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Rut rut rut.

I hasten to clarify I don’t mean “rut” as in bull mooses going HEAD TO HEAD IN AN ALL OUT GRUDGE MATCH THROWDOWN, but rather “rut” as in “groove”. Which sounds lovely but isn’t necessarily so, as the song says.

So I’ve been knitting these cute little ducky socks:

A work-in-progress photo of knitted socks featuring duckies

Fig A: Cute l’il ducky socks.

…which are, I think you must agree, adorable. So CUTE. SO DAMN CUTE. ARGH I CAN’T STAND HOW CUTE THEY ARE!

But I finished sock and it didn’t fit all that well. Now, I’ve run into this problem with colourwork socks before: the floats at the back of the work (the bits of yarn that link one block of colour to the next block of that colour) make a slightly less elastic fabric than single-colour knitting. And this sock didn’t take that long, so it’s no big thing to unravel and redo. But…eh. I like ’em, but do I like ’em enough to reknit?

I’m in a bit of a rut. I don’t know what I want to make, I just know that I want something new, novel, life-changing and perfect. Effortless but not mindless. Beautiful but not attention-hogging. Intricate but not fiddly. Easy to memorise but not mind-numbing. In short, I want something I can’t have and I don’t know what I want to do about it. I’ve been here before, and I’m not going to panic. It’s a post-project fatigue. I worked hard and long on M’s Urban Aran and it was a fantastic project: it had all the qualities that I’ve listed above, and that’s a rare and beautiful thing. And now I feel like everything else is not nearly as nice. I’ve had this before (with reading, too, now that I think of it), and when I was a new knitter it would send me into a mild panic as I worried about being suddenly magically out of love with knitting (“but I’ve bought all this yarn!”). But with time and experience, I can say that the mojo will come back. It always does.

So I did what I usually do when I can’t think what I want to make: I cast on another pair of socks. I’ve got a lot of sock yarn. Not an obscene amount: I mean, when we’re packing our bug-out bags to escape the zombies, I’m not going to stand there costing us valuable time dithering about which one to grab; I’ll know right away, y’know? So it’s easy enough for me to shut my eyes and reach into the sock stash box (yes it has its own stash area, what’s with all the questions) and come out with something immediately interesting and satisfying. Not something that necessarily meets all my requirements, but definitely something I can begin working on right away and which will satisfy me a little bit. Start with a contrast toe, lots of little increases and then, huh, getting bored—whoa, switch it up! Time for the body colour. Spend a bit of time admiring the contrast toe against the body colour, and whoa! Time for the heel: contrast time again! And so it goes.

It may be the case that I’m astonishingly small-minded (I prefer “detail-oriented”) to find this small degree of variety deeply entertaining, but I’m okay with that (and so should you be). Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got plans: beautiful, cool, awesome plans involving fine gauge yarn and exceptional colour choices. Plans that are currently nebulous enough that I assume they will satisfy my every intellectual need when they come to pass. But for now, this sock is going to scratch the itch. I don’t know if I’ll come back to the ducky socks: they’re super cute, but is that enough? Wouldn’t I maybe prefer to use the very cool Cascade Fixation (an elastic/cotton blend) in a cool stripey pattern? These are questions for future me, who presumably will be more evolved and equipped to deal with such matters. For now, me and the contrast-toe sock are going to hang out and watch cartoons. Catchyer!

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