Saturday, May 30, 2009

Personal Growth

I've always had a fondness for instructions. When it came to legos, I was no fly by the seat of my shorts kid, creating random blobs of interlocking mess. If I bought the kit, I darn well made the kit. I never messed with the alternate suggestions: I wanted the jet plane, not the robot with the random propeller on it's back or the race car with cumbersome and non-aerodynamic design features.

I was forever searching out new instructions: I tried my hand at almost every Lisa Frank or Klutz craft that I could cajole my mother into buying (I'm sorry Mom) and spent the long lonely summers between moves learning to make beaded necklaces and about four dozen different kinds of friendship bracelet.

As a teenager, I discovered that yarn was the gateway drug into a whole world of instruction--I could peruse patterns to my infinite pleasure, learn how to block and swatch. I was dumbfounded and awestruck by the endless lists, and I greedily devoured patterns. I took everything as written--okay, I may be guilty of shortening sleeves and adding stitches to hems--but for the most part patterns came out intact.

Given this life long courtship of anal retentiveness, you will understand why last night represented an important turning point in my life as a knitter.

For two months, I've been coveting the Apres Surf Hoodie, wistfully eyeing yarns and dreaming of flitting about in its wispy glory. The only thing that stood in the way of my lace hoodie joy was my undying loathing of sewing---the sheer number of seams made me weak at the wrists. However, I was going to choke back the bile that inevitably rose at the thought of so much sewing, bolster myself with the fantasy that somehow this sweater was the key to having a succesful and fulfilling summer, and soldier forth.

But then...I realized what a terrible idea this actually was. While I'm all for discipline and fortitude and conquering my knitting weaknesses--it would be absolute crap. I would never finish it. It would languish in my knitting bag comparing notes with Flutter Sleeve Cardi that I cast on last summer. Together they would curse me to infinite yarny doom, their soft whispers haunting me in the night and plaguing me as I admire patterns on Ravelry.

It may be too late for Flutters, but Darn it--Surfie shall live. I'm throwing caution to the wind, and knitting in the round.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go find some instructions for putting pictures on this blog.

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