About a sock

Q: What did Chris say when she saw this hole in her sock?

A: Darn it!

In all honesty, that's the PG version of what I really said, but my original expletive doesn't work with this clever sock-repairing pun.

It was Thanksgiving 2012 and I was spending the holiday with my family at a delightful cabin on the Cumberland River. My feet were cold. I put on my favorite hand knit wool socks and my mom pointed out the "nice hole" in the heel. What? Nice what?

My vision blurred. The world started to tilt. Bile rose in my throat. I wanted to vomit.

I commenced with grieving.

1. Anger - @#$(*&!
I am pissed! I paid good money for that sock yarn. I'm calling the mill to complain about the quality of their overpriced yarn. I spent hours knitting (and reknitting) those socks. Do you know what a pain in the ass that pattern was? The heel was a particular bitch because there was a typo in the pattern. I swear, I'm never using that yarn brand again, and so help me if I EVER find another typo in a pattern ever again I'm going to come un-freakin'-glued. The rage...oh the rage.

2. Guilt
What have I done? The luxurious softness of that yarn should have clued me in to using reinforcing yarn in the heels and toes. Why? Why didn't I listen to that voice in my head? Did I not treat these socks with the utmost care? Maybe I washed them too often, or maybe not enough. It was probably because of that one time I accidentally put them in the dryer. How could I have been so careless? If I weighed 50 pounds less, there wouldn't have been as much pressure on the bottom of my feet and the abrasion wouldn't have been so damaging. I must go on a diet. Chocolate will help.  

3. Denial
No. No. NO! This makes no sense. I can't cope because my feet are cold. How can this even be happening? My hand knits DO NOT wear out. I'm going to let this sucker languish in the bottom of my project bag where I can't see it. Out of sight out of mind, I say. Besides, I have no idea where I've put the yarn that was leftover from when I knit these socks. I refuse to deal with this.

4. Bargaining
If I start another project and knit it really well, will I wake up from this hellish dream? If I organize all my knitting needles and start organizing my stash (but not finish organizing my stash) will the hole be smaller or even gone the next time I look at the sock? Could it have been (queue the Temptations) just my imagination running away with me?

5. Depression
What's the freakin' point? Why even go on?

6. Acceptance and hope
"Steve Austin, astronaut. A man barely alive."....
"Gentlemen, we can rebuild him. We have the technology. We have the capability to make the world's first bionic man. Steve Austin will be that man. Better than he was before. Better...stronger...faster."

I can fix this.

Nananana...

Nanananana....

Rather than using a weaving technique, I opted for resurfacing the heel with duplicate stitch. It worked well, and I can't feel anything different on my heel.

7. Extreme self-satisfaction
Better...stronger...but not really much faster.

At first, the off kilter stripe bothered me. It went against every fiber of my perfectionist personality. Then the recovering perfectionist in me made a good point--it's on the bottom of my foot, is my shoe going to file a complaint with the knitting police? I'm good with it. I reinforced the other sock too. It was much easier since I didn't have to work with a hole, just an "almost hole".

Knitters in grief will often report more or different stages. Just remember your grief is as unique as your hand knits, and there is always hope!