I finished a pair of socks last night, and though that may seem a cause for celebration in the world of project-knitters, for a process knitter miles and miles away from the nearest LYS, life has just become very bleak.
The problem is as follows: I am a poor college student and the only transportation I currently have is a van with no brakes. Yes, that's right, the universe has tried and failed to kill Laura yet again. I am beginning to become bored with the many chaos-inspired attempts at my life. I am no longer suprised at the near fatalities. So I won't bother with the brake story. It's boring to me.
But that means that I can't get to the Shuttle Shop (my Warsaw haven) unless I hitch hike or discover previously hidden car-repair talent. I am stuck.
Without a project.
What is a girl to do?
Many friends of mine could argue that it is finals week, and that might be a good time to put the knitting away and study for a while. I disagree. I took such agonizingly boring classes this semester that I could care less what happens grade-wise. Really. I don't even plan on checking the grades. I just have lost all drive to achieve. That may be an improvement over the misery I put myself through over the past years of my life, but I don't see it as a cause for celebration or for grief. Just the usual apathy.
I have a bundle of double-pointed kneedles in my hand, more in my room, and only tiny scraps of yarn to knit into...nothing.
And seeing the holidays come closer and closer, I no longer have an excuse to blow all my money on yarn. I need to be a good girl and spend my money on Christmas presents and car repair. That way Laura won't kiss glass at sixty miles an hour when her brakes fail, or when the bald tires skid over ice, or when whatever it is that sends billowing, acrid smoke out of the van's engine poisons her and leaves her stranded in the snow, her frozen, cyanotic corpse still open-mouthed, since her sinuses forced her to become a Mouth Breather.
Yarn is just too expensive for a college student to buy in large amounts. I can't just build up a massive stash and pull down a fun color or texture when I'm bored. I'm stuck. Mom doesn't complain, but I think she has a bad feeling that I will begin to delve into her cashmere supply and knit a pair (I used the same kind of yarn for a gray pair of socks for myself). I mean, what is she going to do with so much red? There isn't enough for a sweater, or for a matching scarf and gloves. But there is just enough for me to knit her socks. And there is nothing in the world like cashmere socks. I promise.
Life is bitter and lonely. I have no wool to comfort me, no crisp pattern freshly printed off the internet or carefully written down in line by line instructions. No opportunity to create another sock pattern (I make my own now) or use one of Nancy Bush's beautiful vintage sock patterns.
I try to console myself with images of another day, a day with new yarn freshly wound into a ball, but it is of no use. My needles and I are forced to use the remainder of the day as one of rest, wearing perhaps my lounging socks made of hand-dyed silk and cotton or the forest green socks in the shell pattern made to precisely match the turtleneck I bought at Elder Beerman for practically nothing. Perhaps I will bring out my first pair, made from wool spun with aloe so that it conditions my feet as I wear them or the most recent pair, made from the same yarn used to make the Weasley sweaters in the first Harry Potter movie (Rowan Tweed). Maybe I'll put on my favorite blend of colors: Rocktober by Blue Moon Fiber Arts, a wool I knitted into a knit three, purl one ribbing that gives it a stretchy feel.
But in my heart I know it will not be enough. I will have all the socks in my lap, wondering which I should take apart and re-knit so I can have something to do.