Fiddlesticks. What a frustrating week. Spinning is a disaster. It's not even acceptable art yarn. See:
Over spun, under spun, horribly plied. The book said plying was a snap compared to spinning. They lied. Each little balls of singles went into a coffee cup and was tensioned around the handle. Things were going okay until I found myself plying three strands together. What the fric? The outside of the ball got caught on the wool coming from the inside of the ball. That's when I discovered that spinning is not like knitting and you can't rip back your work. Unplying is not a word for a reason.
But I'm not giving up. Oh no. I'm angry-frustrated. Frac it! I'm going to learn to do this. I have a deep want for my own handspun yarn. I'm disappointed that it's not going to be the effortless process it seems to be for some. Pat, I'm looking at you. Though I did go back to your blog and note that you had lessons from others. I think that's what I'm missing. So I've signed up for some spindling lessons and the Forest City Knit Club will be doing some spinning for their first meeting.
In other news, Noro Blankie is a backstabber. I spent an entire evening with her, sewing up one of her seams. There's only one more to go. When I started to put that one more to the rest of the blanket, it was too long. This is the panel I ADDED length too. Farg!! So now I've got to take out what I added, and then take out what's too long.
This week has caused me to wonder at my own abilities and decide I'm not much more than a fumble-handed hack.
At least I can still knit socks.