A few weeks ago, while shopping at JoAnn’s fabric and crafts store, a sewing box at the check out counter caught my eye. I can use that, I thought, but had no idea why. Except for the basics, I don’t sew. My mom, an excellent seamstress, taught me how, but I don’t enjoy it, so I take my mending to the cleaners instead. I had no clue why this sewing box called my name; I bought it having no idea what purpose it might serve.
When I returned home from my trip I hit the ground running, burning the proverbial candle at both ends. I stayed up late and woke up early. And then, predictably, I hit the wall. Even the simplest item on my to-do list felt like it would require a Herculean effort.