Buy a yarn on the internet because you like what it is named. Force Rachael to deliver it to you so you don't have to wait for shipping. Also because this means Rachael has to meet for dinner, which means bonding time.
Pet the yarn for a week or more. It is yours now. It is like a baby you don't have to feed.
Resolve to begin knitting. Take your yarn and place it on a swift. Notice that it has only one tie. Mutter under your breath that one tie had better not mean thousands of knots. Use a ball winder to wind the yarn. Discover continuous problems because there was only one tie holding the yarn in place when it was twisted into the hank. Swear profusely.
Spend one hour untangling the yarn. Call family members into room to press "Continue Playing" button on Netflix because it has decided to stop and check if you're still alive when you actually are and you don't need Netflix to keep judging your lifestyle. Finish untangling.
Go outside to collect wood because you forgot and there's a library display that needs it. Remove corpse of dead toad from driveway. Cry.
Rewind the yarn on the ball winder to make it look like an actual yarn cake.
Pick a pattern. Decide to make many changes to the pattern, because it is clearly flawed, despite the fact that every finished project made using the pattern is gorgeous.
Look for needles. Discover that the size needed is currently being used by fellow knitter with whom you live. Grab a random needle and cast on. Discover that gauge is too loose. Grab another random needle. Repeat as necessary until happy with gauge.
Use old favorite hat to determine finished measurements of new hat.
Change mind and grab several other hats all of which have different elements that make them ideal.
Carry all hats with you as you knit. Become known as crazy hat-lady who keeps four hats inside her purse at all times, not counting the hat-in progress.
Realize that this might be why you're still single. Shrug. Continue Criminal Minds marathon until hat is complete. Repeat as necessary until spring.