Dreaming of yarn

It's bizarre to nonknitters, how yarn finds its way into your life. I know any obsession is getting bad when I start dreaming about it. In the summer after high school, when Hughie and Faith and Ziggy and I sat around the Helpline Center in Lansdale, Pennsylvania, waiting for the phone to ring with somebody who needed help on the other end, we play pinochle.  Endless games of pinochle.  When I started seeing aces and kings and hearts behind my eyelids when I slept, I knew it was time to stop.

This morning I awoke with two things on my mind: the book I'm working on, and yarn--this yarn, in particular: Wollmeise Sanguinella.  It brings to mind tomato soup, not quite orange, not quite red.  Comfort food. As I got up, I thought: I could knit a shawl, and it would be my comfort shawl, the one I sink into when I need comforting.  I rarely wear shawls, but that's besides the point. And unlike my pinochle experience/obsession, I'm not giving this one up. I don't want to. And I can't. It could be worse...it could be a drug or food or gambling addiction. It's yarn! Yarn!