I can't sew

If life were a quilt it wouldn’t be attractive. It wouldn’t be the kind that hangs on some wall with no real purpose other than to look pretty. It wouldn’t be in a museum or even locked away in an old cedar chest. It would be the old tattered raggedy looking thing than you love to pull around yourself when sick. The one worth having wouldn’t be the display model, but would be the one that has a stain in the corner from where as a child you spilled a touch of grape juice. It would be the one that was made up of patches from old loved articles of clothing. It would be both dark and light, have varying textures, would smell like childhood, have one or two holes, would have tear stains, and its tattered form would be held together by a thread.

There are some days where you wish you could hide away with the quilt pulled over your shoulders. These are the days that you run your hands along the fabric of your life. You see a light blue patch that brings you happily back in time to a single moment where you remember twirling in the kitchen wearing the blue dress that the patch was cut from. Your fingers brush across the frayed edges when your mind travels to the moments that you wish you could forget and to the current struggle you are having within your life. Eventually though your hand will travel away from the frayed edges and back onto the whole, onto the colors and patterns of your life. If you’re lucky, in that moment you can see the whole. You can see that your life isn’t made up of the edges, but rather the various squares of color. Sometimes you just have to move away from the edge.

As you can tell from my melodramatic wanderings, it’s the end of the month..... Bill time. It’s the time where you sit down and have to add up your wins and failures. You have to find a way to stay afloat when adrift. You have to prepare for the next month, when you will begin the cycle of treading water once again. Have I mentioned that I hate bills and bill collectors? I realize that you have to make a living, but upon accepting that job you are also accepting that I refuse to be polite when you call me in the early morning hours asking for something you know good and well I don’t have. If I did, you wouldn’t have to call. So I’ll just tinker online tonight (heh you can’t call if the phone is busy) with my blanket over my legs and forget about you for now.... well that and come up with a sure fire way to pick the winning lotto numbers.

“The wages of sin are death, but by the time taxes are taken out, it's just sort of a tired feeling.” -- Paula Poundstone