So, I’ve been working on this hand quilting since Wednesday night and have been running into a few issues with the whole process.
It’s slow. Like grocery shopping with toddlers…or a husband. Same difference. It’s all bright and shiny and they want to look at and handle every friggin’ thing in sight when what you really want is to get in, get out, get home. Hellaciousness on an epic level. Much like I imagine a forced marathon viewing of the Kardashians would be.
My posture is atrocious. Not that I’m going to change what I’m doing because I have to have something to grouse about, but schlumping about like a jellyfish can’t be the most inspiring view ever. At least I’m wearing makeup.
After a while, I can’t feel my feet. I’ve been making myself get up and change positions fairly regularly. Like a pregnant woman or spouse of a snorer. But, dang it, I got stuff to get done!
What do you do with the ladies? Your BFFs? Your gals?
I’ve convinced myself that hand quilting is for the flat chested, because bellying up to a quilting frame with a rack big enough to feed the entire African continent is a trial, y’all. It didn’t bother me at first, but the longer I sit here, the more apparent the problem becomes.
So, gentle reader, logistically speaking, does one’s rack float (haha) atop the frame, exposing Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum to potential needle puncture as in this photo…
I even attempted to wedge the frame betwixt my bosom and jelly belly, the wood and fabric equivalent to a pinch of chaw between your cheek and gum. It got ugly real quick.
So, here I sit, alternately flopping Fred and Ginger onto the work surface like a pair of fresh caught trout and shoving them under as if dunking The CoDefendants in the pool. There is no satisfaction to be had.
So, my bodaciously endowed Quilting Sisters, any suggestions?
In the meantime, I’ll sit here juggling body parts and praying for the end.
And to think there are those who think quilting and quilters are boring. Eejits.