Okay. After a week of really, really, trying to like lace, I admit defeat. I hate it. It drives me nuts. And I admit, I can't follow a chart to save my life. I knit along, thinking I'm doing well and get to the end of the row only to find five stitches on the needle instead of the three that are supposed to be there. Arrrgh. I even got yarn to do the white lace scarves that I thought looked so pretty and easy and after knitting the same freakin' 36 stitches and 16 rows, and muttering "I really love knitting lace, I really love knitting" through five rip outs, either the lace goes or I get meds. And as much as I want to love doing it, I'm throwing in the white flag (or the white cashmere, in this case) and just saying "Enough!"
I suppose that is the good part about being older. A few years ago I might have forced myself through the entire shawl or three scarves just to prove to myself that I CAN do it. Okay, you know what, I don't care that I can't knit lace. I wasn't all that sure what I was going to do with it anyway. (Well the scarves were going to be Christmas presents, so there is that hole to plug). No, I know myself well enough to realize that I would knit and curse and knit it through and then set down my needles and not knit for months out of frustration.
But I don't want to do that. No way. So I'm cutting off the lace, taking the cone back to the yarn shop tomorrow and getting something that I will love to knit with.
In the meantime, I've been adding rows to my Leftovers Vest and cast on another pair of Fetching wrist warmers. Hear the big sigh of relief that comes with comfort knitting?
What have you tossed down in disgust and sworn off? Come on, confess.
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