I have a confession to make: I’m not working on anything. No sewing or knitting projects. I’m not reading any novels. I haven’t even sewn a single heart on my quilt this week. Or sewn a single stitch at all. It isn’t for a lack of things to work on or a lack of desire for a project. I have been obsessively browsing through Ravelry, and I have been sleeping with Quilting Happiness. I have a teetering stack of vague projects and quilting cottons waiting to be cut into; if only I knew what I was cutting out.
In a different time, I would be suffering from the anxiety of wondering if I am completely out of ideas, but after years of panic, I somehow know that I will make something soon, I just don’t know when. Chalk it up to experience or apathy or faith; I’m not quite sure.
Here we are in September, and I am looking back on this summer. It was definitely not as productive as last summer. I only made one skirt, and I haven’t made a flower in four months. It isn’t for lack of pull towards sewing; there has been a lot of thought happening lately. I don’t even feel like I can call this a transition, because it is really slow if that’s what it is. As someone who must be making something from the time she wakes up to the time she passes out late late at night, it is really disconcerting to not be doing, well, anything.
The desire is there, but it is a hazy desire without a clear form. There are important pieces missing. Those missing pieces necessary to do the things. The answers are forthcoming, but when? Until then I impatiently wait.