Sunday, November 20, 2011

Knitting For Time

Category: Life

One stitch at a time, just remember that. One more stitch to a row is one less to knit. It really doesn’t seem to make a difference in this sea of interlaced fluffy wool, I know. What’s one more fucking stitch among the thousands I’ve already purled? Insignificant.

But miss just one of those pesky little loops and you might as well just throw the whole thing through the window. Because one dropped stitch, as small and stupid as it seems, will leave an ugly and very noticeable hole.

I don’t even know when this stupid knitting project will end. Maybe it’ll end up like the last one, still clinging to discarded needles somewhere in the pile of aborted projects that’s been gathering dust and a growing amount of resentment for years. What the hell is it supposed to be anyway? I know it started as a baby blanket, at least in my mind, but now it just seems like it could just go on forever and never become anything.

Just one more stitch, one more row into the great knitting unknown.

What a fucking joke.

And yet it’s become almost like an obsession. It lays there on the coffee table glaring at me, daring me to quit. Daring me to admit defeat, to give it a reason to stay what it always was: a ridiculously long fucking piece of yarn. I don’t even know where I got the notion that I wanted to knit anyway. I could have found a much better looking baby blanket for less than what it now seems I will have to spend on wool to complete this one. If I ever do. It seems it’ll never be long enough, good enough, warm enough. Where in the hell do I get those stupid ideas? Like my kid is going to like this one better because I made it myself. Because I spent TIME knitting it, thinking of him and of how comfy he’ll be all wrapped up in it. Right now all I’m thinking about is sticking the fucking knitting needles in my eye and pushing until I can’t think anymore.

One more stitch. Just like one more day. One more hour tirelessly slipping through the hourglass of our lives. As if just one more means that I’ll be done that much faster. That this seemingly insurmountable task will be over with faster. Damn it, I thought knitting would be fun, something I could do while watching TV or listening to some music. Like the very image of every perfect expecting mother, sitting by the fireplace and lovingly knitting booties or something. Doesn’t that just sound classic and immortal?

That’s where I went wrong I guess. Knitting doesn’t make anything classic or immortal. Besides, classic is subjective and immortal is just a dream. One. More. Fucking. Stitch.

I’ll still be knitting this in between contractions. Shit, I’ll bet I’ll beg my son to delay going away to college just so I can finally finish the damn thing before he does. Maybe I just don’t want to stop, even though it’s a fucking hassle. Because sometimes it IS fun, and sometimes it IS rewarding, and when it’s done, when I’ve decided that it’s not good enough but it’ll have to do, I’ll just have to stop. And then what?

...then what?

Guess I’ll just pick up the old needles, and some yarn, and do it all over again. Knitting for time, because there’s enough time for knitting.

One stitch at a time.

Posted by StarLizard on 11/20 at 08:30 PM | Permalink
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