I've been entertaining a particularly delicious image, lately.
I take one of my unfinished sweaters out to the park, and I launch it into the air like a kite. The as-yet-unknit yarn serves as a kite string, and the sweater sails into the sky. It soars with arms at full extension, looking very much like a child's drawing of a sweater.
When my ball of yarn runs out, the wind keeps blowing and the sweater starts to unravel. As it soars higher and higher, the sweater unknits itself, until there is nothing left.
There's one sweater I wouldn't mind trying this with.
I started knitting this particular sweater some time before Robb's accident, which is over two years ago. This was a cute lacy sweater made out of crazy fuzzy cobweb-thin expensive yarn. I had just gotten to a point where I realized I didn't know what I was going to do about the sweater's shaping and needed serious sweater-guidance, when Robb shattered his spine, and all thoughts of knitting came to an immediate halt.
After a year of sweater-neglect, I picked up the unfinished bits, and just sighed. I had altered the lace pattern (which covered every inch of the sweater), but didn't remember what the changes were. I didn't make any notes at the time, and the yarn was almost impossible to unravel. So, I carefully folded the sweater pieces, and parked them on my wire bookshelf.
The sweater bits sat for months and months, and unbeknownst to me, got covered with some horrible sticky secretion from a mite-infested orchid. Let me tell you one thing A fuzzy lace sweater covered in gooey insect poo is revolting item, indeed.
I painstakingly washed the pieces of unfinished sweater, and shoved them back onto what we call the Pile of Denial.
This sweater fills me with sadness, and I really wish I could just let it fly away.