It is time for me to fess up and reveal that crafty-sewing-times are not always shrouded in a mist of rainbows and valenciaga-filter-gram glows. Sometimes the DIY life has its dark side, and I feel like I need to chat about it.
Monday night started off like any other evening. We made dinner, fed the poochies, and eventually found ourselves plonked in front of the TV to watch an episode of House of Cards. As is usual in this situation, I took the opportunity to start on a new Pom Pom sculpture idea I have had (which I think is basically going to be the best thing ever). Getting right into the pom-zone, I solidly wound and trimmed wool for at least 2 episodes…ignoring the dull throb of my blistered finger (an injury incurred from an earlier pom session). When the credits finally rolled on episode 2, and I blinked my way out of my pom-induced-trance, I looked down at the coffee table and smiled: 10 beautifully sculpted pom-poms sat in front of me. All perfectly trimmed, all perfectly rounded…and bringing me one step closer to my pom-sculpture dream.
Fast-forward 45 minutes and I am tucked in bed. I will confess, that on the way to bed there was a slight mishap involving Daisy, who mustered up the gumption to take a cute, little, piss in the middle of our bed. Thanks Daisy. Ducking into my craft room (where all our fresh linen also lives), we quickly changed the bed and started up the washing machine…naturally narrating the whole event with, “Naughty Girl! Why you do this? You’re better than this Daisy!!!”
Any who, eventually I am tucked in bed and drift off to sleep UNTIL Tom wakes me up at midnight with some gentle shoulder shakes and the nervous announcement of, “Rachel…Rachel wake up…I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry the dogs have torn apart all your poms. They must have gotten into the craft room while we were changing the bed. I’m so sorry”
Now. Had you told me earlier, pre-house-of-cards viewing…pre-delicious Mexican salad, and merry pom-pom-trancing that I would spend the upcoming time slot of 12am-1.30am HOWL CRYING HYSTERICALLY, literally curled up in the fetal position crying ‘it’s so sad! My poms! My poms…oh god! My Poms’… I may not have believed you. I honestly don’t know what came over me. I was just so upset that I could spend that much time making something…all for two cutie-little-bastards to come along and totally undo all my work…and this led me to a state of complete and utter dementedness. Seriously, I lost it. I was crying for soooooooo long and soooooo loudly, that all Tom could do was pat me on the head and say “I know, I know…those poms were more than just poms” (this is why we are getting married fyi) and me crying, “Yeahhhh-they-WERE-THE –START-OF-SOMETHING-BEAUTIFUL”.
The next day, I felt suitably embarrassed for having a break -down over the loss of my pom poms. I mean, god help me if something actually harrowing ever happens to me or a loved one…if this was my reaction over the loss of some poms. But in general, this whole incident got me thinking about other instances where crafts had caused me pains.
What immediately came to mind was Splendour in the Craft. Last year my gal pal Patience and I ran a Swamp-Your-Sunnies workshop at the festival. It was a great success., we made loads of sunnies, everyone was merry…and I also clocked up some 2nd degree burns all over my hands from A ROGUE HOT GLUE GUN – which exploded all over my hand at the beginning of the workshop…so I spent the next 50 minutes helping people decide on their pearl > gem ratio…whilst also peeling the glue/flesh off my hands and taking little moments to hide behind the Southside Tearoom fridge…so I could have a private moment to weep.
The more I thought about it, the more I pondered on instances where I have casually sewn through a fingernail…or developed a skin irritation to pva glue, or completely compromised my mental state by sewing alone in a tiny garage for 2 months straight. And yet I continue down this hazardous road, putting my body parts and brain on the line, all in pursuit of that crafty dream! That illusive pom sculpture which better be as good as I think it’s gonna be.
Anywho. I know this has been a really length epistle but I felt like I needed to share. If you would like to share your craft woes, email me at firstname.lastname@example.org I would totally love to hear them.