2003-01-20 - 7:52 p.m.
I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN
I should have known when I realized that I had sewn up the wrong seam. But I didn�t. I just blamed that mistake on trying to sew before I had my coffee. I should have remembered that now that I drink decaffinated coffee that the need for coffee is purely psychological. But I didn�t. And so I was surprised when I got to the part where I use the serger to finish the edges and I couldn�t get the stupid thing threaded correctly. I still didn�t know but I was beginning to suspect.
The mousetrap was a clue but I missed it. No, not literally. Literally, I found it. I found the mousetrap that Mr. Philately baited months ago and forgot about. I found it with my toe. I should have known but I blamed that one on Mr. Philately�s faulty memory. By the time I finally had the serger threaded and it ate some of the material, it was dawning on me. I should have stayed in bed.
Yet at the strangest time, I became an optimist. Only that particular quirk kept me going. I was watchful, for all the good it did me. But I persisted. It still could be a good day. And then I sat down. Have I ever explained what a piece of junk my sewing chair is? Need I? There�s this little matter of a screw or two that won�t stay in. I sat down to finish my project just as the one in the back gave way. I really need to clean the basement floor. My rear end tells me so.
Then came the staples. But I still didn�t know for sure. I have small hands and I blamed it on my small hands. Yes, I was frustrated and yes, I had trouble with the staple gun but people with small hands often find staple guns difficult. I couldn�t take the noise of the students at play practice personally. True, they were a bit surlier than usual but the surly ones were the usual suspects.
Then it happened. Then I knew. The world was out to get me. After spending all day fighting with material and poles to make a huppah, a Jewish wedding canopy, as a prop for the cast of Fiddler on the Roof, it happened. I got a call from another mother with a message from the director. The director didn�t like the fabric, the director wanted less droop, and.....and.....and the non-Jewish director believed it was the wrong color. (There is no prescribed color for a huppah and many, many of them are blue. I was married under a blue one.)
That did it. Even I could see it. So now I�m headed to bed and seriously considering whether I should even try to post an entry. So.....
If you don�t see this message, know that I didn�t get there soon enough.
LAST YEAR: Emotional Old Age
LAST FIVE ENTRIES:
Making a List
Mellowing
Dreaming in Trains
Sorry
Where�s the Snow?
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
