I've been in more of an unraveling mood than a knitting one this week. I realised that the Picovoli had been sitting in the laundry basket for a couple of weeks, without me having any inclination to wash it or wear it. So I dug it out and I looked at it, and I thought about the short rows, and the SSKs, and the fact that the colour (although lovely) is not really a friend to my complexion, and the way that I don't really like the neckline, and after about five minutes of thinking I found myself blithely picking away at the cast on edge; a few minutes after that, I was pulling on the free end and watching the serpentining rounds on rounds slither into a yarny tangle on my lap.
Frogging turned out to be such a satisfying respite from the frustrations of thesis writing, I went hunting for other things to destroy. The baby kimono which had been sitting on top of the stash box for a week, seamed but without fastenings, was clearly begging to be torn to pieces. I had at it, and am now reincarnating the yarn as Daisy, which looks likely to survive my wanton rampage of destruction. I can't vouch for my actions in the event of this writing business becoming any more bleak and tortuous, though: the pinging rhythm of loops unlinking themselves from other loops is immensely satisfying, and definitely a safer way of exorcising my frustrations than highlighting my whole chapter and pressing "delete" (which I may have thought about doing).