This is Why I Knit Socks

I wrote a while ago that I had been knitting socks, a lot of socks and was a bit fed up.  I started looking for another project that met my specifications. 

I found this:

It's only 2 pieces, so not a lot of sewing up.  It has a bit of a pattern (Irish Moss Stitch) so not too boring and but not requiring a lot of concentration. And I even had some yarn in the stash.

But now I hate it.

The tension is fucked and I don't care.

I make mistakes and I don't care; I just keep going.

I am the 8 inch mark of the back piece.  I have to get to the 13 inch mark.  5 more brutal inches.

By the time I get it finished it'll be too warm to wear it.

Last night, for the briefest of moments, I felt a surge of anger, nay hatred toward this piece of textile I was making. I know, it sounds irrational to have such violent feelings for an inanimate object, especially a woolly one.  And knitting? It's supposed to be enjoyable. But  I was no longer enjoying this knitted thing. 

So to prevent myself from ripping the whole damn thing out, I took a deep breath and walked away from the knitting.  It's going in a time-out for a while, maybe until next fall.

I'm looking for something new to knit. 

Maybe a pair of socks.