I keep flitting from needles to needles, from yarn to yarn, from pattern to pattern. I figured that a waterfall scarf would be a bit of a waste of baby alpaca and would not showcase the variegated yarn particularly well. And now I am off to start again, this time following a drop-stitch pattern. I will have to stick to this one, else my knitting friends will start wondering whether I am ever going to finish anything (hey, surely the washcloths count, right?). I may well end up unable to buy any more yarn until I make it back to the shop with something, anything, which I made with the hundreds of miles of wool I already bought.
Problem is... there is always a ball that promises to be the crystal ball of all yarn balls, the one that will change my knitting life if only I purchased it and took it home. Since the last time I promised myself (and my friends) that I would not buy any more yarn until I have used it all, dammit, I have acquired another eleven balls. Yes, I like that, acquire. I don't buy yarn, I acquire it. It follows me around and manages to fall into my bag so that when I get home and open it I find it there, staring up at me, all mo-hairs quivering under my over-excited breath. It's like acquiring nephews or nieces you see, with the great advantage that if you don't like what you are doing with it, you can rip it to pieces and start again. I cannot say to be so lucky family-wise, even though the 'ripping to pieces' does come to mind sometimes.
