Throwing in the towel
The case for giving up: Just over a year ago still fresh from Valentina Devine's Creative Knitting class, I embarked on this:
The diagonal kimono. The whole point is that I would knit six rectangles in a riot of fiber and color, seam them up, then present this work of art to my mother-in-law to much praise and delight. I'm about two-and-a-half rectangles in and I think she'll hate it. I hate it. Wouldn't be caught dead in it. So there it sits in the hall closet, next to the vacuum cleaner, waiting for someone to take an interest.
Alison's Kuryeon stash has been whispering to her in Japanese from under the bed (very funny that bit, go read); this baby gurgles and spits from behind a closed door like Linda Blair in The Exorcist. Everytime I indulge a few rows on Audrey or knit another baby garment, I hear it: "Knit me, you *#8%&$*#! Knit ME!" Hard to concentrate with all that racket. Hard to sleep at night knowing MIL's 70th birthday is two months away.
I'm of the opinion that some projects deserve a fat, black stake in the heart. Everytime I open that closet, I see it, lying in its bag all eyelashy and rayony, vibrating with resentment. "Knit ME," it growls. "Knit me." I avoid that closet, thinking to myself, "I may have to stop vacuuming." I keep pushing new projects ahead in the queue. Just one more scarf, one more baby hat, one more aran knit sweater, then I'll start. I'll finish my novel, then whip it up. Maybe it will grow legs, jump out the mail slot and disappear. Maybe the cow will jump over the moon.
So, you know what I did? I killed it. No ripping. No tearing of hair. I simply killed the project in my heart. Gave myself permission not to do it. Released myself of all responsibility. And, you know what? I feel great. Free. Liberated. Here's what I'm going to knit instead. Ahhhhhhhh.
8:07:14 AM 
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