I’m sitting in Panera right now, huddled unceremoniously beneath an overactive air vent, wondering why I ever thought knitting was relaxing. If anything, I find myself bunching my shoulders more when knitting. Starting at the unruly yarn. Gnashing my teeth at the poorly copied pattern. Contemplating just leaving the soft, beautiful, deranged project at my table and never coming back.
I know that at some point I will once again fall in love with this project. The Sock Hunter will roam once again. Right now though, I feel like stabbing someone with my sharp pointy needles. I know this is directly influenced by my current job, the forced gaiety of the season, and the impending disaster of Avi’s parents seeing my house. Still, maybe I need to leave the needles at home next time. . .