As I write this there's a loop of ribbing resting on my keyboard, waiting to be picked up again. When it is, it will take only a glance, or the brush of a fingertip to know how to proceed. And it will, round and round, as I browse the internet, read a novel, check emails. It will transition to stockinette as I chat to a friend. A few moments of quiet to check my calculations and pick along the stitches counting two-by-two, three times to be sure, and there will be markers to catch my fingers. When they are they'll link pairs of stitches together and later cleave new ones to the old, drawing the fabric in around the body's curves.
The chore of making two matching tubes will illicit grumbling, until I realise that after a few days left in my bag the second is somehow a little longer than it needs to be. A little bump in the rhythm as stitches are gathered up and pushed between scrap yarn, the needles, and whatever random needles are lying on the couch. Just a few rounds later and the awkward stage is forgotten and round and round we continue. It might be time to mix up the decrease rates and placement for a saddle shoulder / raglan hybrid. Like the one I finished last week that will be the basic pattern used as a starting point for adaptations for my Squam class (and a pattern for everyone soon after).
Or, in the case of the one just beginning, it will be time to throw in a couple more colours and make things a little more interesting.
But I'm sure by the time it comes to that I'll have the beginnings of the boring part of another sweater on the needles. Perfect knitting, ready to pick up at any moment. There can never be too many. They don't even all have to be grey, but there's nothing wrong with knitting multiple plain stockinette sweaters, right?