If only I could rip out everything.

This is the craziest time in the tax world, so it stands to reason that I’ve been working tons of hours here of late. I’m glad to have the hours, because in a few months I’ll once more be joining the ranks of the job hunters, but it doesn’t make for much knitting time, and even less for blogging. (And my poor writing is suffering too. So close to the end of Book 4. I can almost taste it.) So I’m seizing on this day off to write, read, knit, do laundry, clean and cook. (Seems like a lot to expect out of  a day.) My job is slowly, but effectively, giving me a mental disorder of the fifty shades variety. The meek and mild receptionist, all to willing to please, will soon become the oppressing sadist by night. Or maybe by night I’ll just fall asleep in front of the TV while knitting. It could really go either way. It’s your typical office job, a meaningless, bullshit office job that doesn’t fulfill you in anyway, shape or form. I used to say fulfillment was overrated, but that was when what I spent my days doing something that was actually fulfilling. (The pay reflected that.) It makes me long for the days when I was a writer, taping away on my keyboard all day while rain poured down outside. We always romantize the past though, so I shall try to avoid doing so. That still doesn’t mean I enjoy what I do. I get fired on April 15th, and I am almost looking forward to it.

Have I mentioned that my boss is a dyed-in-the-wool Republican?

So this, any my knitting, (I’m getting to that) and my shitty love life, has left me feeling, a little sad. I could deal one of those being shitty without any ill effects, maybe even two, but when all three are going poorly, I get a little upset. (I’ll spare you the details of my various amours, mostly because bitching about my less than stellar romances on my knitting blog crosses a line that I don’t want to cross.)  And all that James Taylor doesn’t help.

So my knitting. Okay, as you know from my last post, I was plodding right along on the Diamond Aran. (Which I was knitting from memory of the last time I made one, over a year ago.) It looked pretty good in the last picture and I was actually starting to feel kind of good about it — it was one of the few things that is actually working out. Knitting is like that, which is why anyone who is feeling like their a  lost and lone reed should knit — it is something that you can make progress on. I was ready to divide for the armhole and it was when I did that that I noticed something was going wrong.

Let explain for a minute. This sweater, or at least the way I’m knitting it from my head, is made with four diamond patterns on it, two on the front and two on the back, with smaller patterns in between them. Well, when I cast on my stitch count was a little off and my cable patterning was a little different. (It ended with more of the smaller cables in the front, this should have been a tip off.) I thought that I’d simply misplanned or miscounted, as I am wont to do, and that it was all working out. I do hate to count. So I start knitting and keep knitting. I knit in coffeehouses, at bookstores, at the library, in bed, at my desk, and even in my living room. I knit and knit, and then I get to the point where I should start thinking about armholes. She tells you to just knit a tube, and then just sew and cut the pattern. I thought it would be a little bit easier if I did a little planning ahead. So I put three on a holder and then cast on five, planning on starting the V-neck soon. Well, I did the first one, and then knit two more diamonds, and then suddenly I was at the start of the round. (The round starts at the center front. I looked at it. I squinted and counted, feeling my blood pressure rise, then counted again. Then I looked at it. Then I took a drink of my coffee (I’m living off caffine these days.) and started crying. Then I pulled out the needles and started ripping.

I was supposed to do knit four diamond patterns, I did three. I knit all the way to the armhole without noticing, that something was wrong. I swore there were four, I was certain that there were four. I remember knitting four in each round.

I tried to make it work, the sweater was wide enough, and I could have made it work. But it would have bothered me forever. I couldn’t have lived with it, and I would actually like to be able to wear this sweater when I’m through with it. It’s likely that I’m through with it already, and I did have the urge to throw it.)

Yay! More of my favorite thing. I get more knitting entertainment out of this yarn, and it’s good for the soul. What are the other things that we knitters say when we have to rip out something that we really don’t want to?

Oddly enough, when I wrote that last word in the last paragraph, I had 911 words. Funny that. Now I’ve got 930.

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