When I really started looking at the yarn, I decided it was too unspun to become socks. I have no desire to spend hours of my life knitting something that falls apart because the yarn is wrong for the project. (And, for the record, I don't think this yarn should be called Step It Up. It sets knitters up for failure.) I decided to make another little shawl with it.
And I didn't like it.
It isn't the pattern's fault. The pattern is quite lovely, and I'd knit it again. It's the colors. When I saw the way the colors were appearing, I envisioned a seven-year-old princess riding a unicorn under a rainbow surrounded by pink carnations covered in dew.
I persevered and finished it because I didn't have a better idea what to do with the yarn and, hey, maybe I'll run into a seven-year-old who needs this sort of thing, right? Then I blocked it.
knit in Mary Maxim Step It Up in Playful Plum 315
Blocking is magic. I'm still not sure I'm going to keep it, but I feel that I could give it to someone who was not seven and she would probably like it.
In some ways, the fact that blocking made such a difference is a really bad thing. It feeds the part of my brain that wants to believe that a horrible piece of knitting will magically transform once it's finished. This shawl is the exception that proves the rule, but I'm guessing that I won't be able to remember that the next time I find myself in this predicament.
Feel free to remind me.