The Life Of An Addict

Hi!

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.

It certainly isn’t drugs or alcohol; no stimulants or depressants. Shoot, I can barely tolerate a mug of German beer.

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!

Stitching.

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.

“I don’t know when you think you’re going to have time to use all that fabric!” she said as she pointed to the stack.

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.

Oh, I shouldn’t go … but I really want to go … but I shouldn’t, I don’t need anything … but they might have something I can’t live without.

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.