Fantasy in Garter Stitch
Lately I’ve been visiting doctors. They poke at me and ask a lot of annoyingly circuitous questions while I try to be well-spoken and intelligent and (most importantly) to remember every possible symptom that seems like nothing to my layperson’s mind but is actually the key to the mystery.
I am not good at any of these things.
Of all the things I am not good at, I am most especially not good at being quiet and calm and relaxed when I am naked and cold in a strange, eerie place without clocks. Yeah, I bring my knitting, but it doesn’t seem to calm me down as it ought. Maybe there’s something about nudity that shuts down my brain? It seems enormously complicated to knit in the round/work ribbing/remember which row of the two-row repeat I am on.
During my last naked time I fantasized about garter stitch. Even the most clockless and sterile room can’t make me mess up garter stitch — please, god — so here it is. My ongoing travel project. The perfect accompaniment to all those creepy rooms and long halls and blinking lights and technicians who won’t look me in the eye. Chunky wool and wooden needles and there’s no way I can mess this one up. Bring on the blinky lights.