The world could be raining down in an apocalypse around me. Nevertheless, I would be tunnel-visioned. I would hunch over a piece, completely in my own world, until it was done. It’s a bizarre paradox. I completely lose myself in the meditative nature of something as particular, tiny, and labor-heavy as embroidery. At the same time, I have a deep, anxious, compulsion to finish it. I am sure my therapist would have a lot to say about this.