Where My Knittas' Is At . . .

There are lots of things about me that often confound people. I promise to address most of them at some point in any relationship that I develop that goes deeper than you reading my blog but the one that is perhaps MOST confusing the people is that I love to knit.

I know. I know. Take a minute. Let it soak in. It does not make sense (in your defense). And here's the thing . . . I said I LOVE to knit. I did not say I'm GOOD at it.

When I was young and in therapy for the first time (I have lost count but I think I'm on round eight) my counselor suggested I find ways to settle my brain, focus, and feel empowered when I got frustrated. I tried a number of disciplines. Tennis against a wall. Counting syllables in the things I say. Memorizing the state capitals. Getting very good at simple addition and subtraction of large numbers. Feverish masturbation (still practicing this one). Many of them have been short lived pursuits that didn't provide the relief I need.

Knitting has. If you were to come to my apartment and snoop around you would find a world class collection of pornography, some lotion in the bucket (for its skin or it gets the hose), and about 40 feet of what (w/c/sho)uld be scarves. But it is not. No one will ever wear or stay warm from my craft but I can say that LOTS of people have avoided sad, grumpy, angry, moody, yelly, disruptive Sean thanks to my crappy should-be scarves and that should count for something.

Everyone is capable of something. Everyone can learn new tricks and solutions to problems. Everyone can be happy if they just dial out the noise and focus in on something and maybe . . . just maybe . . . you'll eventually get enough benefit from your effort to have a wearable scarf.