And that's what it's felt like this week.
For a variety of dreary reasons, I did not thread a needle from last Saturday afternoon until last night. Since needlework is my major source of stress relief, I was getting stressed. Believe me, I was getting very stressed. And testy. And cranky, And unpleasant to be around.
On the way home from work yesterday, I decided that I was going to stitch last night if I didn't do a single other thing.
And I did.
The spot sampler was a little more challenging than I wanted to tackle after the week that was, but Tsubaki was sitting right there next to my chair, so I picked that up.
And I finished the stitching for the pin cushion:
That last bit was put in this afternoon, in between loads of laundry. So, I thought, I'll work on the scissors fob since it has a lot of the same stitches.
And that's when I had a lovely, wonderful, blissful surprise!
But that brings up a concern. If I finished it, how come I don't remember? And if I don't remember stitching this, do I have other things I've done that I don't remember?
And the potential answer to that question may explain why I've found a couple of things in my stash that apparently I liked so much that I bought them twice.