I honestly believe I could become addicted to anything--eating poop, dusting, taking baths--if I try hard enough. I'm just hard-wired that way, I suppose. So now, after having eschewed alcohol, cigarettes, and (for now, anyway), sex, what's left?
Knitting.
My head hurts (shades of a hangover, as far as I can remember), my eyes are heavy, and everything feels slow...all because I stayed up until 3:30am knitting a sock. While watching "In Treatment" on DVD (cheaper than therapy, anyway, and Gabriel Byrne still looks pretty good--what a mouth...).
Now, c'mon--it's ridiculous, right? You see a middle-aged woman knitting a sock, what do you think? "Awww, isn't that quaint? She's knitting a sock." Harmless, right? Wrong. It's lethal. And the later it gets, the sloppier I get. Drop a stitch? Eh. Who'll see it but me? And this coming from an avowed anal-retentive perfectionist, so you know something's up.
So now I'm at work, trying to finish something that's due tomorrow. And I will slog through it, and do my best. But that sock. That damn sock. It calls to me...
