Soul Thumping

Sew What? Denouement

Here it is, the finale in my series of the trials and tribulations of sewing my very first skirt.  Though this is the last installment in this particular series, I doubt it will be my last drama on sewing in general because this sewing thing has made a strange inclusion of normalcy to my complex psyche (I've been told I have a "more complex than most" psyche...yup, I don't know whether to cry or laugh about that one).

After practicing making a few napkins, I bought a skirt pattern, fabric, etc., and got down to business.  The amazing part about this making-my-own-skirt thing is that I'm actually finding I have some patience stored way down inside--deep, cavern deep.  These newly discovered patience aren't going to be shared with everyone I can assure you, but it's nice to know I have some, even a minuscule amount and they can be summoned if I really need them (ok, want them).

Getting back to the skirt part...no animals were harmed (although, Kwinn, my Siamese cat, almost had his voice box removed by me and his tail cut off, on purpose...I said almost), but I did break the sewing machine needle, had to re-thread the machine at least 83 times (random large number), sewed the waistband on inside out, twice (ah, those patience came in handy for that one), used the seam ripper more times than the total number of shoes I've ever owned (maybe not quite that many), went through 3 bobbins, two spools of thread, stabbed myself repeatedly with every thing possible on that machine (and off the machine...you know, pens, pins, scissors, splinter from my wooden ruler), burned myself while pressing seams, but I finished the damn skirt and no one went to the emergency room!

My next project will be a dress...with a zipper!  Oh, and it's going to be bright orange with lots of abstract swirls so no one can see the blood that will be a sure thing from the new rotary blade I just bought for fabric cutting.

--Fortuitous Observer

I am Grasshopper

...I have much to learn.  Much.

--Fortuitous Observer

Sew What? Episode Numéro Trois

This little storyline full of craziness is growing quite long isn't it?  I expect I'll be blogging about my re-introduction to sewing over the next decade or two.

I did manage to "create" (yuh, ok, I'll use that word) a napkin!  That really only required pressing the sides and corners of a square piece of fabric, then stitching around the edges.  I did it, and of course the stitches were crooked and the thread knotted up at the end, but I don't care damn it.

During the sewing of this napkin, the thread became tangled in a knot in the sewing machine.  Something about adjusting the tension or whatever...when you throw words around like "tension" in an activity that I'm suppoed to enjoy, I get nervous.  This is supposed to be a hobby that will relax me?  I wish me good luck with that one.

So anyway, back to my knot.  My normal reaction would have been this:  "Damn it!  F*&% it!  F*&%#~g piece of shit (I only censored that because my mom sometimes reads my blog and she hates it when I use the f word...hmmmm, 41 and I'm worried about what my mom thinks...I am a freak)," followed by my hands going to my head, rubbing the 3 inch creases that already exist in my forehead, banging my fist on the table, then vowing never to touch this piece of crap machine again.  That would have been my normal response (pre relaxtion therapy and stuff), and I probably would not have ever wanted to sew again.

But (I know you aren't technically supposed to start a sentence with the word "but," but it's my blog so I will if I want), I oddly enough, I didn't give up.  Oh, I used that "f" word a couple of times, but I simply said to myself that it is only thread.  String in a knot isn't going to kill me.  It won't even try to choke me, spit on me, slit my tires,  poison my dinner, make me watch a dance recital, etc.  It's just string and I can re-thread the machine if needed.

Wow.  Who was that talking and when did logic and calmness replace my normal chicken little reactions?  I was so impressed with my lack of hysteria and mauling of the sewing machine that I was able to re-thread, and finish my lovely blue napkin.

Skirt next?  Let's not go batty.  I only survived knotted thread people, not 4 days at the bottom of a canyon with a broken leg, and I still don't know how long the new "tranquil-it's-not-the-end-of-the-world" me will last and I don't want to push it.  No, I think I'll try another napkin first.  Actually, my new sewing machine has 70 different stitches, so I think I'll make 70 napkins, each with a different stitch.  There should be no question what everyone will be receiving for Christmas next year, right?

