I’ve finally snatched a moment to sit down and write a blog post, grabbing a few minutes between the end of a busy work day and the beginning of the dinner routine, and my mind has gone blank, my thoughts have vanished.
Maybe it’s the smell of spicy slow-roasted pork wafting from the kitchen, or the heady aroma of a fresh cup of coffee that has overloaded my senses, but I find myself relaxing for the first time in weeks.
I’ve stitched 133 blocks in four weeks and I’m more than a little tired and sore. I’ve questioned why I am doing this to myself; usually at 3am in the morning when sleep won’t come or the pain in my shoulder won’t be stilled; and I keep reminding myself that there will be a book at the end of all this hard work.
A book. With my name on it. How amazing is that.
When the February deadline is met, I’m going to take a leaf out of Spud’s book. I’m going to quietly sit and watch the birds in the trees. And do nothing for a week!