The big, dumb sock project

I kinda have a sock problem.

These are not the trouble

Usually when people have a something problem, it’s shorthand for I have way, way, way too much of something. I understand that: I’ve got the beginning of a yarn problem, something of a coat problem and a definite boot problem. (Current count: two pairs of cowboy boots, one pair of motorcycle boots, one pair of knee-high lace-up lineman boots, one pair of knee-high red Fluevogs and a pair of roper boots I just picked up today from the cobbler’s.)

My sock problem is the opposite. I’ve got some socks. Not long ago I had more socks, but then I got rid of almost all of them in a mad quest to have only one kind of sock. Then I bought about a dozen pairs of what I thought were OK basic socks — solid black; the right size, sort of, not too long for my short, wide feet; not a zillion bucks; and more cotton than polyester (it’s damn hard to find non-polyester socks at the department store, so my standards were pretty low). Everything was great!

Then I wore the socks.

They disintegrated.

Not, like, “I wore them for a few months and they fell apart.” The first time I wore them, wherever they were trapped between my foot and some part of my shoes, they literally dissolved in a cloud of hazy black fuzz. I found this out when I took my shoes off at a friend’s house and left inky, fuzzy footprints wherever I went. The remaining sock was worn down as thin as pantyhose. I think those cheap damn socks were polyester netting, with cotton not woven in but sort of … stuck on, somehow.  They weren’t the perfect socks, and they were so bad I couldn’t even feel good about donating them. I threw them out and swore, a lot.

I’m trying to make do with my few remaining pairs of socks while I find the new gold standard in socks, and it’s pretty disheartening. Unless I can find amazing-quality kids’ socks, everything’s too big, and I’m tired of having sock heels that land so far from my own heels that they creep up over the backs of my shoes.

So I’ve been making socks. And it’s great, except the part where converting the awesome There & Back Again socks to knee-high made me so sick of them that I can’t bring myself to fix the too-tight bind-off that is the only thing keeping me from wearing them, other than the fact that they’re knee-high socks and it’s hot in July in California.

And also the part where I’ve ripped out the ankle of the same Skew four (five, since I started this post) times thanks to my chronic distraction and stress over work. The first time I made it, I totally nailed the directions, but I still ended up with a sock that bagged around my heel; I could pinch a clean inch of fabric away from my foot before it could even begin to fit. I ripped back and shortened the foot, but it was still too short. I started again with a dramatically shorter foot that I’m pretty confident will fit, but I’ve still had to rip out like crazy because even after carefully counting stitches and memorizing the pattern to where I feel like I could do it in my sleep, I keep turning up a few stitches short or a few stitches over and have to rip back to the last place where I had the right number of stitches and felt like I understood how the world worked.

This is not unlike what’s currently happening with my development environment at work, where fixing and re-fixing and re-re-fixing the same files still gets me the same crazy security error.

I will get there. I will fix this environment issue, and one day soon this work project I’ve spent the last six months on will be over and I’ll be able to do laundry and wash the socks I already have instead of wearing the same sockless loafers every day for weeks.

Maybe by then I’ll have some real, live knit socks, too.