--Fortuitous Observer

Sew What?

Last week while my therapist was assisting me in deep relaxation/hypnosis during my visit she asked me what I did as a creative outlet.  I told her I journal or write in my blog about stuff (and by stuff I mean shit, life, etc.), and she said, "No, I mean something creative where you can escape and relax rather than vent."

While I was immersed in calmness, I blurted out, "I want to make my own clothes.  I want to learn to sew again (and by again, I mean I haven't used a sewing machine since my 7th grade home ec class) and make my own clothes."  I don't know where exactly that little idea came from, but somewhere deep in my core, I think I must need to sew.

So (ha ha, get it), once it was out in the open like guts from a fish lying on a fillet table (ok, that was gross, I apologize), I couldn't take it back.  She asked me what I was going to do about it, and I told her I would stop on the way home, buy a sketch pad and start sketching the dresses I want to make for myself, and look for a sewing class and a sewing machine.

I know you are asking yourselves right now, "Did she buy the sketch pad, or is she just all talk and no action?"  I bought the sketch pad you doubters!  Not only did I buy the sketch pad, I have already sketched 3 dresses and a skirt!  I also bought a sewing machine.  Yup, my very own sewing machine.  Thanks Rach for the recommendation on machines!

Poseidon (aka Zeus) gave me a corner of his music room (we call it the Green Room or the Little People Room...more on that later) and I set the machine up.  Everything is good right?  Not exactly.  Staying true to my neurotic character, I took a look at the sewing machine all set up and waiting for me to crank out some Betsey Johnson inspired dress, and went into panic mode...

To be continued...

--Fortuitous Observer

Warning: Fuchsia Shoes May Bestow Super Powers

I turned 41 on Saturday.  No big deal really.  Poseidon took me out for a great dinner, then to one of our fave little bars for a beer.  Cool gifts.  I have managed to deal with the aging process gracefully and I'm still sometimes carded at over-21 places, so I think I'm holding up well.  No complaints.

I took myself shopping on Saturday, my birthday treat to myself (oh, and I also bought myself a sewing machine...I'll explain that one later) and I made some great purchases, but my favorite purchase...a pair of fuchsia suede heels.  Gorgeous!  I had actually seen the shoes 2 evenings before and I knew I would make them mine.  I did.  I don't know if these shoes grant the wearer magical powers, but I felt amazing.  I felt sexier than I have in a while, and I felt full of grace (maybe grace-lite...I am still clumsy and 2 1/2 inch heels makes that obvious) and confidence.  I took a look in my two closets full of shoes, and I realized in horror that I, until now, did not own one pair of shoes with color.  None.  All black, brown, grey, tan, and one silver strappy pair.  My new fuchsia shoes were like adding a rainbow to my otherwise cloudy closet.

I wore the shoes with a little black dress for dinner and I felt hot (not temperature-wise), cool, fun, quirky, all at the same time!  That hasn't happened in a while, so I can declare with some certainty that my fuchsia suede heels do endow the wearer with special, enchanted, marvelous magical powers.  At the end of our night, Poseidon got the car, but I flew home using my newly attained Fuchsia Girl super powers.  I carefully put my fuchsia shoes on the shelf in the closet, and closed the door, and the evening, on a high note.  When the city needs me again, I'll take them out, put them on, and I'll be ready.

--Fortuitous "Super Fuchsia Girl" Observer

Approaching the Official "In my 40's" Date...Quickly

D-day is nearly here.  I have--counting today--3 days left before my 41st birthday, at which time I will be "in my 40's."  It sucks.  In my head I'm still 26 and I own the world, but we all know I'm not (and certainly don't think I own the world any longer, and DON'T really want to ever be in my 20's again).  My mid to late 20's were cool, but I was still a child.  There were a couple of years while in my 30's that I enjoyed a little, but I wasn't in my zone, but I know already that my 40's will be the best years of my life (so far).

