There were moments. There were moments of panic and doubt. There were moments when I couldn’t bear to look at the remnants of the skein for fear that looking would make it run out faster and ensure that I wouldn’t be able to complete the socks. There were moments of absolute certainty and confidence. No matter what I was thinking at any moment, the only thing I was thinking about was if I was going to be able to finish the socks. I thought about it while I was knitting the socks. I thought about it while I was in the shower. I thought about it while I was thinking about writing this post. I thought (or more accurately) I fretted constantly about if I had enough yarn.
I squished the ball. I poked the ball. I eyeballed the ball. I breathed a little sigh of victory every time I finished a section. Even though that relief was very temporary and almost instantly replaced with doubt. This dance, this tango, of hope and doubt caused my relationship with the socks to be a very unique one indeed. There were moments when I knit them at a fever pace and there were moments when I literally froze with the socks in my hands, unable to knit a stitch.
Finally, I decided that what I needed was mojo. I needed the mojo of other knitters. The more knitters I had near the socks, the more likely I was to finish them, or at least that was my thought. So there came a day when it was a friend’s birthday. She is a long time knitter and I knew the likelihood of at least one other knitter being there was high, and I was right. Three knitters in one place had to be enough. I hoped it was. I said a little prayer to the knitting goddess and really hoped that she was listening.
I don’t know if any of that made a difference. I suppose in the end nothing I did or didn’t do would have really made a difference. The amount of yarn I had wasn’t going to magically change. Knitting or not knitting was the only difference to be had. So in the end that’s what I did.
And there was an ending. Actually, it was the last thing I really accomplished before the plague was bestowed upon me and left me only able to complete one or two rows of a heel flap in a day. But, as I knew it would, the end did come. And there in the grande finale, the only thing that was left for me to do was revel in glory and the satisfaction of having a finished pair of socks.