Well, I know you never thought it would happen, that I’d lose my mojo and veer off into spinning or animal husbandry, but I’m here to tell you: I finished the skirt for this Margaret sweater. I cannot be stopped. I’m a maniac. You’d have to be a maniac to get this thing done. Mania is helpful in a project like this.
The beauty of this beskirted sweatercoatjacketthingy is that the bottom part swells out in a graceful set of gently widening pleats. Beautiful to see, lovely to see, but like a mysterious man, filled with secrets and perfidy. You start up at the waist with a k4, p2 rib pattern. You’re knitting downward. After a while, you add another knit stitch. Then a purl. And another, and another, all nice and quiet and incremental-like, to the point that all of a sudden you discover that you haven’t finished a row in about two days, and you realize you’re cranking 300 stitches per row.
By the time I arrived at the multi-hundred-stitch-per-row moment, I decided to rethink my approach to this sweater. If I think of it as a sweater, it seems like a lotta knitting. But if I think of it as a BLANKET, hell, it’s a piece of cake. It’s a TINY blanket. It’s practically nothin.
I reached my peak of OCD at the skatepark on Saturday, where Clif wheeled around in his own cloud of mania as I cast off the 360 stitches. About halfway across this edge from hell, I realized that I didn’t like the way my cast off was looking. So I unzipped it, in a totally abject way, and did it again. If I hadn’t been so jacked up on Diet Mountain Dew, I might not have done it.
I don’t know what to do with myself now. I’ve started the sleeves, but they seem so small, so manageable. Maybe I’ll knit four or five more while I’m at it.