I goofed a row in the waiting room apparently at the point when a woman walked past, considered, came back and exclaimed over my knitting. I liked that part.

The rows after built on that mistake till at last it dawned on me tonight. Fudging didn’t work–I tried.

I laid that afghan on the floor and ripped out a thousand stitches. It hurt. And it felt deeply satisfying: it will do what I say because I said so and I will thank me later for it.

I reknit the goofed row right and was quite done with it for the day. But always get past the horse where it threw you if you can, I figure.