If there’s one thing guaranteed to drive me over the edge, it’s wasting time. Whether waiting for an appointment (isn’t it a shame we can’t charge for waiting past our appointment time?), to waiting in line for the dope in front of me to make their mind up already at Starbucks, to waiting in the pickup line at school (dear, God, it’s January…don’t you have this crap down yet?!), to finishing a quilting project, I am a terrible waiter. My tank of patience, like my car’s gas tank, tends to be full of fumes. I have high hopes this is something that will improve with age, but if not, I’ve had plenty of practice and will make a fantastic curmudgeon. I’m thinking Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino, “Get offa my lawn!”, curmudgeon. I’d totally rock it.
Twenty-fifteen is the year I’ve decided I will clean out the mess that is my quilting corner. I’ve got several already-cut-out projects just waiting (there’s that word again) for me to get with the program and get moving. I wonder if they’re as impatient as me? Anyway, I sat down the other night to sew one up and, heaven help me, that crap didn’t last.
I don’t know what happened exactly and the pictures I took aren’t great, but the tension was definitely off somewhere along the line and my pieces like pure unadulterated horse hockey. I pieced these during my Thangles phase about 2-3 years ago. Gag.
Lennie the Featherweight had apparently lost his mind and decided to skip stitches here…
…and fling caution, and good tension, to the wind and to say to hell with it. Sometimes he’s such a diva. And did I catch any of this while it was happening? Here’s a clue: you’re reading about it NOW. Yeah, no.
I don’t recall how long it took me to Thangle these strips up, cut them up and press them open, but this is what happened in the end…
Yep, it sucks to be you, doesn’t it, Quilt Top That Will Never Be? Actually, that’s two of them that I flung, shoved and stomped into the trash.
All this to say: Life’s too damn short for trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.
If it looks like crap, it’s going to sew up like crap and fall apart like crap. You know, like a WalMart quilt. You have my permission to say ‘screw this’ and move on to the next thing.
Hallelujah, pass the Xanax!