Me vs. Scrug

So, it started out simply enough: another new hobby.

The only consistent non-academic interests I have are: running, piano, ukulele, guitar and swing dancing, which I consider more than mere hobbies, but as integral parts of who I am, of my creative identity.

Anyway. My other hobbies change constantly, with no discernible pattern. One day, I decided I simply must be good at planning parties. Ashley and I had decided to have a Pumpkin Patch Party, and I was going to pour my heart and soul into making it unforgettable. Two weeks later, after the party, I had another hobby: our secret writing project, which is still in process.

But off and on, knitting comes into my life. Things were off to a great start: After my friend knitted me a scarf, I decided that knitting would be my new hobby. It looked fun. Which it is. But I’m terrible at it.

I went to Michael’s, where I bought a book about How to Knit. I bought a couple different-sized knitting needles. I bought yarn, which I now recognize as terrible quality. I was all set.

I went home and I read the book. My friend showed me how to knit. I told her I was making a small rug. I knitted fervently. I knitted furiously. I sat myself down and I just knitted and knitted. Pretty soon, I had what looked suspiciously like a scarf.

“I thought you were making a rug?” My mom asked me.

I looked at my deformed scarf, which looked appropriate for someone with the neck of a giraffe, only three times as wide.

I wanted my knitting to be functional, but no. So I started over.

I knitted off and on. Went to Vanguard. Brought my knitting. Freshman year, it turned into an outrageously disproportionate rug, which I tried hurriedly to fix.

Sophomore year came, and I now had a neither a scarf nor a rug nor a scrug. What I held in my hands, the product of several years’ labor, was . . .

A giant mass of yarn. Twisted. Knotted. Hideous. Incapable of practical purpose. A green yarn mass, a blob.

That’s all it was. Heartbroken, I unraveled the whole thing. By this time, I got Ashley to show me how, and she looked at my yarn in despair, shaking her head.

“Chelsea, what have you done?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to knit. I want to be someone who can knit.” I told her as I held the yarn mass at arm’s length, as if it might come alive to bite me any second.

She took the knitting from me, unraveled it, and started it over.

“Here. Try again.”

So, a year later, it still looks completely unrecognizable as a scrug or anything functional, but my goodness, I’m going to get it right one of these days.

I’m sure of it. It shouldn't take someone five years to knit a simple scarf and/or rug!