I now have a knitting machine, and it’s… let’s just say…
B I G.
And now I’m laying in my bed in the other room with my back to the door and I feel like it’s right next to me.
The knitting machine is so big I feel like I’m being watched. It knows my insecurities. It has 179 more needles in its body than I do (A 179-0 loss on my part) and is so dense the feet bend when it’s on its legs. It’s also double-bedded (again a 2-1 loss on my part.)
This thing has been in a church basement probably since it was made, being *1977*. It is dusty and smells like old age.
I probably brought some cursed unholy contraption into my house. It didn’t need to ask permission. It now is fully allowed to murder me in my sleep. I feel like if I used the electric motor drive module, it would knit a blanket with a pentagram on it while I’m not looking.
It reminds me of that magical loom in SVTFOE that knits the tapestries in the Grandma Room.
Either it “takes care” of me, or I learn what the dial with “N” and “X” on it does.
Updates if I’m not knit into a hat.















