I have knitted 2.85 dishcloths/washcloths in approximately 24 hours. <lj-cut text=”Hello, my name is Skewers and I am a yarn addict.”> Clearly, I am suffering from some kind of knitter’s malaise. All of my current projects are too annoying Snicket Socks, with my naturally achiote-dyed Peruvian wool), incredibly ready to be frogged (Rivendell Cloche, at too tight a gauge with too-stiff Brown Sheep Lamb’s Pride), too knitpicky (H’s scarf — Halcyon, S’s cowl, Ice Queen, also from Knitty), too interminable (J’s baby blanket), or simply long-forgotten (that goddamned lace project Candle Flame Shawl which I should just frog and get it over with, but I’m not quite ready to give up and I hate the yarn anyway, so what’s the rush??).
Enter: the dishcloths and washcloth. Quick to knit, easy to make from whatever cotton dischloth yarn is handy in my stash (thanks to Scarves and one of our many trips to Michael’s), whatever needles I can find (since I compulsively lend them and lose them this way) in the range of 5-10 (this is a big range, for you non-knitting folk), they provide instant gratification.
I wish, at this point, that everyone would just let me stop everything else (mostly work) and knit them dishcloths. I feel virtually no interest in keeping them. Owning them, yes. But it’s through sheer force of will that I’m not giving the two finished ones away. And even the delightfully soft pima cotton pointelle washcloth I’m keeping is, in a sense, for someone else. There is some strange disconnect between how much I want to own a pile of knitted dishcloths (a lot), how much I want to knit them (a lot), how many I have knitted to give away (a lot) and how many I want to give away (all of them). Weird, no? And not in the least altruistic-feeling. The whole shenanigan has the texture of a compulsion, a thing I’m doing because it feels good and I can’t quite help myself. Also, if I finish up all of the cotton yarn in my stash, I can justify buying more. This is what passes for stash-logic, apparently.
I am at least not alone in this. For starters, there’s the gals at Mason Dixon Knitting, two ladies who somehow manage with this obsession all the time.
They do make me feel a little like an addict, though. It’s not that I should be doing other things (which I should) or that I already have upwards of five projects on the needles (it’s true), or that there are way more interesting things in my queue (also accurate), or that I really do appreciate and adore the people I’m knitting for (even though it’s nigh unto impossible to feel guilty about taking forever on a handknit, especially when lace and or beads are involved), or that there’s a baby on the way and I’d like to have their blanket ready (I would!). It’s more the way I pick up a fresh ball of dishcloth cotton and think “just one more row should take the edge off.” Edge? What edge?? Huh? The one I just cast off?
Or, as bedtime nears, picking up a simple project like the last bits of a washcloth “just to help me relax a little.” As if I don’t have a vibrator in bed for that very purpose! For serious, guys. Maybe this is a disease.
Anybody want a dishcloth?