I have this skein of “Socks that rock” (Queen Rock colourway) that’s burning a hole in my dining room table.
I’m so anxious to knit it that we eat with it and several times a day I give it a little pat and a squeeze and read the label for the 78th time. Bookish Wendy gave it to me as a little prize so I wouldn’t feel so bad about the way that they all lost their minds at Rhinebeck and bought it all. (After she gave it to me I was feeling bad for Wendy because I worried that now she didn’t have any of the really nice new sock yarn, but it turns out that Cara’s going to give her some. Then I worried about Cara, but it after reading her entry I can see that she’s going to be ok. She could build herself a little yarn igloo out back of her place with all that sock yarn.)
So Sunday morning I’m hanging out with my coffee and my sock yarn (What?) and I get this urge to whip out the needles and start. I may even have wound up the yarn while I was thinking it over.
That’s not unusual. What’s unusual is that then this voice in the back of my head says, “Hold on there….you’re almost done those Spirit Trail socks. Why not finish those first?”
Well, I don’t like being told what to do, not even by the voices in my head, so I got a little pissy with the voice. Screw that. I thought. I only started those Sprit Trail socks so that I could buy more Spirit Trail sock yarn with emotional impunity at Rhinebeck. Then I didn’t go to Rhinebeck so screw that. I’ve got no reason to finish them now. I don’t care if there are only 15 rows to go, I knit what I want. If I want to start the Socks That Rock yarn I will, ’cause you know what, little voice in my head? You know what? I don’t care if you are my conscience or Jiminy Cricket or whatever, since knitting is a HOBBY not a JOB and there is no way at all that I’m taking any sort of flack or guilt about not doing it right, or enough or in the wrong order. Chuck you , you overly responsible, uptight, “don’t you think you should” voice in my head…I’ll cast on 40 pairs of socks if I want to and there’s no reason that I shouldn’t. Knitting is supposed to be fun and I’m not the sort of person who thinks that having a lot of rules about your stinking yarn is fun, so bite me hard on the hind parts honey…I’m knitting as I please.
There was a silence then, until the voice, my knitting conscience played dirty. It didn’t shout, it didn’t mock me, it didn’t laugh at my hostility or rationalizations. It simply smiled and said…
“Ok Knitter. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you a hard time. You go right ahead and spend the 62 days until Christmas however you want to.”