I know, "what was I thinking?" If I was drunk I could probably come up with a witty answer. But here in the dark depths of sobriety, I can't think of one.
And its true what they say (whoever they are) you may give up one addiction but you remain addicted. The obsession is merely replaced by another.
At the moment, I am jonesing for another glimpse of the patterns on ravelry.com. My knitting advisor/local wool shop owner/enabler Lisa, of The Naked Sheep, put me on to it when I presented myself blubbering ten minutes before closing time on a Saturday. No doubt she had already ministered to throngs of the knit-witless all day and was happy enough to put me onto this web-crack just to see the back of me. She wrote down the address, showed me how to sign up and directed me to the patterns page, patted me on the head and shoved me out the door with the flimsiest of cautionary tales: "You have to be careful, you can spend a lot of time and money on this one".
Oooooooooooooo.
My eyes are dry, my head is aching and my fingers are itching to knit a basket of fruit, a gecko or a snazzy carry-all that looks compellingly like a severed head with dread locks.
I had been able to pull myself away from the eBay vintage pattern section after only a few hours of contemplation. In fact, no, there is no one I know who would benefit from a circa 1971 hot pants and maxi length fringed vest combo in lime green and orange.
But ravelry.com is too fulsome, too mesmerizing. There are thousands of pages of scarves, sweaters and hats and socks. And don't you want to knit a leafy beet? Doesn't every living soulNEED to knit a leafy beet? And a tit. I can't even say that word out loud but I want to knit one now. Alright, probably two. What about sushi or a balaclava with an attached beard?
Oh G'd, make it stop, make it stop. Close my eyes and close my account. The kids need supper and I have to go to the drug store.
Where to I sign up for rehab?
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