Narrative Self

Colour. I needed some. Pains in my calves forced a ‘no running’ policy for a few days, so I decided the scritch of the hoe at the allotment could also take a break at the weekend in favour of making something. I’ve been suppressing the urge to make something for weeks. Or to finish something. Anything. But I had to focus on the planting or I’d have no food to harvest later in the year. And what’s an allotment without the anticipation of a bumper harvest full of goodly things? So come Saturday I was in a good mood and looking forward to a bit of stitching. I settled on making something simple and brightly coloured, a belated gift for my young niece. Everything’s been belated round here lately: birthdays been and gone; official forms to complete still buried in stacks, not to mention the housework.  I decided to ignore all that and indulge myself instead. I dug out brightly coloured fabrics and began to play. I planned a small pyjama case, something that would look like a little cushion on her bed.

Sleep Tight

I started with a small embroidered patch, 3/4 an hour of backstitching to get me in the groove. But when I started on the sewing machine the groove and good mood all but blew away in an instant. Sewing the pieces together was straightforward enough, but as soon as I wanted to do some free embroidery, Mrs Jones decided not to play ball. For some reason I still can’t fathom, the damn machine refuses to pick up the lower thread. The expletives burst forth from my mouth as easily as the frustration had risen through my body. There is no logic to the machine’s refusal to do this when it does everything else I want it to. I changed the needle, I rethreaded the machine umpteen times, I re-spun the bobbin, I de-fuzzed the feed-dogs, even though they didn’t need doing. I played with the top tension, I played with the lower tension, I even got out the instruction book despite the fact that the machine is 25 years old and I know it from back to front. Okay, I told myself, trying to calm down, a creative person would come up with another solution: in the ditch quilting and zig-zag applique. Have you tried zig-zagging round a shape smaller than a penny piece?  It doesn’t work, meh. Dissatisfied I put the unfinished work on the corner of the kitchen surface.  It’s where I keep a lot of sewing things. I have too much kitchen surface and not enough storage space. Finish it tomorrow I thought. Sunday morning. I wander in to the kitchen. As you do. I put the kettle on.  As you do. I look down and see this. Sorry if you’re squeemish…

Not nice

I guess most people would squeal, pick it up, chuck it out and put it out of their minds. Forever. But seeing this on Sunday morning did something completely unexpected: it put me in a very low mood. (Thanks cat.) As I stared, glazed, at the carnage, I experienced a physical feeling of something sliding down through my body, like lava. Seeing this triggered off all sorts of thoughts: feelings of being dessicated like one of the birds I have stashed away; remembering why I was so fascinated with lifeless vessels in the first place. But they weren’t clear thoughts and I could feel myself disassociating. It’s hard to describe this to someone that hasn’t experienced it, but it’s like watching the last glow of an incandescent bulb as it disappears to nothing and becomes cold. It’s an altered state of consciousness where you feel outside of your own body and that everything is slowed right down. You’re no longer participating in what’s going on around you, thoughts are difficult to pin down, sounds are merged and it feels like there’s a major delay between what your eye can see and the message it sends to the brain. It’s a familiar place. Psychologists tell me it’s a defence mechanism against trauma, a safe place to go. (Why didn’t they like me going there then?!!) I was in this state for most of the day. I went through the motions of washing the patchwork, trying to remember how to be mindful and be in the ‘present moment’, using the physical rubbing as a way to ‘bring myself back’. Did it work? I don’t think so. With my hands in the water rubbing the embroidered patch the irony of seeing the words ‘sleep tight’ alongside half a dead rabbit wasn’t lost on me. I’m sure I would have laughed if I wasn’t in this state, but it just reminded me of my artworks and I shut down another notch.

I don’t remember most of the rest of the day, but I think I spent it sat on the sofa under a half finished quilt. I remember being cold. When I finally, slowly seemed to come round I did a actually manage to finish the project. And was very happy with the results!  It’s bright, cheerful and fun, but I’m not going to publish the pictures in this post, I don’t want THE photo above to sully them, so I’ll put them up separately later on! Thankfully Sunday seemed to be the only day for disassociation and on Monday I was back to being cheerful and positive again.  I worry though, I don’t want to take these ‘happy’ feelings for granted, Sunday just went to prove how quickly they can dissolve – like the flick of a switch!