I want Malabrigo!

Sometimes I am very spoiled.

It usually stems from the desire to knit something and to knit that something right at the moment the whim strikes me.

I want, more than anything in the world, to knit something (anything, really) with the new Malabrigo yarn at the Shuttle Shop in Warsaw.

As a rule, I don't buy yarn when I have no plan for it. I must have a pattern or at least an idea of a pattern before I buy sweater yarn. I must have sock patterns in my Queue on Ravelry before I will allow myself to buy sock yarn (okay, that is just a lie. I pretend that's what I do). Today, when I dropped by the Shuttle Shop, I saw the Malabrigo yarn for the first time, felt it, and decided I must have some.

However, I have no idea of what to use it for. So I resisted temptation. I looked at the pretty yellow and reminded myself it would be idiotic to buy it, as I look hideous in yellow, like Emily Dickenson right before she dropped dead. At least, what I imagine she must have looked like before death. And we're talking the real photo of her, not the one her sister retouched to make her prettier. In short, I look pale, sickly, and with the dark circles under my eyes and my dark brown hair longer than it has ever been before, I do look like I have slid out of my own casket before leaving the house. Trust me, fans of Stephanie Meyer, if people really looked like the vampires she describes, they would look like me and that ain't pretty. You can see the blood vessels right through my pasty skin, and that makes me look tinged with blue. Not good. Not even a little.

Tan, you ask? My skin doesn't tan. It turns yellow. Which, when combined with the blue tinge, makes my coloring vary from yellow to sick green. Mmmm. That's bringin' sexy back. I long to fly to England every summer, to be with my own kind. In England, I wasn't the palest person at the beach. That feels good.

But I digress. The fact was, the yarn I wanted had no purpose, so I left it on the shelf instead of letting it sit in the yarn bowl (where pretty unknit yarn lives to liven up my room).

The store is supposed to have Malabrigo sock yarn, at a time that remains unspecified and at the whim of the UPS or Fed-Ex guy. I want that yarn. I have decided that is the yarn for me. I have a billion sock pattern queued. Fine, a little less than that, but a lot. And I must knit them with the Malabrigo, in a pretty semi-solid that will work for the Digitessa, because I think I have my problem with that figured out, finally.

So it must come, and it must come soon. I cannot live another week without it. I need it, like drug addicts need their crack. I must have that sock yarn, wound into a little ball of happiness and waiting for me to cast on.

I'm a little obsessive.

I will now distract you from my oddities with this:





It is a hat I knit for our recent cold spell.





See, now doesn't that just make you forget all the freakish things I just said? The kind of things that make you want to call a judge and get me declared non compis mentis so you can have me committed against my will? I hope so. Although, the idea of sitting around in a sunny dayroom, knitting with wooden needles while supervised so I don't harm myself or others sounds kind of nice.