I sat there, stoned and blanked face.
The mess of wool strings surround me, waiting to be coiled up.
I can't believed I have unravelled all that I've knitted.
What took me a year to knit, was undone within one tenth of a minute.
One year of painstaking effort all gone in a flash and in a haste.
That's life isn't it?
You can work so hard and then comes a point where there is a pause and you start to realised that you actually don't know what you are doing anymore. I've started to knit due to interest, but after awhile, the knitting stopped. I wanted to pick it back up this holidays, but when I look at it, I see the flaws of the piece. It's an incomplete and errored piece of work, that upon completeing will only prove to be an eyesore.
The efforts put in all come down to a sense of nothingness, no sense of achievement at all. I keep questioning myself, is this right, is this good for me, but to no avail. The answers I am desperately looking for is not appearing anytime soon.
I've chosen to unravel what I have done and start again.
But I can't do that with life.
What's done is already done, the 'strings' of life would never be straighted and curled into the same comfy ball of wool that it once was.
I can only call it quits and stop here, or I could just continue on the path of mistakes and do the best I can.
