I suppose it could be worse. It could be, say, heroin.
But these days I am hopelessly addicted to collage. It started as a few innocent rubber stamps, some handmade birthday cards, and has taken off into an art form with a life of its own. Unlike most of my crafty inclinations, this art form has no recognizable purpose. I suppose I could collage some coasters or something, but really, it's just about expression--passion--color and form.
Also, it's about cutting things up with scissors and gluing lots of shiny things into pictures. It's fun. When I'm crocheting a blanket, I feel like a secure, mature woman--but when I'm making a collage, I feel like a kid making a wild, thrilling, artsy mess. I'm surrounded by snips of paper, ink stains, sticker backings and baggies full of pictures. My tongue is coated with threads of mullet paper and my fingers get stuck together. It's pure magic.