1. In poor lighting.
2. On a beach, although I got over that.
3. In the car. Even if I'm not driving.
4. At Peggy Kinnane's Irish pub during a session.
5. At Tuesday-night knitting group (sorry, ladies, too much talking)
6. At home, in silence, on the couch, under a lamp.
I've been working on my MIL's Christmas present, a lace scarf in Sea Silk. The pattern is not hard. It's from Victorian Lace Knitting, and it's even got the nice purl row on the back side to give me a break.
But, I swear, I've knit the same row something like eight or nine times. I made a mistake, so I tinked back. Then I made another mistake and tinked back some more because I realized I didn't go far enough back. Then I dropped a stitch but didn't notice because it was right on the edge and then I couldn't get anything to work right because I had 57 - not 58 - stitches in the row.
(It took me a couple times back and forth, knit a row, tink a row, knit a row, tink a row, to figure that out, because I wasn't quite smart enough to realize that if I counted the stitches on the needle first thing, I would have figured out what the problem was.)
So I tinked back all the way to the row with the dropped stitch and picked it up. Then I knit three rows. Then I tinked them back because I'd made another mistake.
Then last night, I sat down on the couch with no disturbances, checked my stitch count, checked it against the row I was about to knit ... and knit. Six rows.
I looked at it in satisfaction before I went to bed, convinced I'd finally overcome inertia on this project, but no.
I still made a mistake. And I still have to tink it back. And I cannot for the life of me figure out why I keep breaking down here. Unless the knitting is trying to tell me that it does not want to be a scarf; it wants to be a placemat.