More expensive than wine, but cheaper than therapy

To say the last several months have been stressful is an understatement. I'm practically pooping diamonds, I'm in such a constant state of clench. In fact, on Saturday I finally succumbed to a nap (something I almost never do, for fear of missing something good), because after a week of looking after my mom and dad solo, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck then run over with a steam roller cartoon-style. My whole body ached. Slipping into blissful unconsciousness was such a welcome relief.

But since naps aren't always an option (really, I hate missing stuff), and vodka/wine/cocktails are (or should be) limited to happy hour, and I can't really afford therapy at the moment, I found something else...

First, there was Knitmap, a searchable yarn store directory I stumbled across one afternoon when I probably should have been doing something more productive.

And from there, Spun Fibre Arts, which is, incredibly, just minutes from home.

Minutes. From. Home. And I never knew.

My Beloved accompanied me on my maiden voyage to Spun a few weeks ago. He heard my contented sigh upon entering, and patiently followed me around the room while I touched everything I could put my little paws on, oohing and ahhing all the while.

I told him he could sit (there are couches in the middle of the store that are probably meant for knitting & crocheting class purposes, but certainly must frequently double as a man waiting area), but he said he wanted to watch me finger yarn.

Which sounds dirty, but really isn't. I swear.

I think it had just been that long since he'd seen me that content - lost in something that didn't involve old people on dialysis and my ever-present fear of the call.

I left the store with $40 worth of the most gorgeous baby llama yarn in soft lavender, and a buzz that I can only say rivaled a hit of Valium with a red wine chaser.

It was like they were pumping antidepressants in through the air system, the way they pump oxygen into casinos in Vegas.

I have simply not felt that relaxed in months. Months, people.

I have to think it actually had something to do with petting the yarns. It was almost meditative, moving slowly through the store from cubby to cubby, looking at all the delicious colours and touching each different flavour.

Yarn touch therapy. Is that a real thing?

If not, it should be.

Today I finally found a pattern worthy of my yarn, and started crocheting myself a rippled scarf. It's selfish to make something for myself out of the most gorgeous (and expensive) yarn I've ever bought, but it somehow feels right - like it's a continuation of the whole experience, which was so therapeutic, and so desperately needed.

So just for me.

Women don't do enough of this sort of thing. We're somehow biologically programed to look after others, and we spend an inordinate amount of time doing so, often at the expense of ourselves and our own precious peace.

So I'm telling you right now, go find your yarn store. Go find whatever it is that makes you feel the kind of contentment I felt that day at Spun, and do it - or eat it, or read it, or bake it, or sleep on it, or wear it. Whatever it is, just dooooo iiiiit.

Trust me.