I started a lovely sweater recipe that I found on someone’s blog (no really, I don’t know them at all) but it was for a vintage size, this weekend.  It was to be knit out of bulky yarn, that thick stuff that looks like skinny rope, or macrame` stuff.  It’s knit up quickly, given that I started it Saturday evening and it is now Monday evening.  My sad is not my pretty, soft, thick yarn or the speed of the project or my very obvious skill, my sad is that I took matters of sizing into my own hands, and now a lovely thing that ought to brush my hip bones is. . . looking like it will not.  Midway through one shouldery piece, which is at the top of the entire back of the thing that I’ve completed thus far, I have realized the sad truth.  this sweater will not work unless I undo the whole shebang and start again, this time being a good student and actually following the recipe.

(I say recipe because I can never seem to remember the word “pattern” in time to use it, and really they’re very similar in meaning.  I’ve given myself slack on this one, you should follow my good lead and do so, as well.  No, do it.  Go on, give me slack.  I’ll know when you do.  Ah, thank you.  Very kind.  Gracious, even.  Wise, benevolent, some would say.)

I have to rewind the yarn, and tug out all the soft, lovely stitches that I made using comically oversized needles that made such a nice clacky sound when I would hit a nice rhythm.  I am not great at rewinding yarn.  I make it too tight.  Also I wanted to wear my new sweater this week, and that is looking like less of a possibility.  I plan to dramatically sigh myself to sleep tonight, the better to impress upon Nick the desolation I feel.