These hours of solitude and meditation are the only ones in the day when I am entirely myself, and for myself, without diversion, or obstacle; and when I can truly say, I am what nature designed me.
—J.-J. Rousseau (Reveries of the Solitary Walker)
It is over a year later and it is the same sweater, again, the one that I always make, but this time as a cardigan, with pockets, and a shawl collar (carefully tacked down to ensure proper behavior). It is a disappointing project, a projected disappointment even before it was complete. I spent more time avoiding it than working on it. None of its faults are as bad as I imagine them; indeed, PF says it reaches that pinnacle of clothing achievement, a sort of thrift-store shabbiness – looking in no way as though it had been made but rather as though it has always existed, not perfect, but complete, perfective.