Defeat

In which I am downtrodden, overly dramatic, and am probably going to die old, alone, and a retail pharmacist. Yes, it's directly related to my inability to make a sweater that fits.

It's taken me a few months to come to terms with the horrible, horrible drama that enfolded after I finished the doom sweater. This doom sweater.


After months and months of moss stitch hell, I discovered that though I had checked my gauge time and time again and measured each piece as carefully as possible, the sweater was still big enough to be an overcoat instead of a lovely fitted jacket.


I desperately turned to more experienced knitters, hoping there was some way to beat this damned sweater.


I got two answers.


"Well, you could probably surge this and try to make it fit, but every time I've done that the whole thing warped and was pretty much ruined."


Or, the much, much worse:


"I'd put it in a closet until you gain enough weight to wear it the way you want. Because as soon as you hit 30, you will."


As true as that second statement may yet prove to be, I didn't spent close to two years on this monster to hide it in a closet until it fits. Against the advice of pretty much every knitter I know, I ripped the bastard out.


And now it waits, lurking in the depths of my cedar chest until I have the courage to face its horrors again. I'm half convinced that every time I open it I'll get sucked through a portal to a hellish alternate dimension, filled with black cotton yarn and moss stitch. Trapped in a nightmare of never-ending sleeves. I'm well aware that it wasn't the fault of the sleeves that the sweater didn't fit,  but they're the part that broke my needle and my soul.


After this life-ruining event, I swore a pact against sleeves. Fie on sweaters with sleeves, I thought, as I gleefully ran my fingers over my balls of Noro for two tunic sweaters. I'll defeat the goddamn things by never knitting one again!

This plan proved no more effective. The first sweater I worked on stabbed me in the back just as I was finishing it. The pattern lied. Brutally - I was three balls of yarn short, and had to go on a horrific internet hunt for the right dye lot.

Of course, the yarn color had been discontinued for years. I ended up on the seedy underbelly of the online knitting community, clandestine trench-coated meetings in dark alleyways and all. I'm honestly shocked I don't have hepatitis. And still have both kidneys.


I ended up getting the yarn, and am nearly done with the hood. I've been waylaid, however, by the need for armwarmers now that Reno's temperature has finally dropped into a reasonable level of cold for winter. I made a pair three years ago and somehow in my many apartment changes have misplaced one. I was nambying about, avoiding making another to match, when I saw these.

Adorable, no? As I don't have $39 and know how to knit, I'm going to try making them myself. Probably before I tackle any more soul-sucking sweater nonsense.


Don't you dare point out that armwarmers are a lot like sleeves, because I will have to end you.