several hours of my day were spent on the mess you see above you. at the time, i did not think it was a mess, and took this very picture so that i could include it in a post full of crowing and thest chumping.
turns out it is indeed just a mess. of the most hot sort.
the longer i worked on it, the more angry i became. i'm a Finish It kind of gal. if something goes wrong at any point, i usually grit my teeth and hammer forward. I'LL FIX IT IN POST, i whisper scream to myslef à la ed wood, grabbing something sharp and attacking with gusto. usually that works in my favor in a marie curie sort of way (at least in my opinion). but after collapsing in defeat at the end of the sewing day to play word games with ruggy, i felt the tunnel i'd been in for the several hours clear. whilst chuckling over a particulary delicious wordplay (i believe it was "tidbits" to "bitties"), i glanced over at my ironing board, and suddenly my brow darkened. i wanted to set fire to the area with my eyes.
i totally know how to do that.
is it possible... could it beeee, el guapo... sometimes you have to step away from the garment and decide, for the health of yourself and the safety of those around you: it's a wadder? i hate wadders. because i refuse, in every aspect of life, to admit defeat. I. WIN. AT. EVERYTHING. so if i can somehow salvage a project, even if it means something is fundamentally off in some way, i count it a victory. like the steelers of late, it ain't pretty, but it's a win. yet, if i walk into a retail store, i scoff at a wonky bias cut or a wavy seam. the horror! how do people buy this junk?! how utterly beneath my skill and prowess! i turn up my nose, turn on my heel, and prance home to my sewing queendom! where i'm probably working on a dress with a twinned back bodice and a lumpy thrice inserted zipper.
maybe making something passable doesn't make it good. maybe it just makes it on par with the RTW that i used to shrug my shoulders at, thinking it fit well enough for the price. this frightening thought will keep me up tonight: no one knows you made that slightly off garment you're parading around in, unless you tell them. and if it's wonky, you're not going to tell them. so really, as far as anyone knows, you're just wearing another poorly made off the racker.
SLEEP NO MORE...
what do you think?