I made a blanket recently. Well, I finished a blanket recently. The colours are beautiful, and it's nice and cozy.
I don't usually use patterns. And when I do, I feel the crushing need to alter them in some way. Even when there's nothing wrong with the pattern in the first place... I mean, I bought it, I must've liked it, right? So when I sat down to make this blanket, I decided I would just follow the pattern. I wouldn't change anything, I would just make it as is. No thinking, no figuring, just making.
I didn't manage it.
I ended up changing a few lines of the pattern to make the colour transitions cleaner. I knew that sitting under my blanket and staring at that one row of stitching that leaked into the row above it would drive me crazy.
It took me a few weeks to finish the knitting. Then I had to sew it together, and knit a border around the edges. Finally. Done. I folded it over the back of the chair to take a picture, and realised that on one side, I'd messed up. After all that futzing around to make sure that each colour stayed neatly in its place, I left out an entire effing stripe of colour. On one side. The last side. If it had been the first side, I could have rationalised that I didn't really like that colour anyway and left it off the rest of the border too. But no.
What followed was nothing short of a full blown existential crisis.
After much groaning and tearing of hair, I decided: I was going to leave it. I had to fight against all my instincts to rip that last border down and redo it. I was going to leave it, because as Husband says, "done is better than perfect."
But is it? Is it really?! Because it's a week later, and it's still driving me crazy. I had a dream that I crept downstairs in the middle of the night and fixed it.
I still might.