Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the encouragement and support during the last knitting period of my life that was dominated by a soul-crushing shawl. Your comments have all been so nice and lovely, that I almost feel bad for berating the shawl so much. Almost.
My mom loves the shawl and it looks great on her. Hopefully she’s not clinging on to the hope that she’ll get another one in a different color. She would be sorely mistaken. No, I finally have closure on the shawl that must not be named. If any of my friends get this crazy idea that they want the pattern to knit their own shawl, I will surely slap them across the face with a skein of the scratchiest wool imaginable. Am I being melodramatic? Yes, but it’s for their own good.
So, what’s life like living with Post Traumatic Shawl Syndrome? It’s scary. Potential projects begin to morph into seducing dancers, daring you to come closer, to buy that silky skein of yarn, luring you into their trap and making you forget about your friends and family. You become obsessed; printing out all the free patterns you can find, tearing through knitting magazines and books like a hungry wolf, stalking knitting stores and blogs. Your pupils become dilated and your hunger for knitting is insatiable. They don’t call it traumatic without reason, people! It’s a serious condition and more often than not, is not covered under health insurance providers. I checked.
It’s really a good thing I can afford my very own knitting robot. He takes care of all my knitting needs: organizing my projects, cheering me on at the sidelines, and of course bringing me beer. Don’t have one? GET ONE!