So you're knitting along, as one does. And all of a sudden, you're left with nothing in your hands. The yarn just ends. And worst of all? It's... No, soggy isn't the right word. This yarn is soppin' wet*. We are talking wring it out and it will drip wet.
Why?
Because you have a saboteur sapping your progress from below.
A fiendish, fuzzy, four-footed saboteur.
Goes by the name of Bertie.
Here he is behind bars, where he belongs.
Ate my yarn.
Yup.
Also, fuck this pattern. Seriously. Eight-row repeat. Four very similar rows. Four other very similar rows. In a pattern that is almost, but not quite random. I don't know where the hell I am in the pattern, unless I keep very, very good notes. I'm not so good with the note taking. Especially when there are less than 50 stitches in a row. That's a lot of putting down the knitting, picking up the pen, putting down the pen, picking up the knitting again. And stitch counters? Don't get me started. Way too easy to forget. So I say again. Fuck this pattern. Fuck this fucking pattern. It is beating me. I'm sick of ripping. I'm sick of picking up. I'm sick of repeating.
I want it over.
Also, I need egg rolls and jelly donuts. Now.
* I once did a trial about wet roofing insulation. Try to contain your excitement. The plaintiff's attorney was a little man with a big voice. He described the insulation as "soppin' wet" in tones of such enthusiastic southern vim and vigor that forevermore, when something is wet that shouldn't be, I will hear his voice in my head. "Soppin wet!"
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