Relationship Problems

Sewing (my long time lover) and I are at an impasse. I really want to continue the relationship but I feel we need a break. I haven't been very good about attending to Sewing's needs. I leave our dates in the middle, unfulfilled and incomplete. You can see the remnants littering the house, forgotten and collecting dust. I've become preoccupied with other things and Sewing's whirring call is just a din in the background of my life. It's too much work to get everything out to be with Sewing. Takes too long to thread Sewing's needle, so many other things come first. I look at Sewing longingly, wanting to reconnect, desperate to rekindle the fire of creation that ignites between us whenever the stars align and we finally get together.

I've stopped communicating and that's a big problem in a relationship.

Sometimes people ask me why I want to be with Sewing. I need it, that's why. It's funny but being away from Sewing makes me nuts. I need that outlet, the companionship Sewing gives. Sewing is a gentle lover but can be harsh too. It can make me bleed if I'm not careful. One thing about Sewing is that I know it can keep a secret. Those times late at night while I run Sewing too hard for too long and things don't come out right, Sewing never judges, never tells anyone of my mistakes. Never complains about my impatience.

I miss winding Sewing's bobbin. Being the one to push its buttons and step on its pedal. Sewing roars to life under my ministrations; light on, eager to run. The things we create together, well...it's just magical. Somethin' special that's for sure. I want the product of our combined energies but am too lazy to do the work right now. I'm selfish that way I guess.

One thing I know for sure, Sewing will wait for me. Even as I now jaunt off on this new love affair with Writing, Sewing sits silently in the corner. Beckons to me in its own creative way. I'm not sure how long Writing and I will last. So far the words flow easily between us. It's exciting and exhilarating, the way Sewing once was and will probably be again when the tides change in my fickle heart.