I confess that I am a little stressed out over my
knitting.  I can tell because I keep
hitting a sort of “knitter’s paralysis.” 
I sit down with my four knitting bags surrounding me and there is a
perfectly balanced gravitational pull acting upon me from my 7 (or 8 maybe – if
you count the Owl Cable Gauntlets that are in an embryonic state – and is there
any more potent pull than that of an embryonic project?  I should count it twice!) or maybe 9 active
projects – such that I cannot move. 

It is like the Vulcan Death Grip.  I start to reach for the Cabled Hat and am
stopped by an invisible force emanating from the bag where the Owl Q’mitl is
snuggled up with the embryonic Gauntlets. 
The pull from the Baby Kimono is thwarted by the force of the Green
Sweater.  And as I lean ever so slightly
toward the Bridgeport Fingerless Gloves, I hear Gwen’s Dress crooning like a
mermaid (from across town at Sarah’s house!).

Pretty soon my eyes are bugging out and my breath is ragged
and my fingers are twitching in empty air. 

So, I go make my Christmas card list or email my friend who
has a new grandson or throw a load of laundry in the washer.  And walk calmly back to the knitting bags,
look at them sternly, smile at them sweetly, sigh a little (best to keep them
guessing) and sit down, close my eyes, and grab.