I'm ready to cry because of a sock.
It's not an overreaction. I have now put away the sock for three days and not had anything to do with it. We aren't on speaking terms, me and the sock.
First of all, it turned out that I had been knitting the sock inside out. Who'd have thought it possible? You just follow the pattern and bob's your uncle. But the pattern, which I bought on the advice of a nice wool shop lady as being for someone who has never knitted socks before, does not anywhere say, "hey, if you've never done this before, here's the way that you hold the needles so you don't do something stupid like, oh I don't know, knit the whole thing inside out". A startling oversight.
Having rectified the situation, I got as far as what is called "turning the heel" which is in fact "knitting one of the three sides on its own for a whole lot longer than the others". I am following the pattern - I promise - yet it does not look like the picture. Something is very wrong and I know not what it is. I suspect I'm doing it inside out again without realising it.
Fortunately I have a legitimate reason for spurning the sock and its evil ways, as I am meant to be preparing for a little wee exhibition of my other fibre-related artwork. Sewing machine, I embrace you. Knitting needles, I shun you.