Well, not really. It just feels that way. Tonight I dumped the bulk of my stash (I left the dishcloth cotton and the other less roll-around-in-it-while-making-purring-noises-worthy stuff in the back recesses of the closet where they hide) onto the floor.
There's plenty of nice stuff there; certainly several possibilities for the wee lace project I need to start.
So why, then, am I nowhere closer to casting on?