I'm officially getting panicky. It's four days since the "itchy fingers" post. I have a ball of yarn the size of a modest hazelnut left on the Fan and Feather scarf. And nothing else on the needles.
God help me, I've become addicted this quickly. In November, I didn't know a DPN from a circular, a knit from a purl. All I knew is that I hated knitting. I'd tried it and it was too hard. Crochet was much simpler... one hook, one string. I was all about the quick results.
Then, at a book signing, Her Nibs the Yarn Harlot herself suddenly made me ashamed of my non-knitter status. I think she was a little surprised I even had the temerity to step through the doors of Yarn Forward considering the avid mob with so many pointy sticks at their disposal. She greeted Lisa and I warmly and made us feel totally welcome, but I swear she made this little voodoo finger gesture under the table as she charmed us utterly. I dreamed of knitting socks for days afterwards.
Her work is now complete. Here I am, 9 months post-Harlot, jonesing for some new knitting. Getting right irate because I didn't have the time to begin anything new, looking with soft fondness at the yarn on the table beside the couch. (That's another sign, I suppose. I am now considering yarn to be an interior decorating accent. And I made DH switch our traditional sides of the couch with me so I could have the better lighting.)
The rabbit hole is so soft and cozy and welcoming. I don't want to stop falling.
Enough typing. Supper dishes are cleaned, the house is quiet, and I have a well-lit couch and a basket full of pretties to attend to.
PS... See you at the bottom of the rabbit hole, Velda. Nice yarn, by the way.