Just Another Day
Today was spent waiting for the FedEx delivery truck. The delivery was extra special and had to be signed for—and if I wasn’t here to sign for it, it would be returned. It wasn’t fancy jewelry or chocolates or a new sewing machine or plane tickets to an exotic location. No, it was simply medication—medication that must be kept refrigerated and I am hopeful will alleviate much of the pain that plagues me.
And so, I opened the front door and the blinds to the windows, positioned myself within clear view of the street and set for myself the task of organizing my photo files. I figured out how to rip my newly acquired remastered Beatles albums and play them in the background while displaying two windows side by side and worked on a printed outline of the categories. Most of the files had been sorted into ‘best’ and ‘extras’ which really meant duplicates and blurry ones and ones I needed to just delete. At first I looked at every photo, moved a few that were extras into the best group; relabeled some, but then just went for the gold—and deleted all the extra files. My laptop is nearly full and just barely crawling along. The final outline is printed and stored neatly next to my laptop and I promise myself I won’t let it get into such a mess again.
What was really depressing was the volume of work I did not produce this year compared to previous years. There were only pieces made for assorted challenges—all very small and four donation pieces—with only one being truly new. Most of the year was spent in finishing up what I call ‘regular’ sewing projects—nothing new or interesting—just regular ‘stuff’.
But the year is not yet done—and maybe with that new medicine I’ll feel more like working—if my sewing machine and brushes and paints remember who I am.