We all know that knitting is an addiction, albeit one with no notable ill effects. So when a knitter is prevented from knitting, does he or she manifest a physical withdrawal syndrome? If so, what are the symptoms? What can be done, short of knitting, to allay the discomfort?
Well, due to a combination of poor choices (get thee behind me, Facebook!) and work duties, I did not touch my knitting for three days. I’ll give you a moment to absorb that. Three days. Seventy-two hours. Yes, folks: 4,320 minutes (I own a calculator, whoohoo!) What happened? The socks I am knitting for a swap and my library books ganged up to give me Deadline Angst. I do not particularly appreciate Deadline Angst from my hobbies. Deadline Angst is unavoidable if one is employed or a parent. One’s hobbies should be Relaxing, Fulfilling, and/or Fun, not Stern Taskmasters. So, this pleased me not.
Finally sitting down last night to turn the heel of the second swap sock went a long way toward making me feel better, but I found it hard to get my head around not knitting for that long. I am A Knitter. I Knit. Of course, I am a lot of other things too, but in the background, the knitter is always there (a nurse and I had a chat about the TKGA Master Program yesterday in the OR, waiting for a baby to be delivered by Caesarian section. They’re used to that where I work). Not knitting for three days almost constitutes an existential crisis. At the forefront sits the question: “If you’re not knitting, what’s with all that sock yarn you have??” As a countermeasure, I went out today and bought a 56 quart tub to contain my Three Irish Girls sock yarn, since the container I was using threatened to explode, scattering nylon-strengthened merino Hither and Yon (this is just the TIG yarn – I have much, much more. Much more.)
Hopefully this will give me a few months’ breathing room before having to start finding more creative hiding places for The Stash (Sock Yarn Edition). Or I could…knit more.