Today, I killed a WIP. Dead. It wasn't working for me. I tried. I tried valiantly, but in the end, it had to go.
I'm still not sure what was wrong with it. It was a sock pattern I'd knit a couple of times before. I liked the yarn - the color wasn't quite me, but the hand was nice. The first time I ripped back was because I'd realized I'd knit the foot about an inch too short. The second time was because somehow I was on the wrong row after the heel was completed. I studied those socks against each other and could not find the error. I'm still not sure if the problem was with the first or second sock, or simply with the knitter.
In the end, I announced to my husband that I was simply going to throw the whole mess away, and for once, instead of encouraging me to fix it and move on, he agreed that this horse was well beaten and it needed to go. I suggested ripping it all back and gifting the yarn. He said no. The negative energy I'd twisted into that yarn would only torment the next knitter. And so, I yanked out my needles and threw the whole thing away. It was stunningly liberating. The weight lifted from my shoulders instantaneously. Now I'm on to new things.
I need to learn when to call it quits. I think I work a lot of things way past dead. Is that part of being a perfectionist?
Strains of Kenny Rogers now haunt my thoughts... "You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run."