Sewing Loft Blues
This is what I see in my sewing loft every time I go down the stairs, which is several times a day. This depresses me to no end.
See the sewing machine buried under all that clutter? That makes me so sad. There it sits, wanting to be used. And the thread and fabric sitting right there waiting to be made into something. The ironing board looks so dejected and discarded. Bolts of curtain fabric lean abandoned and dejected against the wall.
Here’s the whole room as it is right now.
It used to be full of life, full of fabric, full of ideas and creation. Now it sits like an empty cavern calling to me every time I pass by, “What about me?”
I feel as if I’ve lost an arm or lost something very essential to my being by not having my sewing room. Sometimes I think perhaps I should sell my beautiful house and find a smaller place that I can keep up with. Then I take the second thought and realize that I cannot sell right now and get what the home is worth, and I’d never be able to afford what I have right now: plenty of space, a quiet, semi-secluded lot near a beautiful green belt, a sort-of view, and three bedrooms plus the loft.
I look at that room and although I want to be in there, I don’t want to step foot in there because I’m overwhelmed with what needs to be done to make it comfortable, soothing, enticing, and my creative retreat. It needs painting. It needs new curtains. It needs the tables rearranged (and I can’t move them by myself), and it needs the bookshelves installed – after they are painted white.
I’m not supposed to be painting any more but I’m to the point – yet again – where I think, screw it. The satisfaction and accomplishment I’ll feel – and the moving forward of my goals – cancels out the pain I’ll feel in my shoulder after a day’s painting and fixing up. I cannot sit still any more. That room is crying out to be the same blue and beige as downstairs, and I have the paint to do it. So, that’s what I’m going to do.
I’ll be in pain tomorrow, but hopefully, I’ll be wincing in pain along with the sound of a sewing machine humming. Or at least wincing in pain, but completely satisfied.