Larger still, we decided to move to Seattle, Washington.
Yes. Clear across the country. Two thousand, seven hundred and sixty seven miles away (roughly). We're embarking on a new adventure in life. We're whittling down our possessions, selling out home (or attempting to), and heading to the Pacific Northwest. It's exciting and terrifying all in one swoop.
It was my intent to clean and straighten my sewing studio. When I started, it looked like this:
I'm one of those "works in a huge mess" kind of an artist. Organization happens in binges and moments of sewers block. In any case, so I put all my fabrics on comic book boards like mini bolts. And I stacked up my fat quarters. It all looked pretty neat, but instead of just straightening it up, I packed it all up. I donated my sewing machines with the promise to buy a new one in Seattle. That's right. My studio is empty. It's got a desk and a chair and looks like an model office. All my fabric is in tote boxes in the garage waiting to be put on a moving truck.
It felt good to be so clean. It felt satisfying to have conquered my space and was very okay not doing any major sewing projects until we landed in Seattle after the summer. I had enough on my plate to keep my time filled with school and selling the house. That was until we reached the waiting point. Our house has been professionally photographed and is on the market. I study at school and in between patients for my board exams. I have no more papers to write or projects to do.
The trouble is that now all we have left to do it wait. Wait until someone buys our house. Wait until graduation. Wait to pack the rest of our things. My days are filled with waiting. I hate waiting. I'm terrible at it. I want to have a plan. I want things in concrete. I run every scenario out in my head ten thousand times a day. I finished the book I was reading. I ordered another. I had to wait for it to come in the mail. I got nervous. I starting worrying about the " what if"s. What if the house doesn't sell on time? What if I don't get a job in Seattle? What if I never get a job? What if. What if. What if.
I chewed a hole in my cheek. Not clean through, but I'm a cheek nibbler. It's what I do when I'm nervous or anxious. My husband implores me to stop but I don't think that's possible. I need an outlet. I bought my new sewing machine.
I can't unpack everything. My projects are small. But I'm sewing again. I need to. I have to let it out. I still nibble my cheeks a little, but this makes the waiting pass faster. I'm still running all the "what if"s out in my head, but at least I feel less neurotic about it.
Do you live in the Seattle area? Want to meet up? I'm going to need some new friends in that area. Let's do a meet up. Shoot me an email at thatmoxiegirl[at]gmail[dot]com. We're taking a trip to Seattle June 29 - July 3. We'll have a beer and you can help me take deep breaths.
