Almost since learning to knit two years ago, I have been afflicted with a serious case of yarn lust. I've always had the potential. I've never been able to walk through a fabric store without running my hand over the bolts of cloth and fantasizing, I've always loved buttons and fine papers, things that seduce my sight, touch and other senses.
I have boxes in my office closet of fabrics of vintages from my undergrad years to current. I have beads and pheasant hackles, art paper and jewelry findings, paints and markers, clay tools and macrame cord.
The yarn lust didn't overwhelm me immediately upon learning to purl. I'd learned to knit in grade school, but wasn't able to wrap my mind around purling until I went at it Continental style two years ago. The yarn for my first few projects came from my closet boxes (yes, I already had some yarn from college days as well as my Mother-in-law's antiquated stash) and JoAnn's. Then I discovered real yarn stores and all hope of abstaining from gratuitous yarn purchases was dead.
Now looking at my stash page on Ravelry, it shows I have 175 individual yarns stashed, 30 "used", 1 that I'm willing to trade or sell (anybody out there want 5 skeins bright red-orange eyelash yarn?) and 8 "traded/sold/gifted". Which makes a grand total of 214.
What's really sad is I think it's contagious... She's got a thing for alpaca. It's a good thing cats don't carry credit cards.