So yea. I don’t know what to write about right now. I’m a total frazzle for reasons that are not domestically wise to address here, on top of the whole MFA application thing, which involves epic levels of writing and hand-wringing, and subjective scrutiny. But here we are. What I am focusing on right now is the fact that I bought a new pair of (visually accentuating, ahem) grey sweatpants recently, but they were approximately seventeen inches too long in the leg.
This necessitated a very deep reflection and returning to my roots as a fiber artist. I cleared an astounding mountain of detritus from my work table, and commenced operation: Hem The Sexy Sweats So You Don’t Trip And Die.
I am by no means a tailor. I have very talented friends for that, when it matters. But this was a pair of blinkin’ stinkin’ sweatpants. I can do this! I have skills.
In the end, it all worked out fine. They are still too long, because it is incredibly impossible to accurately measure yourself whilst bending over to… measure yourself. But they are no longer a death trap.
But working with Benji (my sewing machine) again makes me remember: I miss this. I have rested on my yarn laurels for too long. I’ve let Covid quarantine permeate everything for almost a frikkin year. I know that it is a thing, and will be for a long time, but why did I stop sewing? Sure knitting and all is more portable… But where do I have to port to anymore? I pretty much only leave my studio for trips to the kitchen and the necessarium.
Benji and I must become friends again. And if this sort of stitchery continues to make my package-region noteworthy, what have I been waiting for?
Hat-tip to another hot-crotcher, Shawn Mendes for inspiring the title of this post.