Panic

So, life has been a little tumultuous since the beginning of 2007, and I was hit by this overwhelming panic about all of my UFOs.

"What if I died? I would have an entire room full of UFOs."

For the record, I'm not planning for imminent death; if you look at the current size of my stash as a measure of how long I think I'm going to live, it's at least another 120 years.

The honest truth is that it was a more than a little shaming to reveal a * fraction * of my UFOs to Ally when we [she] rearranged the furniture in my office/guest bedroom/yarn room. Normally, I would just be defiant and state that UFOs show that I am a process-not-product knitter.

Which is garbage. I am totally a product knitter. Sure, I enjoy the process, but I also really like zooming around town in my FOs. I also feel a certain swell of joy when I see others sporting my duds, if you will, but only in those rare occasions where I deign to knit for others. ("Others" not being Andrew or Mom.)

So now, I feel this odd panic about finishing my UFOs so that they're not haunting me, and all I really want to do is start new stuff and pretend the old stuff doesn't exist and isn't taking up valuable California real estate. Getting rid of some of the UFOs will also alleviate some of my stash guilt/ Andrew sighing when I buy new things.

Example:

Me: Oooh! [XXX company] has new [XXX yarn]!
Andrew: * sighs deeply *
Me: [Unhappy feeling in stomach, realizing that I have more yarn in my office * alone * than some stores I have shopped at.] Ok, I'll order some. [Retail therapy gets rid of unhappy stomach.]

So here it is, in print. I'm going to finish some UFOs. I'm going to get it together and get it done. If you see me working on something new, feel free to mock/abuse/[insert your verb of choice here] me.

Unless it's socks, then leave me alone. Those are transitory projects and thus, necessary.

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