There comes a moment in the knitting of a sweater when the knitter realizes she has been misled. She is not making a sweater; she is making a yurt. A double-wide extra-tall yurt. She bought the pattern with the intention of making a sweater. The picture on the front looks like a sweater. But really? Yurt.
Have you missed me? I have been knitting like a crazy woman. Remember when I signed a contract saying that I would knit a sweater by the 24th of March? This was a crazy, crazy, FULL-OF-CRAZY idea. So crazy. What was I thinking?
I was thinking it was a really cute sweater. I forgot about the Yurt Effect.
Remember when I said blithely, "Oh, it's a cropped sweater"? Yeah, but I skipped over the part about the gauge: 6.25 stitches and 8 rows per inch. Crazy. Remember when I chirped that it had flirty little lacy ruffly cap sleeves? I was six different kinds of delusional: I am here today to remind you (though you probably didn't forget in the first place) that lacy means extra knitting time, and ruffly means extra stitches and thus even more knitting time (that's how you get the ruffling, by increasing with abandon), and there are THREE LAYERS to each sleeve. Triple crazy. Or perhaps crazy cubed. It would be faster to knit a full-length plain-vanilla stockinette sleeve, I'm sure of it. If I were making it just for fun I would knit the top layer and call it done, but I can't do that. It's in the contract: I agreed of my own free will to knit the garment as designed.
I've been having some pain in my right arm and I emailed the designer apologetically, offering to pay for the pattern if I couldn't finish on time. She sent me a sympathetic email in reply, saying with many exclamation points that I should not knit if knitting is painful. She said I should finish it when I could. So why am I still knitting obsessively?
I have finished the left front and the back (oh my HECK the font-of-super-crazy BACK) and three of the six sleeve pieces. The right front is on the needles, and I am optimistic about getting the body seamed by this weekend. Right now I'm not going to think about the remaining ruffles, or the edging, or the ultra-hyper-oh-so-crazy picot bind-off.
In my more disturbed moments I imagine families of Mongolians bending their minds to influence Western women who like to knit. "Make us a yuuuuuuurt!" they call across the miles. "We need a yuuuuuurt!" My husband may be unhappy because the vacuuming has been sadly neglected, and the designer may be unhappy because she took a chance on a new pattern-tester who then pled gimpiness. By golly, I hope those Mongolians are happy. There can't be too many apple-green polka-dot yurts in the world, but theirs is coming right along.