Somebunny Loves Me

I blame Stephanie. At least, I want to blame her and all her time spent helping the elderly. Recently she announced she wanted to try cross-stitch so she "could have something to do with her hands."

"Oh no," I thought to myself. This is where it starts -- the early-bird specials, night gowns, false teeth. But a few days later we found ourselves in a fabric store purchasing some beginner cross-stitches. I made every effort to resist stubbornly clenching my book as she stitched away. Alas, my impatient hands got the best of me. My sewing beast was unleashed and two days later, I have tiny needle punctures in my thumb. I've filled out the green grassy areas and am nearly done with the pink heart in my "somebunny loves you" cross-stitch pattern.

It completely satisfies my obsessive compulsive tendencies. I imagine aristocratic women of yore filling their days with this activity and it leads me to wonder what came first, cross stitch or OCD?

What it does afford me is the opportunity to be present. Not all of us desire cross-stich, but subconsciously, we all crave the experience of being in the moment. And strangely, for the past few days I've been bombarded with this message that somebunny, somewhere, loves me. So Thanks Stephanie, dammit.