A Comedy of Errors

It was a comedy of errors, really. But instead of chalking it up to beginners luck (or even the fact that I am a beginner), I had the high and unrealistic belief that sewing would come naturally. That I could just, somehow, magically whip up custom designed curtains or make a fabulous dress for a wedding we have to attend at the end of October even though I have never taken a class and don't know the first thing about draping. Or even what exactly a seam allowance is, for that matter. But in the back of mind, unconsciously sitting there and waiting for sabotage, I thought I would be the next contestant on Project Runway.

How quickly my hopes & dreams were dashed when it took me an entire afternoon to put one seam in one pillowcase. Most of the time was spent kicking myself for cutting the fabric incorrectly, unjamming my machine, learning to thread the lower portion of my machine, unjamming my machine again, and then berating myself for my lack of visualization skills that would be SO USEFUL if I had them so I could figure out if the frickin' flap needs to be sewn on the "wrong side" of the fabric or on the "right."

With the lingo of "right" and "wrong" to describe a process that i'm certain has it's very own and very specific lingo I doubt that anytime soon my impression of Tim Gunn will be get air time. In other words, maybe I should stick to drinking (which I did copious amounts of after the disaster extravaganza) rather than sewing and just pay the $20 for 2 pillowcases instead of loosing my mind over the one i'm trying to construct.

It's been 3 days since I tossed my pillowcase aside in a fit of frustration. It's been 3 days since I blamed my bad day on a piece of fabric with bright yellow Canaries on it. And in those 3 days I have contemplated packing up my sewing machine and selling it in the next garage sale. I've also thought about I've never been very good at trying things that I don't naturally excel at (some may argue this is why I don't have very many hobbies). And even after all that thinking my sewing machine still sits on it's table, my fabric remains carefully draped over the back of my chair awaiting my return to it. And even though I haven't worked up the courage to face the project again or the patience for that matter, I find that I eventually want to return to it again. Probably not today. I doubt tomorrow. Or this weekend at all, but sometime soon.

I may not be able to sew a straight stitch yet. I may have an uneven number of pillowcases because I hadn't quite mastered the importance of paying attention when cutting fabric, but I will get there. Eventually. Someday i'll have those custom designed curtains and that dress to wear to a wedding. And I would like to believe that because I want to go back and try again that i'm growing up. Learning through various lessons that a set backs don't neccessarily denote failure. That was never more evident than the other night when after 3 glasses of wine and a hissy fit in front of my husband I calmly went back upstairs and dutifully started pinning the fabric. Determined to make it work this time.