True Confessions of a Craft Compulsive

I decided that it might be time to tackle Mount Fabric. Even though I have enough scrubs to outfit an army of brightly colored nurses (think of my "magpie on crack" yarn buying tendencies...okay...now just transpose that onto a set of scrubs and from there into a medical office.....yeah. That bright colored blur you see just before your retinas sizzle away is me. At my last job, I considered the day a success if Dr. S looked me up and down, stared me in the eyes for a second, and then slowly and wordlessly shook his head while walking away. A girl has to have something to shoot for.), I am forced by the sheer volume of collected fabric to create still more. I think we can all agree that my unfortunate tendency to collect the tools and supplies of whatever craft has currently caught my glittering, fevered eye would seem to suggest that I would be better off hobbyless, or at least with one that doesn't encourage this sort of behavior.

The problem, of course, is that pretty much any hobby I can think of that would interest me either produces something, or requires something, or both. Okay, there's barehanded fighting...but I don't think that's really me. (I mean, notwithstanding the time that woman thought SHE should have the last skein of Mountain Colors Bearfoot yarn. Besides that time.)

What to do? Gardening? No--besides the fact that I am human plant death and all things green in a 40 mile radius know to fear me, there is the fact that I could quite easily collect plants. Seriously. I don't know just how many plants would fit in our 2 acres...but I'll bet I could find out with surprising (and alarming) speed.

Baking? Been there. At least you can't really collect ingredients, but ask me about my cookbook collection. Or worse--the size of my ass after a year of this hobby. I think...not so much.

Painting? This is wrong on many levels. For one thing, I cannot draw or paint a recognizable item to save my life. If all flowers looked like a stick with a bunch of loopy things on top, I still couldn't draw one. And, while the idea of new, avant garde methods of creating art does have its appeal (water balloons full of paint hurled at a canvas via slingshot, maybe...), let's not pretend I wouldn't collect colors and shades of paint, as well as brushes and, no doubt, slingshots. Same thing for dying yarn (without the slingshot).

Spinning. Now I have given this one some thought. Sure, I'd collect fiber to spin, and certainly I'd end up with an abundance of both it and the finished yarn. But I believe it would take me awhile to spin fiber into yarn and perhaps I could at least sloooow the accumulation down. (I know that many of you know better...allow me my brief moment of hope.)

Birdwatching would work okay...if I liked watching birds, and if it didn't seem especially cruel to lure them to my house with all the hairy serial killers.

Underwater basketweaving? Nah. I don't really need to start collecting baskets...especially soggy ones. I mean, what could you put IN them?

Now I do like to write...and I'm forced to admit that I need only a computer, or even a notebook and a few good pens with which to do it. Problem is...then what would I write about? If I can't write about my crazed excesses....what is there?

You see my dilemna, and why I am forced to spend much of today dismembering the Cloth Everest. I gotta admit, though...that doesn't sound like a totally BAD thing. Hours of toys and pretty colors--I'm a simple creature, clearly.

Now, for those of you who are wondering whether I have rhubarb wounds today, I do not. Mr. K kindly saved me from that sticky fate by not putting the new blades on the lawn mower until late last night, the result of which is:

I started a friend for it, too. I wish the pattern could be continued onto the foot, but an adventure involving an hour or two of time, half a ball of yarn, and some very colorful language have proven that the sock must twist for the design to be true. Since my foot does not....it was a problem. Today it is raining, so the mowing must once more be delayed. (No, I did not pay someone for the rain...but I would have if I'd known where to send the check.)

Lastly, I offer some kitty cheesecake (and beefcake) for Monica and Marianne and anyone else who adores the fur people like I do. Firstly, Ed, who is clearly much smarter than the average cat:

Miss was in her usual spot:

While Grace....well, let's just say Miss Gracie is not in a posing mood this day:

Definitely a "talk to the butt" sort of moment.