Ravelry's magical database of patterns like a rational knitter and seek out a solid, appropriately lacey pattern from your favorite designer, made just for hand dyed yarn.
Day 10: Despair or accomplishment. At this crossroads, you must commit to slow, steady progress, admit defeat as it relates to unreasonable expectations. You realize that if you do not, you will be doomed to keep buying only store bought socks.
Day 11-15(or 16, 17, 18, 25....): Success. You proudly wear your new socks to work after all, and you tell yourself that it was all worth it. As your co-workers ooh and ahh over your new, awesome hose, you tell yourself that you will now make another pair from the other new yarn you bought.
Day 16 (or 17, 25, you get the idea): Contemplation. You give yourself a day to rest, then look at your stash. Your phone rings and you BKFF invites you to lunch and the local yarn shop.