I just had a truly horrible experience.
I’d just finished the first chart on Little Birds, and was about to start on the first sleeve. ‘Hmm,’ I thought, ‘I know I only just started a new ball of yarn, but I should probably go check how much I have left.’
I couldn’t find it. I knew it was still in the mailing envelope, a rather fetching blue metallic number. I knew that there should be at least one ball of Heron and one of Laurel left in it. But I couldn’t find the damn thing anywhere. Not beside the futon. Not beside the bed. Not in my work bag (I didn’t think I’d taken them to work, but you never know). Not in the office. Not – and I don’t know why I checked, but I suppose it’s good to be certain – in the bathroom.
I spent about twenty minutes searching before I started to get teary. I wondered whether DG or I had absent-mindedly thrown it away. That’s obviously crazy talk, because that would imply either of us had done some housework. But not crazy enough to stop me gingerly examining the contents of the kitchen bin.
By this point I was pretty much tearing my hair out. I tried to convince myself to sit down and relax, maybe post an ‘I lost my :insert object:‘ tweet, which normally causes missing objects to re-appear. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even tweet. It was too serious a situation. This was wool, man. I cannot relax or spend time sending frivolous messages while wool is missing.
Eventually, I went back in the office, and in a moment of inspired desperation, rummaged deep in a box of miscellaneous wires and adapters for random electrical devices we probably don’t own any more. And there was my bag of yarn, sitting happily on top of a file of sewing patterns I didn’t even know was missing.
Why in the hell it ended up there I may never know. But at least now I can relax, and get started on my sleeves.