Knitting/Blogging Fail

This was going to be another deluxe post with pictures... if not for the following circumstances:

1. I started really cranking on the Tapestry Mittens. This is the most dangerous stage of a project for me because I start thinking things like, "I'm really pretty effing awesome at knitting. My manual dexterity rocks. Screw knitting, I should have been a mother-effing neurosurgeon." While in this case, the thoughts may have been a teensy bit justified-- I mean, come on, two-color stranding with ONE HAND? Shit is sick-- they usually lead to one thing:

2. I screwed up the pattern. "Shit. The little curly tendril things are not lining up anymore. Woe is me, my folly shall be exposed to the world..."

3. "WAIT. Oh, ha HA. THIS will make for a clever little blog post once I take pictures of my foolish mistake and describe the silly, silly thoughts I was thinking while making it. Kick ass!"

4. Thanks to daylight savings time, it is dark at 4PM. "I refuse to use flash! My blog deserves pretty, day-lit pictures! I'll take them tomorrow!" Knitting goes back in its bag...

5. Turns out, my mistake was not quite as drastic as it seemed... in fact, it's pretty minor. I probably could correct in in less than 10 minutes. In fact, it's pretty much impossible to distinguish in any of the pictures I have waited for the light of day to take.

To sum up: Minor knitting mistake + pathological need to blog about it = at least four hours of much needed knitting time wasted + this piece o' crap. Wah-wah-waaaah.

Pandora's Ziplock Bag

This is not attractive:

That's the problem with comparing anything to Pandora's Box-- you are then required to open it. Metaphors are dangerous, particularly those involving Greek mythology.

Let's see if I can make some order out of this chaos:

Now you can sort of see what this is supposed to be-- the beginnings of a pair of mittens I promised to someone last Christmas. Note to self: next time you find yourself at an extended-family gathering without a Yankee Trader gift, rather than hastily commit yourself to making a small knitted item of the recipient's choice, SIT IT OUT.

Of course, in the moment I thought, "Black and white patterned mittens? Why, certainly I can make you those. And while I'm at it, why don't I make them out of the thinnest yarn I can find, on the smallest double pointed needles in the world?"

The ancient Greeks had a word for this. I think you know what it is.

Yup, it's hubris. At least my left-handed stranding technique will get a workout. Did I mention that these mittens also have a knitted-in lining? So instead of two mittens, you are making four!

I am currently blistering through these at a spanking pace of six rows per hour. It's going to be a long month. Perhaps if I wasn't taking such frequent Murakami breaks...

Let's see... the protagonist is a fifteen year old runaway trying to avoid killing his father and sleeping with his mother... what the... damn you, Greeks!

Unfinished Bizness

This is my knitting basket. Let's see what's inside!


1. Lace Ribbon Scarf. I think I started this a couple of... years ago. It is all but finished, but still clinging to the needles as if to life itself while I figure out which cast off to use.

2. This cute little guy is just waiting for me to sew on one stinkin' button. Meanwhile, his intended owner is doubling in size roughly every two weeks and will soon be kicking down tall buildings in Tokyo.

3. Bibs. Four of 'em. Each with four ends to weave in. I hate ends. I hate these.


4. I'm not ready to open this bag yet. Let's talk about something else.


There it is, an unflinching moral inventory... give or take a few other projects that shall remain nameless. My name is Aimee, and I have issues with finishing things. This hat project will either be my own personal twelve-step program, or one final bender before I hit rock bottom.

I'm giving myself until December 1 to deal with the contents of my knitting basket, with a little help from DCI Tennison, a sassy bitch with limitless ambition (and not a few demons of her own):


I think I can hear those yarn ends screaming for mercy.