Let me paint you a picture. I sit down at my sewing machine. The birds are singing, daffodils are blooming, I’m prancing around on a floating cloud of joy and the wine is chilling in the fridge. Everything is right with the world. Then I start sewing…
30 minutes later, the air is blue. I’m kicking a wall, I want to throttle the neighbours and I’m considering playing Russian Roulette with a seam ripper and my hand. Who needs that fifth digit, anyway?
What the heck just happened?
At least, I have the sense to put the cover over my sewing machine and find something else to do. What was that all about?! I ponder. Slowly, slowly, slowly, the silt of life starts to settle and I gain perspective. Oh, yeah. That happened yesterday. I wasn’t so happy about such-and-such last week. And, um, maybe it’s the time of the month/I’m lacking sleep/work is stressing me out/puppies have been playing up.
I’m not saying that my sewing machine is cheaper than a therapist, but … my sewing machine is cheaper than a therapist.
Same for you? Please, tell me it’s the same for you!