The guy sometimes liked to give me things that'd caught his eye curbside and that he thought I might use.
One afternoon he rescued a basket of lopi-weight yarn from a sidewalk and brought it over. Pleased as I was by this bit of ground score, I was worried about possible tenants and infestations, so immediately put everything in the laundry.
What came out of the wash was a gorgeous but exhausting-looking mass of greens, blues, browns:
Some disassembly required. Mamasan not included.
As I didn't feel up to the task of neatening up, I just let it sit. And sit it did, until yesterday, when I found that I had the proper mindset (just the right mélange of depression and anxiety) to render this menial task meditative enough to be satisfying.
So far, I'm about halfway through with this work. I pick it up in fits and starts, always concentrating on a single color. It's amazingly soothing, and while loosening up snarls or finishing up a ball, I find myself actually not so teary-eyed anymore.