Another post while the monster rainbow afghan grows and grows. And grows.
There’s a bit of a problem in my study. A bit of mission creep. The study is supposed to be home for all my work stuff (psychology books, journals, etc), and all my writing stuff, plus a spot of tedious admin. And all the sombre, brooding pictures that the Stoic Spouse dislikes. And my geology books and some of my fossils and rock specimens, the ones that would be small enough for the twinnage to use as food or lethal weapons if they got near them. It’s a dark little cave of a room, because as long as I’ve got a little lamp at my desk and a mug of green tea beside me, I can read and write contentedly.
But there’s an invader, a determined, fibrous invader.
Creeping around the room like ivy, along the tops of the bookshelves, over the desk and filing cabinet, creeping pretty much everywhere in fact, is yarn. Look!
(Bad photos due to darkness of room.)
And I write this as someone with a stash aversion. All this yarn is leftovers from projects or balls for projects I’m working on or am about to do. Where will it end? This has happened fast. How soon will our entire house silt up with spare yarn and we’ll be forced to move out and live in the garden shed? I foresee an advantage, however. Lined with yarn, this room will soon be the only place in the house that is blissfully warm.