Compulsively Counting Rows

I don’t strictly need to count rows on my fuzzy pants.  The pattern that I put together for them is written in terms of “knit [stitch pattern] for [length],” but I’m just the kind of person who counts things.

I was the kid in the grocery store who had to step on each set of colored tiles an equal number of times with each foot.  I could step on the cracks and color changes, but I had to make sure that my other foot stepped on a similar piece of tiling, too, with each color lining up with the corresponding part of my foot.  I even went so far as to allow myself to walk normally through the store, but I had to even things out before we left, which made for some strange footwork on the way out the door.  I would chant to myself (in my head, of course) the patterns: One left half blue half white, one right blue, two left green, two right white.  I always kept track of everything, even when the list seemed impossibly long.

I also memorize numbers.  Phone numbers, credit card numbers, library card numbers, and the series of temperatures that the weatherman on TV says.  I can’t help it.  I actively tried to lessen this power in college, because it was creepy that I knew my roommate’s and several random friends’ student ID numbers, and now I only remember numbers when I actively try.  I succeeded in turning off the part of my brain that copied down every number encountered without conscious effort on my part.

Unfortunately, this means that I no longer know without conscious effort what row of knitting I’m on.  I’ve actually resorted to writing things down now.  Which is ridiculous because, did I mention? I don’t have to count the rows on this pattern!  Why am I still counting?  Because I’m just the kind of person who counts things.

Obligatory (slow) progress photo:


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