The dangers of knitting angry: a tale of stupidity

If you look closely, you can see EVERY SINGLE MISTAKE.

Last weekend, the wife and I went up to Edinburgh for a quick weekend getaway. The weather was gorgeously crisp, the sights were stunning, and my only regret was that we couldn’t stay longer. We took a bus to Scotland (what, you thought professional knitters/dyers have lots of cash? HA!) – a night bus on the way up, and a day bus home. I decided to work on my forbidden socks on the way back. And then, it happened.
I started thinking about embarrassing things that happened when I was 13 years old. Thanks, brain? Thanks. Real productive.

Before I embraced my status of non-athlete, I was on the basketball team for three years in middle school. I mostly played the position of “bench warmer,” probably due to the fact that the coach’s kid and friends were on the team. I was not a cool kid: I was very awkward during the awkward years. I took awkward to the next level. I once fell headfirst into a garbage can. I once told my friends to “act cool” immediately before falling down the stairs and cracking my tailbone. I once stood up during a test at school and faceplanted because I was tangled around the chair.

Once, while at band camp (don’t even quote that movie to me okay), I fell into a groundhog hole and lost my shoe.

Stupid DPNs, dropping all my stitches.

I was like a walking slapstick comedy, except I was the only one who wasn’t laughing.

Back to basketball, and back to knitting on the bus.

I was on the bus, working into the gusset of the sock. Making progress, and doing okay. And then I started to think about basketball in middle school – who knows why.

Brain: “Hey, remember when your coach kept calling you Angela even though you were on the team for three years?”

Me: *drops a stitch* Shit, gotta concentrate.

Brain: “And remember that time you tried to correct him?”

Me: *cables the wrong way, drops three more stitches* Oh my god, get it together, self.

Brain: “And remember how he said ‘Sit down, Angela’ after you said your name is Angie?”

Me: *drops 5 stitches, a DPN goes flying*

Brain: “And remember how you ran into him that one time at the grocery store in college and he said, ‘Hey Angela’?”

Me: *angry emoji face*

That DPN bounced off the window and actually fell into a heating vent. Picture it: me, using my wife’s phone as a flashlight, crouched down half under the bus seat, trying to retrieve my needle. Burning my arm on the heating element, fishing out the needle, and dropping it in again. Finally rescuing it, and then angrily repairing all the dropped stitches.

Knitting is usually calming for me, but I think the lack of external stimulus on the bus was an open invitation for my brain to be a total jerk. Thanks, brain.