But just like turning the light on in a very dark room, sometimes it hurts just a wee bit, and it takes a while for your brain to adjust.
Annie said 'just trust me', so I tried to. There was a point where I felt like the sorriest fool on the planet for attempting knitting. It's a feeling I know all to well when it comes to this particular string play. There was a point where I had to step aside and find some quiet for a few minutes to have a little cry. In the stairwell. I held the door shut.
But I went out, washed my face, I had some lunch, drank a couple cups of coffee and just trusted Annie that I would make it through the day. And I did. I think I know what to do now. I think I understand the decreases. The little trick she shares on decreases is worth the price of admission alone.
I learned a spiffy new cast off, and a cool neat edging trick, I learned how to understand the flow of stitches, what makes your stitches do what, and so much more, that just thinking about it, utterly overwhelms me. It makes my brain want to bleed again, but in a good way. If Annie ever comes near your locale, as defined as within 300 miles of you, and is holding a course, go. If you ranked her classes according to my book review notes (below) she is a Double Treble - just skip the darn stars and go out and do it.
As I listened to her talk about some of the new things she teaches - how she discovered these little tidbits of knitterly cool - I cannot help but sit in awe of a brain that looks at knitting like this, that sees things in such as way as to light the road for us average joes. String things come easily to me, once I'm aimed in the right direction, but no way do I start on the same page.
I have seen a glimpse of knitting genius and I stand in awe. I might not be a better knitter right now after this long and intense day.
But I will be in the morning. I'm sure of it now.