I love yarn.
I come by this love honestly. My mother also loves yarn and instilled in me a respect for yarn that borders on worship.
My mother is a knitter and crocheter, while I am a needlepointer. She, at one time, had about 15 garbage bags full of wool in our front porch/storage room. Most of it was beige, which she would buy in bulk if she found it on sale, in case she "ever wanted to make another beige afghan". She had enough beige wool to make about 10 extra large afghans. She also had bags of crocheted granny squares, waiting to be sewn together into afghans. She had quantities of sock yarn, baby yarn, variegated yarn, cotton yarn, itchy wool yarn, acrylic yarn, novelty yarn.
When mom downsized to an apartment, she got rid of most her wool, which I think was more difficult for her than selling her house. Still, she has devoted a good portion of her present closet space to wool, and continues to buy it. It's a sickness. And she passed it on to me.
I love needlepointing. It's very calming. I used to work in a needlepoint store for the discount and just to be near all those scrummy colours of wool. When the shop closed down, my boss sold me, at very very deep discount, all of her remaining Paternayan Persian wool. Sometimes I take it out of the pillow cases I store it in, just to look at it.
I also love my pyjamas, as you can see from the photo. My pyjamas have cup cakes on them.
I have more wool on backorder from a couple different needlepoint outlets in order to finish a couple of large projects I've started. It's hard to get certain colours sometimes.
It's hard to be me.