My OCD is worsening!

A gift of a shawl

I’ve turned down dinner invitations, ignored the phone calls and messages, even stayed up till 2am. I’ve even given up snacking. What condition do I have, you may ask, that has me obsessing so compulsively? I’ve found a name for my disorder, it so happens, and there are others who share my malady. It’s called Obsessive Crocheting Disorder, and despite an aching swollen thumb, I can’t stop.

It started as a lark, when I discovered that there was really cool looking stuff that I could crochet, not those lacy doilies that were associated with little old ladies. So I embarked on putting together a colorful afghan for my son, B, who went “Wow!” when he saw it. I also crocheted a scarf that was meant for his girlfriend but he intended to appropriate it for himself if she didn’t want it.

And so it has gone. Trawling Youtube videos for interesting designs and tutorials that I can follow. No, I can’t read the written patterns and graphs and have given up trying. I have picked though the yarn aisles of my local craft shop and made the acquaintance of every ball of yarn they carry. I even went first thing in the morning on Christmas eve because I needed more of a yarn that I was using, and again on Boxing Day because they were having a sale on the yarn I was eyeing. In a frightening short period of time, I have accumulated three, no, four big bags of yarn.

I’ve joined a crocheting group on Facebook and am glad to discover that there are others out there who share my obsession, men as well as women. They’ve even created acronyms for disasters that I thought I suffered alone. Like frogging, or “ripping out rows of crochet - rip it = ribbit”. I was horrified when I pulled out yarn from the center of a skein and discovered a tangled mess, but relieved that others had a name for it - yarn barf.

I’ve moved on from the afghan and scarf to a couple of shawls for friends. One who just celebrated her 60th birthday said that my gift was her favorite present! I have PHD - projects half done - lying around the house. I’m planning an outfit for Nom Nom, my son’s cat and a couple of throw cushions. I’m researching other kinds of crochet hooks that might be kinder on my fingers and can be taken on board flights. A handmade wooden one that has a supposedly ergonomic design costs as much as $99, and so I’ve ordered cheaper alternatives. And yarn, I can never have enough of the stuff.

When will I be cured of my obsession? I’m already neglecting work and chores and appointments. Perhaps when my fingers give out, I’ll have to take a break but until then, I’m a happy hooker!