Wednesday, June 20, 2012

I might be killing a sock tomorrow.

     My pedicure unintentionally matches the sock I'm knitting (kid #2 says that showing this much joy over matching toes/sock and then taking a picture of such is more proof that middle age is a curse beyond bearing).

This is what crazy looks like.

     I've used this yarn before and loved it. I've used these needles before and loved them. I've used this exact pattern many times before and loved it. The colorway is a pretty blend of blues and greens and tweed mixes of both. For some magical reason that escapes me, I loathe this sock. I've frogged the heel eight times. I've frogged the leg three times. Nothing is enormously, specifically wrong, just a few fiddly, easily fixed problems, and yet I've come to despise this sock with the kind of deep, personal hatred that I usually reserve for Best Buy. 
     I feel like I have to finish this sock, and then the pair, because that's what you do, right? You finish what you start.  I'm going to have to reach deep inside my soul for the fortitude to even knit one more row. I might have to watch some Nike commercials. This sock is making me wretched. To wit:

Dear sock, 
All your friends knitted up just fine. 
I know comparisons might upset you,

but honestly, what is your problem?

Surely you know me well enough by now

to sense your future is in peril. 

Even the needles have noticed

that you aren't trying.

Is it the pattern? I have others.

Maybe the thought of being worn on a foot bothers you?

I've got a fingerless mitten pattern,

or maybe a shawl.

I bet it could work.
I don't tell you this because of any love for you, 
it's because I'm trying to do right by you,
but you better get your shit together 
or I'll laugh and laugh while you unwind into nothing.

P.S. You make me crazy and not in a good way. I'm watching you. 
someone who probably shouldn't own sharp pointy sticks right now


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