I have a problem. I'm addicted to yarn.
Kristan, lovely willowy Kristan, was in town a few weeks ago. She has spent the last year teaching highschool English/Creative Writing (forgive me if I have that wrong) and mentioned that one of her favorite submissions for a creative nonfiction essay was from a girl admitting her yarn addiction in just that 12-step manner. For the afflicted, like myself, it's a perfect descriptive match. I'm stealing it from a 14 year old.
I've been adherring to a new yarn-buying rule: I cannot purchase new yarn until all UFO's (UnFinished Projects) are completed. Including the ones I was bored with months ago. Including the gauge mistakes. Including the bad ideas.
My list of UFO's includes a set of pillows intended as a house warming gift for a friend who has since moved again. An armless baby sweater that will no longer fit that particular baby (soon to enter middle school??) is at the bottom of the pile. A granny-square blanket, all squares complete, awaits my still unfound patience to piece together 40 pieces. In a plastic bag, in the back of a cold dark drawer, are the sad componants of a teddy bear...one leg laying near his little disembodied head.
I've made some progress...last night, I completed the '"In exactly what light did THIS color combination look good?" Toddler Spring Sweater. I'll keep you posted.