I’d like to introduce a new concept to the knitting world. We’ve all heard of S.S.S. (second sock syndrome), the ennui that overtakes a knitter upon compling a sock and prevents her/him from starting (and finishing) the second. I’ve also heard of the converse, F.S.S. (first sock syndrome), in which a first sock takes forever to complete and the second one flies off the needles.
I’m currently experience accute symptoms of M.S.S. (multiple sock syndrome). There’s a higher occurance of this nowadays thanks to the sock obsession sweeping the nation, fueled by wonderful indie yarn dyers (Scout, Lisa), podcasts that celebrate said yarn makers and designers (Stash and Burn, Lime & Violet) and elaborate schemes to create an addiction (BMFA’s Rockin’ Sock Club).
I arrived at my own diagnoses seeing the number of works in progress I have… four pairs of socks in various stages of completion. I never thought this was a problem, especially since three of those pairs already have the first sock completed and the heel turned on one (despite the above photo of a ripped out heel flap). Sure, in my last post I presented four delicious cakes of sock yarn waiting in the wing, but it’s not like I couldn’t stop whenever I want to!
I hit rock bottom this morning. I’m experiencing an advanced case of M.S.S. No, I haven’t cast on a fifth pair or socks; and after what I’m about to tell you, you’ll see why I’m coming to terms with my M.S.S.
I lost one. I can’t find the sister sock to the Lisa Souza Mars Quake sock in the photo. I know I knit it. It travelled to Texas with me and was shown off at a knit one one class. I’ve been thinking about ripping back the toe to finish it in a less pointy manner.
But it’s gone.
It’s not in the knitting bag(s); it’s not with other half-finished friends; it’s not in the stash; it’s not even saliva-encrusted laying in Janie Sparkles’ lair. I’ve checked in my suitcase, between couch cushions, behind book shelves. inside drawers, all over the house; all to no avail. And now I’m late to work.
Feel free to print out the image and hang MISSING posters in your neighborhood. I just want my baby to come back home. I know it’s my fault. I only looked way for a few inches on a foot and casting on a toe-up. I should be charged with negligence.
I’m so sorry, handsome little sock. Please come back to Daddy.