I have a yarn problem.
I suppose the first step is admitting it, but I’m sure some step in there is supposed to be doing something to alter the issue, and I see no impetous within me to do that.
Going to Michael’s is like Christmas; there’s all that beautiful, soft yarn in all those different plys and brands, and everywhere you turn, you can envision a thousand products stemming from all that yarn. I look at the thin, circly yarns and see loose, fall scarves. I look at the Red Heart, my go-to for its durability and stableness, and see a ton of amigurumi animals. I look at the baby yarns and see blankets and footsies and hats for some child I’ll have ten years from now. I look at the bulky yarn and see winter scarves, hats, gloves, warmth and cuddling by the fire and warm tea when I get home from a long day’s work and an even longer bus ride. (My fiance finds the fisherman’s wool, every time, and sees a cableknit, zip-up sweater, that he insists upon making himself. He hasn’t even finished a knitted washcloth yet.)
Today, I headed straight toward a newly discovered type of yarn, one I just started using for my new line of “collector” teddy bears, and saw a new bear in every single color. I believe I ended up purchasing twelve different colors, not because I couldn’t decide, but because I kept deciding I needed that color, too. I have to wait to start making those bears (you know, life and all. Psh.) but I’m so excited.
Moral of the story: My fiance isn’t crazy (at least, in this respect). He’s the one who has the right of it–craft stores are all about the possibility; creating something with your own hands. It’s like magic.