Why will my 40's be the best years of my life?  I'm finding my way back to being comfortable who I am.  I'm also not waking up and contemplating what might have been.  I've never been married because I never felt that I had to be married, so there was no pressure or settling on someone or something, which has been the greatest of all attitudes to adopt, for me.  Why?  Because I don't have to look back and wish I'd done things differently, and I had time to find out all about me (the good and the bad).  Because it means I've never been trying to find someone (though I have found my soul mate now, Poseidon), if it happened, it happened.  I never stressed about having a baby before 30 (or any age really).  My biological clock may tick like most women's clock, but mine has a mute button, and I chose to use it.  Now I'm at a point where I feel like everything else is gravy!

So, as I'm approaching the big "41" I've done some reflecting, some journaling, etc., and I have a few more days to share those thoughts in my blog, so expect more posts than usual this week.  As I love to dole out unsolicited advice, what better time than now to give some "guidance" to the 20 and 30 year old greenhorns who think the world belongs to them and they are the only ones who've ever been that age... Let me first say this:  I have great friends who are in their 20's and early 30's and I mean no disrespect or offense to you just because of your age.  The friends I have who are in their 20's and 30's are mature, cool chicks who have at least one foot in reality with a solid understanding of who they are and where they might want to go!

--Fortuitous "Almost in my Forties" Observer

Running for the Roses (Oh, and Frostbite)

Tomorrow I'm running a 5K, the 30th annual Run for the Roses.  A portion of the proceeds go to Carolina Canines for Service, which is a good cause.  I'm doing the run because I enjoy running now, and it feels good to set a short-term goal.  As with my previous race, my goal is simply to finish, and not focus on my timing (although I know it has improved since my last run in June).

Why does anyone care?  They probably don't but I'm taking the time to blog about it for three reasons:  

1.  I'm quite proud of myself for making another short-term goal and sticking to it.  For me, that is an accomplishment of cyclopean measure.

2.  My brother jumped on board the running train and is going to run with me, and I'm very proud of him.

3.  The third and most important reason to blog about my event is that this could be my last blog entry for a while (here comes the drama queen from behind the curtain...enough already).  The high tomorrow will barely be in the 40s.  Now, I know this is above freezing and all, but it's cold.  My legs could freeze (not literally, I'm talking figuratively now) up on me and I could trip and fall, and roll right into the ditch on Blount Street and no one will stop to pick me up.  I could trip and crack my ankle, splintering it into a thousand pieces and roll into the ditch on Halifax street and no one will pick me up.  What if I slip on an icy patch, land on my head, knock myself out and roll into a ditch behind Peace College and no one picks me up?

Hmmm, I don't think I'm worried so much about getting hurt, I think I have abandonment issues.

--Fortuitous Observer

I Miss My "Friends"

I don't watch weekly television shows now with any regularity (I try to watch House because I wish I could be as honest as he is...ok, maybe not that honest), but I was thinking today that I really miss Friends.

Friends was my favorite show back in the day.  I felt like the characters truly were my friends and when I came home after a rough useless day from work on Thursdays, I couldn't wait to unwind with a glass of wine and hang out with Monica, Rachel, Chandler, Ross, Phoebe, and Joey.  I tuned into my Friendsand tuned out the rest of the world.  I took solace in their plights, zinger lines, and recurring neuroticism.  I liked it there, in that funky small apartment in Manhattan.  It was a little like my own tiny apartment at the time, only I was living in downtown Raleigh, not Manhattan (I know, huge difference).

I think what attracted me to this series was the fact that I didn't have many friends of my own (and I still don't), and I envied their connection and closeness, yet was overjoyed with it at the same time.  I didn't have many friends because it was always difficult for me to find and make connections with people that go beyond superficial (and I still have this issue).  Not because most people are superficial, but because Idon't know how to connect.  This time, I'm not blaming other people...yeah!!!  I'm putting the blame solely on me.  Write that down folks because my next post will be back to blaming or bitching about someone else.

