Yesterday I was talking to Big D, and he expressed amazement at the amount of yarn I have squirreled away in my little apartment. He saw it all at my most recent wine-n-cheese party when someone else (a fellow knitter) asked to see my yarn stash. I'm always talking about how much yarn I have, and she was convinced that I was exaggerating mightily. But when I started pulling it all out (of the big wicker basket, the 3-tiered storage container, and the half-dozen large tote bags), she was properly chastened and admitted that I have a lot of yarn. Big D said I should just admit that I'll never get around to knitting with all of it and sell it on-line. It is tempting, because I could use the money, but I love the yarn too much. There's a story associated with every skein and ball. It's the story of my adult life, written in fiber. I just can't give it up. Yes, I have a problem.