This my drug. I am an addict. It does not matter if I don’t need more (what’s needanyway?) I am powerless over my addiction. I cannot drive by a fabric store- my car just veers wildly and turns into the parking lot, ripping into a spot, while I get out, zombie-like with stars in my eyes, clutching a fist-full of coupons and make a beeline for the front door.
When I have quiet time, sometimes I go downstairs to my sewing den, and fold, catagorize and organize it all by color and style. This makes me feel really happy, and gives me the sick illusion that I have control over something in my life.
I do this at night, alone, when everyone is sleeping.
I have a dealer. She own the best quilt shop in town, and when I design new quilts for her to sell, she gives me fabric. I have another dealer, too. He lives in New York, but he runs a fabric company, and he sends me tear-offs from new lines that are coming out (not in stores yet!), for free(!) if I would just make a new something of them. After Abby was born, I tried to go clean, and stopped taking fabric from him, but the draw is calling me again- and my fingers itch touch the new goods.