Stitch 'N Bitch: The Friday Night Knitting Club.

You know what's interesting? Things can be great, and then, right on schedule, I feel the need to seduce atrophy. I sigh, of course.

It's mirthful to think that after a while, people begin to wear on you. Judgment fatigued, expectations altered; even the most elementary of humanistic variables juxtaposed. For example, when you're hanging out with a group of individuals that knit all the time, you're slowly going to start inquiring about it, or better yet, find yourself wandering through Michael's looking for maroon-colored yarn. An unforeseen and equally unavoidable influence takes its toll, consuming, whether you approve or not. No matter how much I profess my independence and Hamlet-like true-to-self nature, in less than a month of close contact, I too, began to knit.

Unless someone points it out to you, you're never going to notice how skilled you've become at purling.

No, I don't know how to knit. And yes, making a point via metaphors has never been a proper mode of self-disclosure. However, I'm both ashamed and encouraged, roughed-up and ready; The dish washer droning on in the background even gives me hopes of a return (and clean dishes).

There are a few things I need to elicit from my once-upon-a-time disposition. I looked back over some of my older posts in a bit of a reflective state, playing doctor in search of a diagnosis.

I was patient, I was simple. I was sick, yet found a reason to trek to the educational kingdom. The reason goes on to be found with a talent to charm, not to mention firearm compatible, furthering to promote the theory of comfortableness. November. December. January.

Apparently, now I'm needy, I complain a lot, and in turn, I ask for too much. All I know is one month can kill you, as I am officially retracting my subscription to Knit 'N Style. Sorry ladies, but this plain-Jane has had an epiphany: reasons are far more important than scarfs or afghans.

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