I am like a crochet superhero at the moment. Vomiting woolly creativity madly, spewing out one project after another with little regard to my own sanity or the fact that the woolly project bags now completely surround my chair in the living room. Am I painting a picture of sanity? Probably not.
I think this burst of creative hooking was caused by last year's self-imposed crochet amnesty AKA the one where I wasn't allowed to buy any more wool until I finished the giant granny stripe blanket and all other dust-attracting projects lying about the house. So essentially I had a year off creating stuff and now I'm flooded with woolly ideas at a rate I can barely keep up with.
Plus I had a knitting disaster. An actual knitting disaster so bad that it has left me slightly unstable around the needles. I had been making a gorgeous jumper and had negotiated the hell of unknowable terminology (wrap and turn, jogless stripes), persevered and just reached the finishing straight when I realised I had made a massive error (I didn't cast off my arm stitches at the right time for anyone knitty who wants to know), an error so large that the whole project would have to be ripped back to almost a inch of the start. After having a cry, shouting FUCK IT repeatedly and really loudly, and emailing the designer on Ravelry for sympathy and advice, I ripped the whole thing back. It is gone. I am not over it. I've had to put all the knitting shit in a drawer lest I fly into a murderous rage without warning.
This is what has led me back to the warm, soft comfort of my crochet hook. You can't go wrong with crochet because you are only ever in charge of one stitch so if you have to go back, even way back, you can do it quite easily. I'm a one stitch woman.
I sometimes think about who first thought to crochet. I can't imagine the process of inventing something completely new, completely out there, the thousands of years of evolution that eventually led to someone realising that knots could be worked into pretty patterns just using one hooked stick. Nobody really knows either, there is word that it could have originated in Iran, South America or China but the answer is lost to history. It took off big style in the early nineteenth century when women from the lower classes started crocheting like crazy to recreate lace at a much cheaper price in order, one presumes, to keep up with the Joneses. This makes the history of crochet so much more inspiring; the cunning of a woman in need of something pretty at a fraction of the cost is always going to be impressive.
The bad news is my eyes have gotten so bad over the past year that I can no longer crochet without my glasses on. I'm finding it a bit of nuisance because I only need them for close work so if I'm watching telly whilst hooking, I have to put them on the end of my nose and peer over the top to see what's going on. I look like a right old dear. I'm not impressed. Also I've never got them to hand so I'm constantly going upstairs to fetch them or vice versa. Darren, much to his own amusement, bought me some of those things that you attach to your glasses to keep them round your neck, I was not grateful, they are sitting in a drawer upstairs and the incident has been duly noted.
Crochet is like my best friend, the nice one, the one who always makes you feel like you are fearless and capable, not slightly bonkers and baggy around the middle. Knitting on the other hand feels like the cool girl at school; gorgeous, unreachable with an air of mystery you would give a kidney to have. I hate that I want that bitch so bad.