I couldn’t sleep so I started thinking about what it might be like to knit a sweater. I imagine you have to knit two long tubes for arms and another tube for the body. Sew the arms onto the body and you have a sweater!
The tubes must start out as flat pieces that you knit together when it’s done. There must be some fancy process for stitching two pieces together.
I already know my sweater will be the same shape as those awful thick wool ones imported from Mexico that are big and boxy. Only mine won’t have bright colors and an interesting pattern. And frankly, I always wondered why those Mexican sweaters were knitted with wool so itchy and right-off-the-sheep you could pull little twigs from it. Mine will be way softer.
I know I’m getting ahead of myself. Before I knit a sweater, I’ll have to learn the damn purl stitch, not to mention other fancy ways to make patterns like cables, and how to read the sweater recipe in the first place. How many stitches? How many rows? What in god’s name does gauge mean?
Typical, getting ahead of myself. I’m always looking toward the end game, the goal. Having recently begun to crawl out of a loooong depression that culminated in a 6-month medical leave from work, this end-game thinking becomes a big problem when you don’t pay attention to the journey along the way.
Jesus, I sound like a Hallmark card.
Or maybe I sound like someone who has been immersed in therapy and self-reflection. Rather than think too much about it, I’ll make my first excursion to the craft store tomorrow to bask in beautiful yarn. My starter-supply from Aunt Barb is all used up.
When I get home from the yarn-buying. I’ll learn the purl stitch. I know that the lady on the Good Knit Kisses (snort!) YouTube series goes slow for the newbies. She has a nice, soothing voice, too.
Is there a moral to this story? I think it’s to stop imagining some fancy Martha Stewart (does she knit?) cashmere sweater and listen to the soothing voice.
And when the time comes to knit an actual thing, it’s probably best to start with wristers, not sleeves.