...or, How A Sock Got Finished In A Week And A Second Sock Was Begun.
Winter in the pacific northwest means lots of cold, grey, rainy, drizzly days. If you're a poor early twenty something such as myself, that means months of snuggling in bed, under blankets, or in sleeping bags. Since none of us have any money to pay for the heat to be on, and we live in old drafty houses, our houses are freezing all winter long. Our house was built in the early years of the 20th century and I would venture to say that the heating system hasn't been updated since around then. We could run that thing into the ground and it probably wouldn't make a lick of temperature difference in any of the rooms. Most of my knitting, therefore, is done these days as the early morning light pours into my bedroom window and straight onto my bed. If I get up early enough, I can squeeze a couple hours of effective knitting into a day while saving on heat and electricity.
I have reached a certain zen while working on these socks, which I think is a symptom of lace. Reciting a lace pattern over and over is akin to chanting 'ohm'. When I first start, I have to look repeatedly at the pattern, just to check up and make sure I don't do anything stupid. A couple of repeats in, however, and I've got it down and I'm in my happy place of knitting where I can achieve might feats, like finishing 5 perfect inches while watching an episode of World's Deadliest Catch with my roommate. (I live with all boys. Sometimes they get control over the remote.)