"Houston, we have a problem"

How can you tell that you have lost all hope, you are addicted to fiber and your family unsure of what to do (or maybe unwilling to give up the products of said addiction) supports you.

Scene: peaceful living room, calm inhabitants, whir of a wheel going in the background.

All of a sudden there's a thunk. The wheel slowly comes to a halt, treadle is laying on the floor and everyone looks up stunned.

My ever faithful footman connector has died after 20 yrs. It gave up with no warning, unable to continue it's essential duty any longer.

*moment of silence*

No problem, figuring that it had limited life left I had bought a replacement when the wheel came home. Can I find it??? Noooo. It's 9pm. Stores are closed. My family is getting that deer in the headlights look.
Justin takes the peices out and examines them, I'm looking around, where did that fish tank tubing go? Glue stick? Something, anything for a temporary fix until a new piece gets here.
I stand there staring at the partly plied bobbin that is to be socks for him. I just need to finish plying, then I can knit and I'll be fine until I can reconnect my footman to the treadle.
Do I have a cupboard full of yarn ready to go? Yes, of course I do. What kind of fiber addict do you take me for anyway?? They're all for different projects, or I haven't decided what they're for, but I'm pretty sure J. won't go for lilac Kool-aide socks...even if they'll be hidden in boots.
Dear man quietly asks if I have some knitting I can do? No, nothing on needles at the moment.

"What about my socks?" Calm and soothing, I think he uses that voice to calm down hysterical people at work.
Well that's them, on the wheel.
Inside, I'm hysterical. My wheel is out of commission, this is clearly a time for panic and a VERY good argument for getting another wheel...for...you know...backup.
Outside, I'm calm, I'll come to a reasonable solution...just give me a minute to finish my internal hysteria.

Okay, I'll spin the wheel by hand, if it takes me all night I'm going to get that bobbin plied. At this point Bruce sits on the floor, grabs the footman, Justin cheers him on "If Mom says slow it down, slow it down, speed up, speed it up son." So for the next 10 minutes my son sits and spins the wheel, bobbin is plied, he even directs me when it's time to change hooks.

Meanwhile, as I'm watching my son watch the yarn wind onto the bobbin, I'm thinking maybe I have a problem and God Bless'em my family is suporting me all the way.