A Seizure of Craftiness

A few times a year, I spend a few hours too many poking around Etsy, and I have what I like to think of as a seizure of craftiness. As in, a certain craft-creating demon possesses my soul and won’t let go until I have doodled/stamped/beaded/jeweled/sewn something straight into the ground.

This is one of those weeks. About a month ago, my friend Char was over for tea and she mentioned that she had just found some fabric with fans printed on it. Long story short, we ended up going back to the store so I could be a total copycat and get some too, because I have a deep love of fans of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Fans are terrific. End of story. Well, so I thought. I also bought a dress pattern because…well…I didn’t quite realize it, but that was the first sign of the demon. As a matter of fact, it was this dress pattern:

In Boston last week, my sweetie and I were wandering down Boylston St when I espied a store called Paper Source, and it sucked me straight in. I cannot resist the lure of paper goods. Writing letters with a nice pen on good quality paper is still one of the great joys in my life. I purchased a couple of stamps there, and more notecards than I perhaps need at the moment. That was the second sign of the demon.

The third sign of the demon was volunteering to go help my aunt-in-law make 35 beaded bracelets for an upcoming wedding shower.

HELP!

Beading and paper-goods crafting aren’t really too much cause for alarm because the worst I could really do is pinch my fingers with the pliers or get a papercut…but sewing a dress is another story.

And somehow I’ve ended up with a whole bunch of dress-in-progress strewn across my kitchen table. I have no idea how many times I’ve stabbed myself in the fingers with straight pins and the needle. But the worst thing this seizure of craftiness has persuaded me to do is to hand-sew this dress. There’s a special kind of infuriation caused by forcefully stabbing myself in the left hand with my own right hand.

Can I just tell you how annoying it is?

Nope. I can’t. Words don’t quite capture how truly, really infuriating it is. Even more unfortunately, there’s no way to make myself feel better by yelling or stomping on the ground, because after all, I was the dunce holding the needle.

Fortunately, my husband is a saint and he has agreed to say (whatever my finished dress ends up looking like), “Oh my goodness! Did you get that from Calvin Klein?” And it’s guaranteed that this dress ain’t going to look like a Calvin Klein. Probably won’t even make the category of “clearance sale at Kohl’s for $3”.

My sweetie’s a good egg. He may end up saving me from this crafty demon.

Love, peace, and caution with pointy sharp objects,
Sumiko

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