Cobwebs

I couldn’t write one more word. Motivation and energy had long withered and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed. I frequently worked up to 16-hour days. By the end of the week, I would forcibly peel myself out of bed to sit at the computer for the virtual team meeting.

I got into journalism because I wanted to make money writing. I always thought I’d write a novel, like most of us do. Over the last few years, I collected various crafting items: a sewing machine, so much paper, pens, a fancy hot glue gun. But writing multiple stories a day for a paycheck that didn’t cover my regular bills dried any enthusiasm I had for crafting. Mostly, it all sat stacked up on itself in the corner of an extra room no one used.

This particular week I called my editor to inform him I was unable to work and needed to take the next week off.

“OK, just work tomorrow and then you’ll have the week,” he said.

I didn’t have it in me to explain: I had been pushed to this point after the newspaper was short staffed, doing the work of more than one person; working as the health care and retail reporter — hearing first hand the dangers and expectations of a rapidly spreading virus to hearing the impacts of the resulting economic crisis — and then covering a national civil rights movement and local protests. Covering small shops and restaurants during the pandemic, I listened repeatedly to people break down because their livelihoods were ending due to no fault of their own. They’d cry. I’d cry. I sat alone after those sometimes hours-long conversations. I took those calls in my bedroom because I was working from home like anyone else privileged enough to have a job during a recession. Turned out it was a blessing to be in my bed after an emotionally draining conversation. Alone. I felt so alone.

I wanted to help these people. The only medium I had was the newspaper, and yet, after half a year of working to the bone, to tears, with little sleep, and of waking up to my laptop and going to bed on my laptop, I couldn’t do it anymore.

“I’m taking a sick day,” I told my editor the next day. “And I’ll see you in a week.”

I hung up the phone and drove down to see my family for the first time since the pandemic had started. When I came back, I was slow. People still cried on the phone with me. I rarely slept but I kept on like that until the fall.

While the pandemic raged on and health care leaders told us it’s going to get worse before it gets better, I was undergoing a medication change for my mental health disorder. I finally came out to my boss between sobs, trying to explain the last eight months had been terribly difficult.

“You should take leave,” he replied.

I woke up Monday, Nov. 2, 2020, without a morning meeting to attend. I suddenly realized I could do anything I wanted. Granted, the new medication made me feel like an inflated balloon, about as able to function as a sloth crossing a road. But I could craft.

I pulled down boxes from the shelves for the first time in years. And I began to see possibilities. I had been looking online at a machine that cuts fabric and vinyl. It was something I had long admired but could not justify buying. Now I had the time. So I bought it. And every color of iron-on vinyl and adhesive vinyl and foil vinyl and fleece. So much fabric. So much vinyl. I overtook the coffee table and the entire living room. I’d wake up and craft. I’d craft until 1 a.m. I dusted the cobwebs from the sewing machine, and I began to make bags. I’d design a logo and iron them on. The bags were reversible and cool, but I could do more. That’s when I found it: patterns for a tooth monster.

They’re about three inches tall, with colorful spots, wonky, chunky teeth and big eyeballs. They’re cute as can be. I fell in love with them. I’d make them while watching reruns on television while my body adjusted to the medication. I stayed away from the news, though little things filtered through: the state had shut down again, but vaccines were on the horizon. The crafting was a needed distraction from the very real and frightening world around me. I didn’t feel so alone with my little monsters.

The first few weren’t that great, but with practice I got better. I started to branch out, creating T-shirts, greeting cards, stickers and stuffies of different video game characters. I began to sew bigger creatures. And rainbow creatures. And furry creatures. I’d ask my friends what their favorite colors were and I’d make them a customized creature. Eventually I started an online business around them and found that people online were interested in buying them, too. It wasn’t much, but I loved it.

My medication began to normalize and my time on leave was coming to an end. I decided to keep crafting during the work week, if for nothing more than my own sanity. Sewing the legs onto a creature during the morning meeting gave me a distraction to the monotony and filled me with creative juice for the day — and it keeps the cobwebs from forming.