That is, a Fiber Junkie Monkey. I have a problem. I like my 'problem' and am not looking to kill this addiction just yet, but it seems to be a problem none-the-less. (Don't ask Bonez his opinion, tho.)

I like fiber [read: yarn]. Lots and lots o' yarn. And patterns. And needles. I fool myself thinking that I'll just pick up some yarn for this one little project. Then, as I browse through the store touching and squeezing ('cuz that's what ya' gotta do in a yarn store), I seem to be in a fiber induced zombie state. I get to the register and POW! I'm forced back into reality by handing over my monies for a big pile o' yarn. Wha-wha-what? How did this happen? Where did all this yarn come from?

Okay, so maybe not so much. I'm conscience and aware of what I'm doing the whole time. I bargain and argue with my inner accountant and task master about how these skeins would make a great [insert hand-knitted item] for [insert name of friend, family member, or body part]. I plead with them, trying to use the über softness or awesomeness of the yarn to my advantage. Skeins are put in the basket; skeins are taken out. There's a bit of compromising that goes on, but for the most part I get my way. And no, I'm not crazy - it just sounds that way.

So that's my confession of being a Fiber Junkie. How's the 'monkey' part come in? Well, adding "monkey" to most anything makes it funny and good. Silly, monkeys.

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