Self Intervention

Caution: this post is full of deep thoughts and serious soul searching. I have a bad addiction to knitting, and no longer find this amusing. At all. I've read a lot of knitting bloggers and they all seem to have a slightly boastful tone when discussing the severity of their enslavement to yarn and needles. But why is an uncontrollable urge to knit any more acceptable than an uncontrollable urge to gulp alcohol? I hereby argue that knitting can be just as destructive. The other day at lunchtime, knitting in hand (of course), I flipped on the tube and happened upon a chilling reality program called "Intervention," which featured a stumble-drunk named Leslie passing out on the lawn in front of her numbed children. And other horrors. There was one scene where she crawled into bed with a bottle of rot-gut, mumbling, "I just want to get drunk!" That's when I turned off the TV and stared into space. Many a time, lately, I have figuratively (and, shamefully, literally) crawled into bed with my yarn, mumbling, "I just want to knit!" I suppose any activity which makes the world disappear is dangerous. I just spent three weeks of my life knitting a capelet that's cute, sure, but certainly not worth the time I didn't spend: paying attention to my darling husband, writing my next childrens' story, grooming my horse, tending my garden, sewing, drawing, reading, dreaming, organizing our bills, doing the laundry, cleaning the house, working out, washing my hair, putting on makeup, visiting friends and family. Some of the items on that list may sound even more boring than knitting, but they're essential to a happy life. What would I do with kids? Lock them in a closet till I finished the latest project? Maybe because I'm taking time off till next fall from my nursing career, knitting has become less of a refuge from (nonexistant) stress than some sort of strange avoidance sport. Whatever, but I definitely recognized myself in that husk of a woman on TV. So my vow for the upcoming Merry Month of May is to not knit a goddamn thing. Except the obligatory goddamn pink mother-in-law scarf. But that will be pure work, and as such, no threat to my sobriety.