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I’ve always been one of those people whose desk resembles a battle zone. Back when I was teaching, I remember vividly the day where an administrator came in to observe me and couldn’t find enough room to set his tablet down because I had test papers, planners, notebooks, and my morning snack on my desk.

Post-It notes have been a key to my survival on many an occasion. They stand out when, quite frankly, my planner doesn’t. (I lost my planners two years running, then gave up and went electronic last year.)

It’s no surprise, then, that I was an early adopter and devotee of Ravelry; it’s a sort of social networking site for knitters, crocheters, weavers, and spinners. If you’ve never visited it, it’s amazing. You can browse as a guest, but it’s free to set up an account. Go to the “patterns” tab first thing when you log in. Then cancel all of your appointments for the rest of the day. I haven’t made as much use of the notebook feature as I should have been doing all along (I’m particularly notorious for copious notes and no pictures), but that’s my second-favorite part of the site.

So when Pinterest came along, I initially ignored it. Right, I told myself. Ravelry is perfectly fine for you. You have ADHD when it comes to crafting. Ravelry has everything you want and need. And then a colleague from the LYS invited me. I turned the app down when it wanted to convert my Facebook page to the New Timeline, then went back and tried to connect it with my Twitter account. The Twitter connection was even more spammy-sounding and unclear than Facebook – at least on Facebook I could limit my posts to only me seeing them – so I gave up and signed up for Pinterest anyway.

That was a mistake. I started with a couple of pins. And then a couple more. And before I knew it, I was in deep. I’m very proud that I’m avoiding pinning anything related to knitting, but the only thing that kept me from jumping up and running to JoAnn’s to look at sewing machines today was a stack of French 111 writing exams that needed to be graded. (Thank you, French 111. You saved my bank account.)

In the meantime, my husband decided we needed a free piano. The 400-pound console behemoth is now housed in our dining room, needs to be tuned very badly, and thankfully has a heavy keyboard cover so that Kidlette can’t just whip it open and start work on usurping Phillip Glass’s spot in music history.

Maybe a sewing machine isn’t so bad after all.