I’ve been reminded that I’m supposed to be posting to my blog on a regular basis. You all know that if I have something to say, I’m here with all the details. Lately I’ve been working 16 hour days, not knitting a stitch, and getting accustomed to thyroid medication. That’s about it. I haven’t been to a knitting group for weeks, my roommates don’t speak English or Japanese, and I’m too tired to even read at night. Not much to report. Do you really care that NEWS's new cd comes out November 7th? Do you care that I have a work trip to Disney World in 3 weeks? Do you care that I switched to Method cleaners? No, I didn't think so.
I did have a birthday. I turned the dreaded 39. I’m quite sure that had something to do with my current malaise. As a present to myself, I took my sewing machine out of the box. I purchased it in February, I think. And it sat in the box, unopened, for 8 months. I don’t have any projects in mind, so there wasn’t any rush. But I finally had a moment of inspiration on what to do for my downstream SP, so I figured it was time to get it out.
I put it on the table and opened the manual. I looked at the diagrams detailing its 437 parts. OK, only 42, but they’re complicated. Did you know these things come with different ways to wind bobbins, and different presser feet, and different sized needles, and that the tension is adjustable, and that basically there are 13,453 ways to screw stuff up? Well, there are. And I got a simple one – it only does 30 or so different kinds of stitches. 30! So I put the dust cover on it and haven’t touched it since. I did go to the fabric store, but the choices in fusible interfacing got my mind spinning again, so I left empty handed. This is additional stress in my life that I do. Not. Need. And mommy is in Italy, so I can’t ask her. It’s just going to have to wait.