"Knitting!" or "Oh how I've missed you, dear friend."

Yes, I've rediscovered my needles since the little fore into the hall closet, and now I can't stop. I forgot how much knitting settles my mind.

I keep rationalizing the fact that I've let my reading fall to the wayside (over the past week) by telling myself that all this knitting serves a purpose. Mainly, that it's reducing the insane yarn stash in the hall closet thus making the house cleaner. That however fails to take into account that while the yarn stash is dwindling the scarf/hat/mitten stash is growing. I would say, but I'm OBVIOUSLY going to wear all of this stuff/too many knitted goods is better than too many useless yarn balls, but I do live in the desert where the winter is terminally short, so maybe that's not the best argument.

The other major problem with the knitting addiction is that I have NO attention span. While I can sit and knit for hours, I can't sit and knit the SAME THING for hours. I'm an instant gratification kind of girl.

It goes something like this:
I start knitting something lacy and pretty with a fingering yarn and teeny tiny needles. I get about 50 lines out of the way and get antsy that I'm not getting it done fast enough. So I'll pick up a slightly thicker yarn/slightly bigger needles and start again with a different pattern. This will keep my attention for about the same 50 lines, then once again I'll move on to bigger yarn and bigger needles. This cycle continues to repeat itself until I end up using the super big 50g needles and can whip something out in about 5 minutes. At the end of the day I have one finished project and 3 to 6 others in various stages of completion.

Mind you, this is what I've taken up doing while Goose is at work. When she leaves the house is spotless. She returns home a few short hours later to find the entire living room strewn with my various knitting accoutrements, half finished projects I've since lost interest in, and a giant mess of yarn. The yarn mess however, is not entirely my fault as my dear sweet, sweet cats tend to help with that aspect of this whole mess. The result is a nonplussed Goose, standing in the doorway staring at the disaster area I've managed to create, wondering where on earth her nice clean home has gone.

I'm a bad wife.
I know this.
But in my defense, she knew I was a woman of intense and fleeting interests when she met me, so this shouldn't be entirely out of the realm of the imaginable for her.

I DO miss my reading though. Audiobooks just aren't the same.

Pictures soon dear friend. If you want something made, now is the time to let me know!