I thought that I was above all that hoarding and buying yarn uncontrollably. I thought I was above all those crazy symptoms that the Yarn Harlot mentions in her blog.
I was wrong.
It only really hit me as I started to sort through all the stuff in my room. I am currently living in the basement, and my grandparents are living in the room that I used to call mine. That's not that important. What matters is that they have the boxes where I stored my yarn. "Stored" being the operative word here. Somehow, part of my stash migrated down into the basement with me, but really, that's rather understandable, given that that's where I spend most of my time. It wouldn't do, sneaking into the room where my grandparents are sleeping just to grab that one last skein for a project. Even if my grandma is a knitter, she won't understand. I thought I had everything under control.
But then I started looking around the house. There's a pair of unfinished socks in the main room, for when the women gather to do some type of craft after dinner. There's another pair of socks in my backpack (for when I have to sit on the train for an hour) and the car (in case I get stuck somewhere). There's pieces of the blanket I'm knitting for my grandparents in the living room, and another project hanging out near the couch where I'm sleeping.
I've skipped right from "who can tell that I have yarn?" to "Going out into the street in order not to be within ten feet of yarn".
Lesson learned: Yarn is far more addictive than I have given it credit.
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