Self, Meet Wall

A funny thing happened today.

I lost interest in knitting socks.

The day started like any other. My alarm went off. I ignored it and went back to sleep. Eventually, a construction worker showed up and rang my doorbell, at which time I realized I was late for everything.

In other words, a totally normal day around here.

I was scrubbed, dressed, and out the door in ten minutes flat. I remembered to bring my sock, the second Koigu sock, which is just at the point where I need to pick up the gusset stitches. I made it through my morning agenda and never once touched that sock.

Instead, I started thinking about sweaters.

Oh, the treachery of a rebellious mind!

I thought about my husband cardigan. I debated with myself whether to take another crack at those short row sleeves or to wait for my Stitches Midwest class on short rows taught by The! Lily! Chin! Of course, I will wait. It only makes sense when you are a total short row doofus and are about to breathe the same air as a certifiable knitgoddess. I'm bound to absorb something good.

But I could knit the fronts of the cardigan, right?

Wrong. The back is pulling in. As it stands, even though I am on gauge, the cables are drawing the piece in so much that I'm not getting anything like a piece of fabric large enough to swathe my rear view. I want to block it and see if that improves things before knitting the fronts, because I might have to do some adjusting to those fronts to compensate for the surprising tininess of the back. Which means fooling with water and blocking mats and waiting for the whole thing to dry. In this humid climate. That could be a while.

And (said in a whining voice), I want to knit todaaaa-aaaay!

But not the sock. It still sat in my bag, ignored.

After I finished my morning agenda, I went to the bookstore to buy "The Dangerous Book for Boys" for Number One Son*, who is celebrating his ninth birthday. While there, I bought three knitting magazines. Did that satisfy my rebellious heart? Nope. Nothing would stand but for me to go to the library and check out a bunch of knitting books.

All are books of sweater patterns.

I've spent most of the evening poring over sweater patterns. Damn, those arans look good. I want to cast on every single one of them, right this minute. I keep rolling through my mental rolodex of the yarn stash, thinking about what I could cast on. The possibilities are infinite. I adore infinite possibilities! Not to mention my cable needle! Oh sweet cable needle, how I miss you!

Then it occurred to me what's going on here. I usually use socks as my knitting pressure valve. I always have a sock going, but I always have something else going too. Something a little more challenging. Something with teeth that just might bite me on the ass.

Socks are my mindless knitting -- you've all heard me say that before. But the weird thing is that I don't think I've ever focused on socks exclusively, not since I finished that first pair and got the gist of the construction method. They've just always been in the background. Like wallpaper. What happens if you stare at nothing but wallpaper for nine days? Well, if you're me, you start jonesing to knit a sweater.

So I cast on for the jaywalkers in the hope that a patterned sock will feel a little more challenging and get me over this hump. Maybe my mistake was casting on two plain pairs at once. Maybe socks with a little bite are what I need.

Or maybe I just need to cast on a sweater.


*Don't think too poorly of me for buying the kid a book for his birthday. It's a really special book, and anyway, he's getting more than just that. I'm the cool aunt, remember? I've got a reputation to protect here.