how knitting took over my life

Seeing as it is Grandparents Day, and this obsession is greatly due to one of my grandparents, it feels apt.

When I was about nine or so, my Great Grandmother Yolanda sat me down to teach me how to knit. She graciously handed me a long pair of size 8 needles (of which I will always cherish) and a decent size ball of yarn. With one needle tucked in my armpit, she slowly and patiently showed me how to form knit stitches. I'm sure they were very wonky, but I don't remember. I, being a perfectionist, have reused much of my early work. I do remember that at first, I didn't get it. I practiced all the time, and still my stitches were wonky. So I tucked the needles and the yarn in the back corner of my closet, and promptly forgot about it. Some several months went by, and, after being forced to clean out said closet, I found the needles and yarn, project still in mid row. But I couldn't remember what I was supposed to do. I decided that I would go to my school library and see what they had on the subject. I found the only two knitting books in my entire elementary school library, and took them home. I studied them like no other book. I had practically memorized them by the time I returned them, 2 renews later. So I ripped out the entire project that was on the needles, and slowly began casting on again, working each stitch slowly and perfectly. Suddenly, I got it. Like being hit by a train, I knew how to knit! It all made sense! And that's when all my trouble began. I knit all the time. I would finish my homework, and go knit. I would spend whole weekends just knitting away. I would ask for yarn for my birthday and for Christmas. I would knit during theater rehearsal, I started knitting in class. I knit my way through Honors Biology sophomore year. I had the highest average in the class. And now I'm here, knitting my senior thesis. Some people are born to do things. I was born to knit.

Thanks Grandma Yolanda! It's all your fault.