My sister moved back to Atlanta last weekend and, being the dutiful child that I am, I went over to my parents house to help with the unpacking. (She's staying at my parents house for a week and moving into her apartment this weekend. The fun never stops.) The plan was for them to leave at noon, hopefully to arrive at home around sixish. Well, they didn't leave until about 2:30, stranding me at my parents house alone for two and a half extra hours. Fortunately, I had brought my Dancing Flames socks, intending to finish them that night. Because I was so determinged not to be distracted, I had brought only the socks and no other knitting. (You see where this is going, don't you?)
I did, in fact, finish the socks that evening, and as I tried them on to admire them, a sobering thought sank over me: I had no other knitting. I was trapped alone, with two hours until other humans would arrive, and no knitting. (And my parents live 45 minutes from me, so while driving home to get more knitting and driving back was technically possible, it wasn't really practical.) I spent the evening sprawled prostrate and grumpy on the couch in front of the TV, flipping back and forth between Discovery Channel ("How It's Made") and VH1 ("I Love the 80's"), eating everything in sight and muttering, "Bored. Bored. Bored. Bored. BORED." It was not pretty. Next time, I'll pack more yarn.
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Oh my stars, I have been there so many times. Almost always have something with me if there is even the slightest chance to knit which usually means it does not work out. Then the one time I know without a doubt I will not have time to knit, I do and have nothing.
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