My Great Grandma was always busy, albeit in different ways than me. And when she sat, she worked with different needlepoints or crafts. She worked at various projects until her age caught up with her and ruined her eyesight. Maybe it's hereditary? Perhaps I will work until my hands and eyes betray me and no longer allow me this pleasure?
I suppose it is good to have an outlet to let out all the creative things in one's imagination. If it's writing, painting, drawing, sewing, building...
It's all another way that we reflect The Maker's imagine within us.
So, I will keep at it, believing that there is a reason that my hands refuse to be still. It helps give me peace and it helps make ends meet. That's a fair trade.
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“All forms of madness, bizarre habits, awkwardness in society, general clumsiness, are justified in the person who creates good art.”
~Roman Payne, Rooftop Soliloquy