The older I get ('gulp', and I am getting older), the more I realize how important these deep connections with people are, and if you have them, count yourself lucky and don't screw them up.  As for me, more years of therapy to understand why I don't want to make friends, and fortunately, cable so I can catch my Friends almost any day of the week if I want to, just in case I do feel like playing.

--Fortuitous Observer

Tapeworms Instead of Liposuction?

Zeus, I mean Poseidon (Zeus now wishes for me to refer to him as Poseidon in my posts...we'll see how long I keep that up), and I were talking about tapeworms the other night.  I think he brought the subject up because I can't imagine why I would.  He had some medical fact or something he had read about involving tapeworms and wanted to share, so I listened.  I then started down my own warped path of thinking, and I had an "aha" moment, though I'm sure I can't be the first person who has thought of this.

Why can't we ingest tapeworms instead of having liposuction or spending so much time at the gym?  I'm being serious in a weird way, because I'm curious, mostly.  Liposuction is costly and there are dangers associated with it (ok, I suppose there are dangers associated with tapeworms also), and then there is the painful recovery process.  Seriously, I've watched enough episodes on the Discovery Health Channel to know what is involved in the liposuction process, and the recovery does not look pretty.

What about a tapeworm doing the work for us?  Isn't it more natural?  It's a living organism that has to eat anyway, so why not let it eat the food for us until we reach our ideal weight?  All you have to do is drink some infested water or, even easier, eat undercooked or raw fish, pork or beef.  Maybe my next sushi outing will result in a tapeworm.

Listen folks, I'm not really suggesting you go out and eat raw meat or chug a tall cold glass of dirty water, so please don't do that.  I'm just curious.  Poseidon brought it up and I'm merely thinking out loud.  By the way, has anyone reading ever had a tapeworm?  OK, I'm off to they gym.  I hear there is a new smoothie store going in next door to the gym.  I'm going to ask them where their water comes from.

--Fortuitous Observer

It's Cold in the Shadows

In keeping with the new year theme, I thought I would be serious for a second or two, so I asked myself if I learned anything in 2009 and my answer is a shy, "Yes, yes I did."

I learned in 2009 that I'm a whiner.  Some adequately inconvenient things happened to me this year:  I got laid off, didn't feel well most of year, both physically and mentally, and had a couple of worrisome potential health issues.  My hair started breaking off in small pieces (I'm told due to stress), started snoring for the first time in my life, thought my cat (my baby) may have cancer (turns out he doesn't, he just pukes...too much), worried about losing my new house, unemployed for 7 months, oh, yeah, and I turned 40.  There are those who endured far greater problems than insignificant me, yet I whined.

I learned in 2009 that I can survive all of this shit (sorry Mom, I'll try to be more lady-like and clean up my language in 2010, though it isn't a huge priority), though I considered giving up many times.  Some days I didn't want to get out of bed at all and it was an internal struggle just to face another day.  It really is hard to keep a smile on and whistle the "Brady Bunch Theme" song in your head when you have to dog paddle like crazy just to keep your head above water.  Grin and bear it?  Ha, ha, screw that.  It's impossible to just pretend all is well in the land of make believe.  Life isn't make believe.  Sometimes it's hard, but it can be navigated (maybe not always in the most convenient or direct route).

I learned in 2009 that life isn't supposed to be easy or fair.  If life was easy and lovely everyday, it would be nirvana, not the daily grind we call living (or survival in some cases).  I also believe in karmic retribution and I've pissed someone off big time.  I know that.  I also know that I've taken many lumps and I've given out some lumps, but I'm still trying to erase those bad karma points, one at a time.

I learned in 2009 that no one is going to do my living and take my thumps for me.  It's up to me, and me alone.

I remembered in 2009 that I have an inner-self that is stronger than I am right now or could ever be and she used to be in charge.  In 2009 she quietly waited in the shadows and spoke in a tiny voice to me sometimes, just to remind me she existed; that she was there.  She is getting louder now and she tells me she is cold in the shadows and she would like to come out and play again.

--Fortuitous Observer