When I used to cross-stitch decades ago, the top side of the fabric was kept smooth. All the little thread exes (is that the plural of X?) lined up perfectly and a design emerged that matched the design on the pattern. After finishing whatever I was working on, I framed it and gave it away most of the time. The underside of the fabric revealed frayed threads.
I have been feeling a sadness off and on this week--though I didn't say so at salon or writing group or in conversations. It's nothing overt like its sister, depression. I haven't tied it to its source, or maybe sources. When tallying up the goods and not-so-goods of the last year, I realized that I prefer to show the top sides, not dwell on less appealing emotional states.
Writing about bliss, I had some dark dreams. Writing about bliss, particularly "marital" bliss--which I have never experienced--I had dreams of being married and angry. Maybe my unconscious brought up memories I'd rather not display to myself in the light of day.
Or maybe the sadness comes from somewhere else: certain fears or anxieties I'm not even aware of. Maybe I'm feeling that I'm trying too hard to force the sunnier emotions to shine even when I'm not feeling them. Maybe I'm looking too long at the face of aging and real and potential losses?
Whatever it is, this piece right this minute is my attempt to frame the underside, the one where the threads are frayed and the design unappealing and broken.
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