Tuesday, October 02, 2012

From Hell's heart, I stab at thee

It tasks me. That sock is actually finished. I refuse to take a picture of it's completed self, until it tells me where the other ball of wool that matches it is hiding. Some days I think the knitting is out to get me.

I started this sock back in the summer, because I had convinced myself after knitting most of the back of Gwendolyn, that it was going to be too small. So rather than block it while it was on the needles to see if I could severely block it into submission, I threw it aside.

Right about that time I received the Wandering Thyme installment of the Bare Naked Club by Anne Hansen. It is a gorgeous organic cotton that felt like kitten fur. The bugger required a cast on of 40 brazillion minuscule stitches. I could not get past row 3 on that dang thing without making a mistake. So it, too, was cast aside like last night's Homecoming queen. But you're not off the hook, yet, Wandering Thyme, one glorious day, I will own you.

It was at this time, I had just started working on "me", which tends to make my world no bigger than the one I was living in inside my brain. I had no room for complex thoughts that did not involve "me". Some days I still go there for a visit, but no overnight trips.

Since my daily activities could not involve complex thought, a simple sock would do the trick. So I grabbed what I thought were two matching balls of yarn from the stash and cast on. This was just the thing for a brain that needed to keep it simple. Soothing.

Now came time for the second sock. I cast on, completed about 5 rounds, when I realized that the colors seemed off. I had grabbed the same manufacturer of yarn, in the same style, but a slightly different color. No problem, I'll dive back into the stash and grab the correct yarn. That was 3 weeks ago.

I still have not found the matching ball. I did find leftovers from the mittens I made a few winters back, and am now knitting a replacement for the one I lost. That's something to hang my hat on.

I'm thinking of nailing a gold doubloon to the door post as incentive for the crew, uh, family to find the elusive ball. That should turn out good, right?


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