And so it begins

Oh so tentatively, I begin.

After months of googling and ogling, it seems that in all walks, including the knitting world, Everyone Else is doing it. And if it's the thing to do, who am I to stand in the way of the ultimate yawning cavern of vulnerability open to Everyone Else armed with sticks, string, a computer and modem.

And so, I will begin to share (is this like group counselling, my lovely and stable husband wants to know?) my work, play, agony, triumphs, moments of inspiration and desperation, and other minutae with Everyone Else out there in cyberland. I just need to figure out how this works.

Yarn metaphor: this is something like getting a new ball of yarn and squishing your fingers straight into the middle to try and luck out and find that ever-elusive inside end, closing your eyes the whole time. You know you're likely to pull out a garbled ball that's far more than you need to begin, but that, once straightened out, has the starting place. And once finding the damnable starting point you need, after draping everyone you know within sitting distance (husband, kid, cat and dog included) with the lengths of yarn you don't need at the moment but know you will in the very near future (so don't move!), you just know you'll figure it out as it goes on the sticks and finds some semblance of order.

And so, eyes firmly squeezed open (peeking all the time), I am planting my fingers on this keyboard, finding the beginning (thank you Blogspot!), grabbing anyone around me who knows about blogging and I am making them stand and tell me (don't move!) what I need to know to get to the beginning so I can figure this out and hope like hell it gets me somewhere I want to be.

Order out of the snagged ball, that sort of thing. The snags will not win. I'll be back, and next time, I'm bringing sticks.