sinking friendship.

I had my second, and final, knitting class the other night. I'm now seven rows into my first scarf. I had big intentions of making my first knitted item a gift for someone, but I can see now that with my arthritic fingers and spazmobility, it won't really be worth giving. Besides, by the time I finish, it will be May, and who wants a scarf in May?

The second class was actually not as wonderful as the first. In the first class, you may remember, I was the only one of three women to have never before attempted to knit. That was where I had the revelation that there are people in this world who thrive on being better at something than anyone else. Unfortunately for the two women besides me, they were both like that. Chaos ensued as I tried desperately to keep up. I am nothing if not an overachiever, and the teacher was falling all over herself to keep me interested. I got enough compliments to really get me excited for the next class.

The official second class was cancelled because of weather, so I had the option of attending a make-up class (which conflicted with something else) or going to the second session of the "Making Mittens" class. The Mitten class was filled with young, sarcastic, wonderful mitten-making women who just barely knew what they were doing. The teacher had to cut back on complimenting me in order to keep them on track. Best quote of the evening: "Gloves are like mittens, but with lots of thumbs. Thumbs of varying length. And no finger compartment."

One of them, Melanie, seemed particularly interested in talking to me, since we were the only ones in the class who weren't part of the weird Organic Chemistry clique at the other end of the table. We seemed to hit it off okay during the parts of class when the teacher left the room.

I was scheduled to meet Marc for dinner afterwards, and I contemplated inviting Melanie along, since the restaurant was right around the corner. But at the end of class, as I was putting my seventeen layers of outerwear back on, Melanie was suddenly engrossed in her work, not even glancing up to say goodbye.

During the long walk back to my car, I reasoned that we probably wouldn't have hit it off, anyway, even though I really wanted her to be "my friend I met in knitting class."

In these months of having few local friends, I've developed an uncanny ability to live an entire experience without ever starting it. I imagined our first fight, the disagreement over whether acrylic-wool blend yarn should really be considered a natural fiber. She probably likes to eat shrimp. I bet she loves Nelly. Oh well.

I never used to be like this. I was an ugly cloud of cynicism, yes, but with a big thick silver lining of hopefulness. I am the worst introvert ever. At least I have my knitting. Oh, God. Just shoot me.