I was digging in my stash yesterday, hoping to swap some yarn with a friend. Let me tell you, it wasn't a pretty moment of self-reflection.
There were probably only about three bunches in sweater quantities; the rest were one skein or less--picked up on sale or on whim or on work avoidance or on life avoidance.
Dozens of tiny little nubbins of yarn--too small to do any one project with, but enough to make a stripe on a charity hat--came popping out of each bin as I opened the lid.
Nothing at all popped out that I thought was worthy of inserting into someone else's stash. No wonder I've been buying yarn lately.
Last night was the the yarn equivalent of standing in front of my closet and thinking, "I hate every single piece of clothing I own."
You know you've been there.
Currently on the pins--a Mardi Gras scarf that is helping keep me in my seat to do class prep. Unfortunately, while I have figured out how to knit and read, knit and watch movies, knit with my eyes closed, I have yet to figure out how to simultaneously knit and write thoughtful, nurturing comments on crappy essays.