My name is Julie, and I am an addict.
I wasn’t quite ready to admit it to myself but, umm, some people in recent months have shined a spotlight on my addiction and called me out.
Well, OK, so it was just one person. It was my mom, OK? She was the one. The others were quite understanding — really, they were.
My addiction isn’t so terrible, at least not to me.
My addiction has come at a cost — mostly the hits to my entertainment budget, the lost social life and the occasional headaches caused by eye strain. I have suffered no hangovers, no lost wages due to drug or alcohol-related illnesses and there have been no warrants written for my arrest.
Although, if I ever were to be arrested and jailed, I wonder if they’d let me bring along a tapestry needle and scissors? Imagine how much stitching I could do if I was relegated to a jail cell!
Yes, stitching is my addiction.
After splurging on a variety of stitchable fabrics during an early January road trip, my mom just recently finished the task of zig-zagging around each and every piece.
Ha! She should see the stash I have stored in my house! (Mom, if you’re reading this, perhaps you are better off just not knowing.)
I will admit, the stash is overwhelming even to me. I want to be able to use it all up, but at the rate of finishing five or six pieces a year, I’ll have to live a really, really, really long time to accomplish the feat. Meanwhile, there are more needlework stores filled with temptation.
Why, just the other day, a fellow stitching friend told me about a needlework shop within just an hour and a half of here — a shop filled with display models and specialty fabrics and threads.
The struggle — the struggle is real.
So I may be an addict. Who cares?
On second thought, addict sounds a bit harsh.
I’m a collector — yes, that’s it! I’m a collector of fabrics and threads.