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Which muse is the one for knitting?

I hope you weren't expecting a progress report, because I have actually made negative progress, in the grand scheme of things. Hearken to my words, all you new knitters out there, still flushed with excitement at new discoveries and woolly fumes, triumphs over p3tbl and your first lace swatch. There will come a time in your life, dear friends, when you will Not Want To Knit.

It is a dark and frightening place. You may think about knitting, or of all the projects that need to be done RIGHTNOWOMGWTFBBQ, and somehow nothing will actually happen. You may even pick up your knitting and lay it in your lap, arrange yourself into whatever habitual setup you have, and nothing will happen. You may even discover that the object over which you found yourself obsessing barely a week ago has become anathema to your very soul, and you may, in a fit of pique, rip the whole blasted thing out and find yourself unable to continue.

You may think it a lack of motivation, a personal flaw preventing you from Being All You Can Be, and may muck about in the swamp of self-doubt and shame. Your personal goals may fall by the wayside, abandoned like so much noodled yarn (of which you have in abundance since you just frogged half a project in aforementioned fit of pique) scooting itself sadly under the sofa.

The sad truth is, however, that your muse has abandoned you. The knitter's version of writer's block is a frustrating and confusing time of self-reflection and changes. You may experience strange new urges, hair growth in new and strange places, and something resembling the plague popping up around the head and shoulders region. (Sorry. Wrong set of changes. For a better explanation of those sorts of changes, please consult Eddie Izzard's complete body of works.) Wool holds no fuzzy joy. Novelty yarn, not so full of novelty. Even silk and cashmere, though delightful at any other time, will languish unmolested on the shelf.

These doldrums are a time of trials and suffering, when Other Shit must be done first, or when your creative juices flow in a different direction, or when, like me, you are too freaking exhausted to remember to eat and must have someone poke you in the back of the neck with a carrot and scare the bejeebus out of you so you'll wake up long enough to take in enough calories to keep the evil nausea away.

I may or may not have based all this on recent events. I also may or may not have torn out the OSSP and begun a second project. And by "begun" I of course mean "cast on and miscounted and cast on again and realized that the circular needle I had was way too big to actually work in the round and instead of going to get a properly-sized circular upstairs, laid it on the couch beside me and watched tv until I fell asleep again, which took less than 15 minutes." I mean, those are practically the same thing.

Do not lose hope, Knitters Without Muses. The time will pass. Your energy will return, your creativity will one day show up at an inconvenient moment and you'll find yourself hunting down a store, any store, that sells both sticks and string, even though you should probably be somewhere else important. And you'll pick it up again and it'll be like nothing happened.

I hope. God, I hope.