Let me explain. I'm here in Sydney for work this week. It's our busiest period of the year, and so I get to spend every waking hour working myself to the bone, and in exchange my employer puts me into a nice hotel for a few nights and lets me order room service and use the fat, fluffy towels.
It's true that travelling for work is not as glamorous as it sounds - while the hotel part is lovely, and the breakfasts certainly are lavish, you don't get to enjoy it that much. I work like the proverbial dog and usually at the end of the day, it's all I can do to fall into bed late at night and not so much "go to sleep" as "become unconscious with exhaustion".
My gym routine gets interrupted, I eat all sorts of irregular food (re lavish breakfasts etc), and of course, there's no sewing. No sewing! For an entire week!
Lordy, it's like being in rehab - or at least, what I imagine it would be like if there was a rehab for sewing.
What would that be like? Would you have to confess how you used to loiter around vintage sewing sites on the interweb, trying to score patterns at half-price? Would you have to admit you had no power over sewing, and that although you always tried to resist the fabric sale you always faltered at the last minute, and spent your week's salary - and more? I'd have to describe that heady feeling I get when I'm surrounded by the smell of polished cottons and dye; and how the feel of a raw silk slipping between my fingers makes me weak at the knees. Can you imagine the group therapy sessions?
It's true. The thought of a week without sewing makes me go pale and trembly, and my skin starts to itch and my fingers start to twitch.
And even though on a rational level I know it's impractical to bring a sewing machine on the plane from Melbourne to Sydney to set up in my hotel room, I did actually consider this.
So I've brought an extra little something with me for this period of work - a little sack filled with the hoot fronts I put together in the days before I left. Tracing the outline, cutting the fabric, cutting beaks and eyes from felt and fleece, stitching them on with the sewing machine, and choosing the button eyes ..... II have a dozen of those critters in my suitcase so that at least I can spend the last ten minutes of my day, before unconsciousness sets in, sewing on some eyes.
Sewing. On. Eyes.
Ahem. My name is Flickettysplits, and I'm a sewingaholic.
