Tonight, I sat down to knit on a sock - it doesn't matter which one - only to discover that several inches back, I'd made a mistake serious enough to warrant ripping it out. I like my pairs of socks to match one another as precisely as possible, so out it went. Two steps forward, one step back, and suddenly I'm in a place where I can start moving forward again, more perfectly.
That is kind of how life is these days, both with knitting and, well, life. I think I've gotten myself somewhere only to stop, take a step back, and start again. Things aren't working out and I'm moving. In two weeks I'll be in another city, with other people. Closer to my family, closer to old friends for the holidays - but back to bad weather and, inevitably, unemployment. It's a gamble, but how can I not make the choice for happiness? For [astronomically] lower rent? For getting to see my parents and everyone else at Christmas?
So I'm packing. Chicago or bust!