I love crocheting. I really do. There is a challenge in deciphering instructions that makes the cogs in my brain creak and turn. It’s calming once I’ve stopped raging at what feels like my own stupidity when I’ve frogged the first few rows for the fifteenth time and it starts looking more like the finished project. Then as the project grows before my eyes, I find myself being amazed at the creativity I possess, gaining confidence with myself as a human being.
Since the yarn is so thick it didn’t take much time. But she did gobble up almost five skeins of yarn! And now that I have the pattern memorized, it was so easy! All I can do is gush about my new friend.
I actually have a normal hobby, believe it or not. I enjoy crocheting. The possibilities are endless when it comes to creating something with my hands. I still consider myself a beginner even though I have several intermediate projects either done or as works in progress.Whether its the texture or color of the skein I have in my hand as I stand in the yarn section of the local Walmart or the colorful pattern I found online, it sends thrills through my body. And it’s something tangible I can show people. I can’t do that with my writing because my writing hobby is just for me; a story I have created to escape the stress of living in the real world.