I must have known I wasn’t really going to Knitch last night because I put yarn and needles in my bag for 2 hats but nothing else. No measuring tape, no stitch markers, no scissors, and the most important tool of all: no crochet hook to fix mistakes with. It’s just as well I decided not go because when I left work the traffic was so !@#$%^&! bad I couldn’t make a left turn out of the office park the opera lives in and had to go miles out of my way to get home.
I was looking forward to working on this:
A fair isle hat in mostly black and tan Cascade 220, with a couple of accent colors from Diana’s stash of Paton’s Classic Wool Merino. My own design, carefully charted out. I am knitting up the plain black like a race horse out of the starting gate so I can get to the colorwork because I can’t wait to see how it looks.
The endless scarf has finally reached an end. That’s the one that was 42″ all of December no matter how much I knitted on it. I knitted. I measured. It was 42″. I knitted. It was still 42″. Then it was 52″, then 48″, then 53″. I put in a marker in the hopes that it would stop playing these kinds of tricks. Oh the euphoria when it looked like progress was being made. Only 7 more inches to go! Followed by swearing and resignation when that turned out to be an inaccurate assumption. Then, even though the marker showed that I had knitted at least 12″, it only measured 59″. Every time I measured. I would try it on, hoping it was really long enough. One night I fell asleep on the sofa with it wrapped around my neck. I just wanted to be done. I just wanted to wear it. Nope, it was always about 10″ too short.
Then in a really exciting moment- it was suddenly 63″. I tried it on. I could wrap it around my neck and still have what felt like the right sort of tail. I cast off before I could change my mind, blocked it with the iron and wore it the next day. It now measures 72″ and I believe it no longer qualifies as an inanimate object. I just hope it doesn’t decide to strangle me.
Imp is now hovering vulture like above me on the top of the armoire. The computer desk is her usual landing pad and I happen to be occupying the exact space she wants to jump to. Time to go. I’d really prefer to spend my evening doing something other than untangling a panicked cat from my hair and cleaning up the blood aftermath.