Confession- I guess I can get a bit obsessive. Such as my need to wake up each morning during the colder weather and put on my writing sweater. It’s a comfy, cozy black cashmere hoodie. It goes with everything. It’s warm. It’s comfortable. Most importantly, it requires no thought on my part. I can throw it on with fleece pants, or jeans, or my pajama bottoms and if someone comes knocking at the door, I feel mostly dressed when answering it.
Well, I’ve worn it so much over the past few years that I now have holes in both elbows. Big ones. And I just noticed yesterday one starting under the arm. I’m heartbroken, and now torn. The husband strongly suggested I throw it out. Immediately. I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m trying to figure out how to patch the elbows–that’s a fashionable look, no?
Meanwhile, yeah, I guess I could replace it, but the child in me, the one who carried around the same baby blanket until it was also holey, doesn’t want to.
Right now I’m trying another one of my sweaters out, taking it for a spin to see if it’s worthy of becoming my new writing sweater. So far, not so good. It doesn’t match my PJ bottoms, it’s cut too slim to be uber-cozy comfy, and I haven’t written a word yet today except for this blog post.
I guess I’ll give in eventually. Suck it up and just buy a new black hoodie, but until then I’ll wear my holey sweater, look like a hobo, and mourn the day when it’s gone, thereby proving that writers are indeed a little bit nutty.