My brain just isn’t working. I went to bed at 9pm last night exhausted from I don’t know what. I woke up tired, forgetting what I was doing from one moment to the next. In my studio I tried to make some potholders, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it. I stitched a girl on one and just stared at it, not knowing what to do next. I tried a bunch of different things and nothing worked. Or if it did I didn’t know it. Even writing this now, I’m stopping and staring off into space. I feel like an old machine that needs to be cranked up to get started, then I wind down and need cranking again.
I looked to my Shibori Quilt, almost finished, just a quarter of it left to tack. But the thought of doing it made me want to sleep. Sleep, more sleep, curled up under a blanket in a dark room, like a worm in a cocoon who doesn’t know about someday. I curled up in my pink chair, the one Jon bought for me years ago, the one I brought over with me from my old studio. I closed my eyes, not willing to give in, to give up, and let my mind drift. After a while, I don’t know how long, I heard the crank, someone was turning the crank again, I got up and opened my sewing box with Laura’s appliques. This my brain could handle, my applique pillows make no sense anyway, that’s just where my mind is at.
I found the pink fabric with the white flowers and turned it over, the stitched flowers a skeleton of the themselves on the front of it. The grey poodle, perfect with the pink, slightly off center and the leaping antelope above it. The rest came and went, moved, and came and went until it stayed. Except the yellow Mardi Gras mask, which always knew it’s place. The three white poodles came last, after lunch, like puffy clouds or dreams.