Now that the debacle that was the leg warmers from hale is finally, mercifully complete, you’d think I’d like, relax my poor, fatigued mind by embarking on something straightforward, relatively simple, and short-term (you must understand that by my ADD standards, leg warmers are long-term). Perhaps a new pair of socks, or a hat, or some fingerless gloves for those freezing Hawaiian nights (hey, the AC in the building where I have one of my classes is brutal… don’t judge me!) But no. Instead, having conquered the evil leg warmers and not become the Yarn Strangler as a result, I decided to celebrate my strength of character by embarking on the Anne Elliott Spencer.

It’s a beautiful pattern–cute, complex enough to keep me occupied but not so much so I contemplate stabbing myself to death with my own Japanese metal size-1 dpns (those things look like part of some exotic torture method you’d see on Alias, I swear it), and manageable. I should have just enough pink sport weight yarn in the stash. I’ve done so many socks, hats, and gloves, I think my head and extremities will never be lacking in garments to keep them warm. I can handle a little sweater. Even if the pattern reads more like notes than an actual pattern, and comes in only one size (not mine), and, going by the reports of the brave souls on ravelry who knitted this, would require heavy customization and is admitted to be flawed even by the pattern designer, I can totally handle this, right?

So I sit down, knit a small swatch to get the gauge right, bust out my calculator, and start customizing. About an hour, several sheets of scratch paper, and a very, very muddled mind later (there is a reason I did not major in math), I think I’ve got it down. I knit a few rows. It seems small, really small. I rip it out and recalculate, thankful I thought to check up before I got much farther in. I see where I went wrong and re-do it.

So last night I sit down with the laptop to do some hardcore nano-ing. But instead I end up marathoning four more eps of Criminal Minds while knitting approximately one inch of the sweater (I’m doing a seamless version). I already botched the buttonhole but fortunately, caught it before I got too far and only had to tink one row. I hold up the narrow band I’ve got so far and it looks to be the right size. So far, so good. I can totally handle this.

I really never learn.

Sorry about the lack of pics. I am blocking these beauties rn.

First off, I mean no offense to the pattern designer with my project name and tags. The pattern is just fine; the agony this project has subjected me to is entirely of my own doing.

That said, at first, I was actually doing pretty good. I know I have a very large, loose hand, so I knitted with needles two sizes smaller than the pattern required (I usually do), and did a swatch first. Gauge was right on. I was good.

And then it all went downhill.

I feel the best way to express the agony I was about to experience is in the form of a list of things I learned whilst working on this project:

- Never, ever knit whilst marathoning Criminal Minds. If you must watch TV while knitting, either pick an exceedingly simple pattern, or watch something that doesn’t require you to pay that much attention (e.g. anything on the CW). See, while marathoning CM, I ran into the following problems:

1) Extremely attractive men on my TV screen. This requires a great deal of attention and thus my eyes spent most of the time trained to the screen and not my knitting.
2) Plotlines that actually require some attention to follow. This would not be so bad since the dialogue is usually enough to keep me up to speed, but see #1.
3) A pattern I hadn’t quite memorized and thus required periodic checking up to see I hadn’t fucked up epically, which I obviously hadn’t done, given the lethal combination of distraction and overconfidence.

Ahh, yes, overconfidence. I’d knitted–successfully–extremely complex lace patterns before and come out just fine. I figured I’d be fine with this project. Which brings me to my next lesson:

- Don’t ever think you can totally handle a project just because you’ve successfully knitted one of greater difficulty. Certain factors must be taken into account. I have found out that more complex patterns are actually easier, because they force you to concentrate. Whereas simpler patterns lull you into a false sense of security, which means you keep on blissfully knitting whilst most of your concentration is on watching CM and contemplating how bulletproof vests can look so hot. Next thing you know, the episode is over and you wonder why your pattern repeats are suddenly like, five rows off, and why your eyelets are on the front of the leg and not the side.

