I swear I keep sticking my needle into my finger to reality-check that I’m still alive. Good, Red … I’m still alive. That this mess of a jewelry making project before me, one I keep starting, then stopping, then starting, then putting it away, and then retrieving it, and starting it again is more than a blur, a fog of my imagination. I have this great, intricate beaded necklace to make. And I can’t seem to get it done.
I’ve gone through two packs of 25 beading needles. I pick another one up. I bend it. The needle-hole catches my eye. My eye twitches a bit. Why would I ever want to thread this needle and start this project one more time? Bend now. I can’t wait for you to bend when I’m in the middle of things.
Oh, and the guilt. Everytime I stop, I think I’m being selfish. If I go outside, someone will get sick. If I complain that I’m BORED, CLIMBING UP THE WALLS, SAYING NASTY THINGS ABOUT JESUS, someone will die.
And I love beading and making jewelry. I do it all the time. Almost every day. Hours a day. Never one iota of boredom. Mind never wandering. Until now. Until I’m forced to stay inside.
I can’t focus. I can’t read. I am even getting tired of complaining to my husband. Who doesn’t care. Has never pierced his finger with a needle. And should he ever, he wouldn’t know what to do, anyway. [You know I just want to take this needle and see how he reacts. But I won’t.]
I can’t believe, and you won’t believe, what I just did. For the 8th time just in the last couple hours. I ali-kazam’d with my fingers and commanded the beads to usher themselves into this spectacular, wonderful, beautimous piece of jewelry. And did they? No. Out of spite? Now I’m losing focus again.
My house has become the Hanoi Hilton Hotel. John McCain is in the cell next to mine. He has a window. But the floors lay at a 30-degree angle. My floors are flat. But he has a window. I’ve managed to chip off over 60 pieces of brick off the walls. I’ve spent the last 375 days trying to drill holes in them with whatever I can find. A shard of glass. A rusted nail. A piece of metal I’ve wedged off the bars. I’ve slowly, with cleverly pinched fingers, positioned just so, manipulated the threads in my pants, rolling them, working them off in long threads. I am so sure I can drill those holes. My confidence has me believing I can secure the material to string them on.
But I digress.
They say you can survive a quarantine with a smile. I’m better off than a Neanderthal because I have a roof over my head and a grocery that delivers. That should make me smile. Neanderthals lived and hunted and played in packs. I am free to live and hunt and play by myself. This should make me smile. Neanderthals never knew what was going to happen next. I don’t know what’s going to happen next either. This should make me smile. Neanderthals never expected perfection. I do. I’m not smiling.
The news is making me crazy. So I turn it off. Now no news is making me crazy. I spend more time with my friends on Facebook. My friends are getting whiny and beginning to repeat themselves — over and over again. So I stopped linking on to Facebook. I miss my friends. I made a schedule for myself to keep me occupied and, frankly, feeling some sense of safety and security. I cannot keep to it for the life of me. So I threw it out. And made another schedule.
They say sit back and relax. There have been worse times in our history. Be helpful to one another. Show kindness, understanding. Be flexible. Get outside, if possible. Eat well. Get enough sleep. Try to connect with one person each day. Be positive.
I’m trying.
I decided to do small beading projects — ones I can finish in a few hours. This keeps me from getting overwhelmed. It gives me a feeling of accomplishment. I can sense I am living each day by day, instead of feeling I’m losing touch with time.
I do other things between projects, instead of one project after another. I go outside. Make a phone call. Bake something.
I pick projects which will develop a skill I’m unfamiliar with, or further develop a skill that I already know. Learning is very rewarding, and keeps me focused and happy.
And instead of keeping to a routine per se, I spend some time re-organizing my supplies and workroom. I feel better in my re-organizing mode, rather than following a schedule.
Stay safe and healthy.
Other Articles of Interest by Warren Feld:
Do You Know Where Your Beading Needles Are?
Consignment Selling: A Last Resort
Odds or Evens? What’s Your Preference?
My Clasp, My Clasp, My Kingdom For A Clasp
Why Am I So Addicted To Beads?
The Bead Spill: My Horrifying Initiation
You Can Never Have Enough Containers For Your Stuff
Beading While Traveling On A Plane
My Aunt Gert: Illustrating Some Lessons In Business Smarts
A Jewelry Designer’s Day Dream
I Make All The Mistakes In The Book
How Sparkle Enters People’s Lives
Upstairs, Downstairs At The Bead Store
Were The Ways of Women or of Men Better At Fostering How To Make Jewelry
Women and Their Husbands When Shopping For Beads
Women Making Choices In The Pursuit Of Fashion
Existing As A Jewelry Designer: What Befuddlement!
How To Design An Ugly Necklace: The Ultimate Designer Challenge
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