However, as a friend once said to me, too much of anything is good for nothing. And he was right. Some days my thumbs feel ready to fall off, and so I'm forced to take a break from crochet.
On those days, I go to my favourite coffee shop and treat myself to a latte. I don't drink coffee since the turn of the year, she lied, so this is an indulgence. I snoop around the charity shops and pretend not to buy. Books don't count. Nor do candles, scarves or any form of knitwear. That is just survival. And market research.
Zips, ribbon and yarn are boxed at floor level, I discover.
In the Oxfam book shop, I find I'm making a show of scanning the books in the Health and Medicine section, appearing nonchalant when a young student reaches forward for a title he actually understands. He'll make someone an eligible husband someday.
Not me, I remind myself as I edge away and return to the craft section. Not so eligible.
I suspect ladies who craft have a reputation for spending Saturday night weaving creations from their facial hair. Then boasting about it on Facebook on Sunday morning.
On the train home, I spy a window seat I have a burning desire to occupy at all costs and am delighted when it's still free after everyone else has filed in. Ah, I can definitely manifest my own reality, I think to myself.
But then I wonder, is my desire to fulfil my needs perhaps just utter selfishness, or maybe even an undiagnosed mental health issue? I get out my crochet and try not to glance around to see if people are watching.
Back home, I'm on social media again, round and around, from Gmail to Facebook to YouTube to Etsy https://goo.gl/WfHJjf, how many people are waiting for my reply. Not that many today, though still I circle.
Of course I begin to crochet again. I've abstained for a whole three hours. What I did for twenty minutes on the train doesn't count, and I think you know it.
Chevron Maxi Scarf pattern https://goo.gl/dSBrDd |
No comments:
Post a Comment