Okay, so the last couple of knitting days went well. Really well. I knitted a pair of complex socks- the pattern was easy to understand, the yarn was scrumptious, the colors came out great, the fabric is perfect, the knitting was remarkably error-free (except for the one heel where I got *off* by a stitch, and had to tear out the short-rows and start over), and the socks fit like the pattern was designed just for me. The knitting was joyful, and the bragging was totally satisfying.
I should have known that there would be a price for all that. I paid it today.
Today, I knitted nearly an entire lace fingerless mitten, only to discover (when I was just about to the top ribbing) that the lace pattern was too tight, and not centered properly. I ripped it out, put the yarn away, and started another project- a pair of lacy socks in a lovely variegated peach yarn. I got past the heel (past the heel, I tell you, on a lace sock) before it became obvious that the sock was not going to fit me. Nor was it going to fit anyone on my sock-list because the lace upper was too loose for granddaughters (while being stretched to the max on me), and the heel-flap was too short for any adults, and the yarn was too fine for the pattern I was using. It's not the pattern's fault- it was written for heavier yarn. It's not the yarn's fault that I didn't realize that it was just too thin for this pattern (I'll put it away for Fair Isle, maybe mittens). I'm not even sure that it was my fault (though why I persist in knitting on when I know that something isn't right, I'll never know). All told- I spent about 6 hours knitting today, and have nothing to show for it.
It was karma.