Yesterday I did a very impressive thing: I went into a nice yarn store, and I didn’t buy any yarn.

Some friends and I were at the Yarn Barn. I don’t know what happened the first time I was there, because it didn’t seem like a particularly exciting store. Yesterday was an entirely different story: glorious chubby hanks of bulky wool and alpaca, gorgeous locally dyed fleece and sock yarn, subtly variegated American wools and a rainbow of every flavor of Brown Sheep. We touched *everything*, perused their incredible book selection, and I only left with the spinning wheel repair kit I needed. And maybe a zippered notion pouch. My friends helped me think of ways reasons it was an essential purchase.

Today I am dutifully at home, knitting away on WIPs with the cats. I realized as I was updating Ravelry photos that I am so desperate to start something new because everything on the needles right now is in the middle bit. Each design is interesting and elegant and well-written, but there is a point in just about every knitting project where you just have to chug along until something happens.

Midtown needs another two inches on the back before I can get to the exciting slip-stitch patterned fronts.

Talamu is 1/3 of the way into a repeat, with the rows getting longer, so holding one’s breath for the next eyelet row would be a poor choice.

Jilted is one round past the point where you divide body and armholes, which means I have many inches of fingering-weight stockinette in the round before I get to (brace yourself) *ribbing*.

Oh darn. I’m getting angsty just listing all these out. Grumpiness and avoidance will not get me anywhere. With all these projects, the only way out is through. Wish me luck, knitters!