That said, the final lesson:

- Clearly, I have some mild form of OCD. I am what Yarn Harlot calls a Type A knitter. I am a compulsive perfectionist in everything I do, knitting included. This is probably why I have so many unfinished projects hanging around. The only reason I ever finish school projects is because I have to. But I’m not being graded on knitting. My projects can sit around into infinity while I dread having to rip out the whole thing to solve a pattern fuck-up several rows back. Could I just leave it and hope no one notices? Probably. Because logically, it’s doubtful anyone will. But I’ll know it’s there. It will eat away at me every time I put on this sock or glove or hat. Even if the mistake is hidden within my shoe, the knowledge that somewhere, I decreased when I was supposed to increase, purled when I was supposed to knit, or cabled back instead of front, will gradually drive me insane until I rip the whole thing out and fix it. So what do I do?

Depending on how masochistic I’m feeling that day, I’ll either rip out the whole thing and start again, or else I’ll shove the offending project into the bottom of my project bag and pretend it’s not there whilst blissfully embarking on something new. Until I fuck that one up again, in which case it joins its brethren at the deep, dark, bottom of my project bag.

You know, if the CM gang were to profile me according to my knitting habits, I live in fear I’d come off as a serial killer in the making. But guys, I swear I’m not a violent person. Should bodies turn up strangled with Caron Simply Soft and stabbed repeatedly with cheapo metal DPNs, I swear to Heathus it’s not my work. Although I can’t promise I won’t kill myself with a DPN.

See, I’d been about to bind off the first leg warmer when I realized I’d done an entire repeat with the cables facing the wrong way. Now, a sane, non-serial killer armed with Wal Mart 100% Acrylic and cheap metal DPNs would just suck it up, figure no one would notice/care, and continue binding off. But as I have demonstrated, I’m not a sane person. I ripped out the whole thing down to the fuck-up, re-did it, and finished.

And then it was time for leg warmer #2.

It all went swimmingly enough for a while. Then, just as I was finishing season one and the second leg warmer, disaster struck. I was about to bind off when I realized that I’d epically fucked up the cable pattern–although I’d taken great care to make sure the cables faced the correct way, I’d somehow ended up several rows off. The only way to fix it would be to rip out every row until I reached the place where I’d initially messed up. After taking several deep breaths into a paper bag, I tried to calm down and tell myself it would be OK. Was anyone really going to care that my rows were off? Would anyone not notice that the leg warmers weren’t completely, perfectly symmetrical? So I very, very calmly fired up season two, bound off, wove in the ends, and patted myself on the back for successfully avoiding the first step to becoming the Yarn Strangler.

And then I realized I’d fucked up the eyelet row.

So what do I do? Cut the yarn, weave a new strand of yarn through to painstakingly correct the pattern, and weave in the ends.

OK, so maybe that’s a bit Type A. Just a little. But it’s a step, right? I didn’t rip out the whole thing, right?

So, overjoyed I’d pulled off my leg warmers, written a five-page paper, and started nanowrimo all in the same week, I grab my leg warmers to try them on and then block them (do you even need to block acrylic? I don’t usually knit with it, but I’m trying to use up my stash here). Then I realized the left leg warmer was a whole half-pattern repeat shorter.

By now, I honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if I had a total nervous breakdown. Although thanks to CM I know that it’s no longer a nervous breakdown, it’s a major depressive episode (or something like that). I dislike this new name. I’m not depressed. Having a panic attack, perhaps. But not depressed.

Sadly, there’s no way I can bullshit my way through this one, unlike said five-page paper. People will notice of one leg warmer is significantly shorter than the other. But at least I only had to rip back the last few rows, and just continue the pattern. I tell myself that even if it doesn’t match the other leg warmer perfectly this time, at least it’ll be the same length, and I’ll be OK. It’ll be a learning experience. For this last half-pattern repeat, I’ll be a wiser, stronger, slightly less insane knitter. And now that I have written this, I will know exactly what not to do.

I’ve got my final leg warmer on DPNs, a can of Pepsi, and the remainder of season two of Criminal Minds. This time, I vow, I will make use of the pause button to check the pattern. I will.

Just as soon as I get through this scene.