On Friday, I started my morning at my brother's restaurant, just sitting at the "friend" table in the presence of two other people my brother knows, staring into space and talking with whomever had something to say every once in awhile for about three or four hours. My three tablemates were used to this pace and had brought newspapers and sudoku books to pass the time. I had nothing, which made me vaguely uncomfortable, but the more that I stared into space in silence with my hands wrapped around the tea mug, the more I liked this way of interacting with people. I almost kind-of liked not having something to busy my hands and the shallow parts of my brain with. I got to just think for a little while, interspersed with conversations about music, the holiday or the news. Since my friends all require appointments in order to spend time with them, that time can't be wasted just sitting and thinking in each other's presence. We interact the whole time. That's not bad but Friday morning was different.
Ultimately, I had some thoughts that I wanted to write down and I pulled out my journal. This coincided with a tapering off of the intermittant conversation, so I had some time tofocus my thoughts into a stream that was a little more linear.
I wrote about loneliness. Lately, I've been more melancholy than not. I spend lots of nights at home, a little weepy and watching lots of episodes of the Gilmore Girls, Grey's Anatomy and the West Wing. I wrote in my journal about people who have it far worse than I do: instead of being lonely because their all of their friends are going through huge life transitions, they're lonely because they don't have any friends. If they're lucky, they have hobbies that they are passionate about that they find online communities of people to share them with and get to go to conventions a couple of times a year. As I wrote, I found myself envying the hobbies of these recluses. I have always considered myself a dillentante of crafts and hobbies. I float from project to project, buying supplies and learning enough to product a spate of presents for friends, but never sticking with one thing long enough to identify with other people who make things like knitting, quilting or reading science fiction into a lifestyle. Still, my melancholy had robbed me even of the simple joys of casual crafting! With motivation sapped from my mind because of my self-pity, I had gotten stuck in knitting and forgotten about all the other projects that I had been wanting to work on. I realized that being a dillentante was my strength! So what if I'm not overwhelmed with passion for one thing!? I can never get bored! That's super!
Ok, so I didn't have all of those realizations right there in my brother's restaurant. Some of that just occurred to me right now. However, in imagining the life of people with hobbies instead of friends, I did regain a desire to work on projects other than knitting. So, I put my journal in my bag, bid good-bye to Joe and Cara and my brother and headed home to make this:
My grandmother unearthed a picture of herself and my grandfather kissing in the mirror and I bought a raw wood mirror on clearance for $7 several months ago.
A perfect decoupage combination.
A picture taken in a mirror and a mirror. How very meta.
This is the back of the photo where Grandma has written, "Can't stand this stuff!" I can picture her feeling rebellious for both the contraction and the word, "stuff."
I have not lost that motivation since Friday. On Sunday, I went back out to my parents' house to get my sewing machine and have decided to finish the quilt that I've been working on. I set up a little station so I can sew while I'm watching Grey's Anatomy marathons. A perfect compromise.
I've been melancholy for some good reasons. But I've also been weepy because I didn't ahve anything else to do. So, I give myself something to do until school starts and then people will have to start calling me because they haven't seen me in forever.
Postcards from Boston - Phew! What a whirlwind of a wonderful weekend! We were at the (gorgeous) Cyclorama building for the first Boston Renegade Craft Fair, representing Taproot....