I’m a fiber junkie. No, I don’t mean that I guzzle Metamucil when no one is looking. My craving is for fiber of a different sort. Whether I’m faced with yarn, fabric, or paper, I am too weak to resist. Intoxicating images of creations yet-to-be fill my head at the mere sight of it. Lately, I’ve been strung out on paper most of all.
The beginning of a new semester always causes me to go on a bit of a bender. I try to stand firm, but one accidental stroll past the school supplies is enough to cause a resounding thud as my rump hits the road and the wagon rolls on without me. Part of the problem is that my tastes aren’t all that discriminating. A simple sheaf of college-rule notebook paper is all it takes for my pulse to quicken and my pupils to widen ever-so-slightly. Blank line after blank line just begs for my pen to skate and glide over the surface, leaving my words as evidence of the escapade. I have a stash of spiral-bound notebooks hidden in the garage, always ready when I feel the urge to scrawl. Yep, the cheap stuff will do just fine, but I have to admit that I’m also guilty of over-indulging in finer fibers.
I’m constantly under the influence of the journals bound in rich leather or floral print fabrics that line my bookshelf. Each volume has its own purpose, and the beautiful covers elegantly gift wrap the thoughts held inside. A good dose of handmade paper embedded with flower petals is enough to intoxicate me for days – and that’s just looking at it, never mind the high induced by actually using the top-shelf sheets of pure fiber bliss.
Yes, I realize that I have a problem, and, from what I understand, that’s the first step to recovery. I promise that I’ll conquer this addiction – someday. Not yet, though. I heard cardstock is going on sale next week at Hobby Lobby.
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