Running Screaming into the Night

So, I finally had my scarf rhythm. You know, on the ever-so-freaking-simple quasi-lace little pattern. The one a real knitter could do while anesthetized. Yeah. That one.

Happily knitting along, everything working, no wackiness, several inches of stretchy soft grey goodness on 28 little stitches. (Well, the stitches were quite big, but 28 is not many, I mean.)

Until.

There. Were. 26.

AAAAAUUUUGGGHHH.

Had I a knitting mentor, I probably could have handed it to them and they could have said, "Oh, yeah, look what you did here," futzed for a minute with the row below, and handed it back to me with my beloved 28 stitches back.

Having none, I cursed myself for trying to watch television while doing anything but knit stitches (I've even said this!), and I ripped the damned thing.

I don't know what my problem is. This has been my besetting issue ever since I started knitting. Yet, over time, I've knit scarves (with cables, even), fingerless gloves, socks, hats (Fair Isle and cabled). I still can never seem to get over the "mysterious screwup that messes with my stitch count," no matter what. Except for in colorwork, because it's color-coded. I can't screw it up.

I'm going to go have dinner now and start. it. again.