[The following text is completely made up. The author doesn’t do drugs and has no psychological problems or hallucinations. Promise.]
It is a couple of days before my oral M.A. exam. I have finished Little M’s frog-like mittens the day before and am desperate to cast on another one. I sit in the library, working away on my texts, summarising and making notes, when the desire starts to creep up my spine.
Slowly, it tricks its way into my brain, spins a tight net and settles there. It rests for a moment, looks around, a triumphant smile on its face. Then, silently, it grabs the closest part of my brain and starts nagging on it.
›Mittens‹, it whispers inside my head. ›Little colourful mittens for children. Something nice and soft.‹
I shake my head and shrug it off. Try to concentrate and turn a page. The whisper won’t go away.
›Mittens‹, it says again. ›Little colourful mittens for children. Go and make them now.‹
I shift in my seat, it has become uncomfortable and scratchy. I twist the pencil in my hand. There it is again.
›Mittens!‹ The voice is pleasant and bears promises of unbelievable pleasures. ›Mittens! Little, soft mittens for children.‹
I look out of the window. It’s cold and grey. Five more days to go. I’d better get this text done.
›Mittens!‹ The voice inside of my head grows louder, it’s frustrated that I don’t give in immediately. ›Mittens! Colourful mittens!‹ The growl turns into a hysterical, high-pitched scream. ›MITTENS. COLOURFUL MITTENS! GO. MAKE. THEM. NOW!‹
I break. I almost jump from my seat, get my stuff into my little blue basket the university lends you and hurry down the stairs to my locker. I fish the key out of my pocket and my fingers tremble as I try to unlock the little orange-of-the-70s door.
Finally, it is open. I grab my bag, throw in the paper and the pens. I put on my jacket as fast as I can. The next moment, I’m out of the door and on my way to the tram.
Inside my head, the desire roars with triumphant laughter. It is jeering. ›MITTENS‹, the words thunder trough my head and body, ›LITTLE MITTENS!‹
The tram arrives immediately which doesn’t surprise me at all. It’s natural. The tram will take me to the place where I can buy supplies for little mittens. Colourful, little mittens. How nice. I feel calm now. I know already what kind of yarn I want to buy. It is brown tweed, with colourful little bobs and bits in it. Perfect for little mittens. Colourful, little mittens.
I get into the LYS and go straight to the shelf of the brown tweed.
It is sold out.
Now, I finally come to my senses.
›Don’t be so stupid‹, I think. ›The other colours are all too dark and not very good for children. Better go home and finish this te-‹
The desire in my head turns mad with rage, ›COLOURFUL LITTLE MITTENS! GO. BUY. OTHER. WOOL!!!‹
I swear, I couldn’t do anything about it. I was completely helpless. I walked round the LYS and eventually, my gaze fell upon a discountered skein of Schoeller&Stahl Mexiko Socka. I looked at the prize. 3.95€. I paid and went straight home …