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Knitting Craze

I started out only doing it on weekends. It could have been the trance-like state that came over me or the visions of rainbow colored yarn that danced in my head, but I was hooked and come Monday morning in class signs of my “use” were beginning to show. I could hardly hold a pencil in my hand since it left my grip cramped and twisted into a perpetual C-shape I just couldn’t shake.

So hands trembling, I tried to scribble my name in the right hand corner while my pencil clattered repeatedly to the floor embarrassingly, revealing to the class I was beyond “recreational” and far into “abuse.” I tried to hide under scarf after scarf, but I was drowning. I was drowning in 24 yd. rolls of yarn. “Looks like Rita's been into the needles again-knitting needles that is.”

Yes, I admit it; I’ve been a knitter since ‘01. One summer I got a little bored and my grandmother got me started with a few novice projects (dish towels) and quickly my appetite grew till I had two hand-knitted pink slippers in my collection.

I thought it was strictly a summer fling, something I would throw off and abandon like my incomplete collection of state quarters or like every morning when I tell myself I’m going to finish reading at least one full article in the paper. But once I noticed my classmates were in to it… I knew I wanted more. And now ironically, I’m knitting a scarf for my grandmother, asking myself where did my youth go? Unfortunately I’ve spread this sickness to fellow classmates. Go under, then over and pull the yarn tight, I instruct them. Then before I can suppress the monster I’ve created, wool-weighted yarn is flowing intravenously through their veins and their asking people on the streets if they can bum a stitch. While some say that knitting will pass me by and be a fixation of winter boredom, I look forward and onward to the projects of summer-the hand-knitted flip-flops, the softly woven visor or perhaps even the sleek crocheted bathing suit.

It’s clear to me that I’ve hit rock bottom. I’m now sneaking rows in the back of class during long lectures when my teacher’s not looking. I thought my grades might have improved when a kid taught me how to use pencils as needles and scribbling notes in between stitches in order to “multitask,” but it got to be a little precarious when I started working on Afghans.

Once a couple feet of periwinkle blue yarn unraveled itself and trailed behind me like toilet paper stuck to my shoe. Embarrassing? I could have strangled myself with it.

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