I, like many knitters, am having a love affair with knitting socks.
I don’t know when I first decided that knitting socks was the absolute shit, but I do know why: heels. Fiddly little heels with slipped stitches and short row turning and picking up twisted stitches at the edges.
There’s something innately satisfying about knitting a heel. Maybe because it’s a stretch of straight knitting after a long tube? Maybe it’s the way it’s a small, discrete part of the overall product with an easy-to-reach beginning and end
Maybe it’s just that I like having small goals to reach because it makes me feel productive, and “Finish the heel flap” and “turn the heel” are good ones. I don’t like knitting toe up socks purely because I’ve yet to find a good way to turn a heel and knit a heel flap that are as satisfying as with top down socks.
The point is, I am having a love affair with knitting socks, and a hate affair with finishing socks.
People talk about second sock syndrome like it is a serious illness affecting thousands of knitters worldwide. What they don’t talk about is foot syndrome, either because it’s a shameful disease, unlike the joke that SSS is, or because I’m the only one who has it. I’m hoping it’s the former, but… There’s only one symptom. I get to the middle of a foot on a sock, any sock, and I’ve suddenly lost the will to live.
You know that bit in The Phantom Tollbooth where the kid is stuck in the Doldrums? And is all apathetic and being a lazy bum? That’s what it feels like when I’ve hit the second half of the foot and the toe. This shit is never going to end. I am going to be knitting this sock forever and I am going to die knitting this sock. I am going to be a hundred years old and I will still be knitting this sock.
I am going to be a hundred years old and I am still going to be knitting this sock and fuck that.
So I quit the sock. I am done with this sock. I am going to move on to another sock, a sock that does not hate me, a sock that is not stuck in this horrific knitting black hole where it is four inches long no matter how much knitting I do on it. Because the next sock is going to be different. The next sock is going to be better. I am going to love the next sock like no other sock.
Spoiler alert: the next sock is no different.
So I have a bunch of socks that are almost completely finished, except I’m stuck on this ever growing portion left to knit. It’s a paralyzing mental Zeno’s Paradox (who I am sure was just trolling us all).
Tell me, the internet. Is anyone else affected by this horrid disease?
Which is not to say that I do not force myself to finish socks. This is a lovely sock out of a pair I made for a friend, whose kid has now bogarted them. Because their feet are the same size. What.