My Eyes are Burning

Right, so I bought a pattern a while back to make a messenger bag.  I love messenger bags.  They're great for carrying messages.  It's like a throwback to the pony express only your bum doesn't get sore.

In picking out fabric for the bag, I wanted something durable.  Canvas to be exact.  Easy to clean!  Waterproof!  Stands up to the ripping out of mistakes!  As for the color, well, I wanted something that popped.  Yes I've succumbed to the fashion jargon and wanted that "pop" of color.  So I searched and came up with this.

Orange, people, orange!  Orange is a color I generally stay away from because I look like death when I wear it.  Yes, I've been told I 'just have to find the right shade' but every shade of orange is the shade of death on me.  But I figured I could get away with it for a bag.

So I have the bag part done, outer and inner.

Then I had to make two flaps.  Wha???  Why do I need TWO flaps?  I just need one to close the bag!  The instructions are a mystery to me but okay, here we go.

I'll figure out what the mysterious second flap is for.  Just like I'll figure out the mysterious small inside pocket and other weird bag secrets.  This is perplexing, yo.  I have to end this post now as the orange is searing my eyes again.  But, oddly, I love the combo.  Maybe that's another cognitive effect form MS-bad taste.

Money Pit

We are house hunting and recently saw a house that was in no way worth the price the sellers were asking.  As we were walking thru the house, my purse strap broke.  Our Buyer's Agent looked at me and said, "money pit."

We will not be making an offer on that house.  IT WAS A SIGN, PEOPLE!

Also now I need to make a new bag, so stay tuned as I experiment with orange, one of my least favorite colors.

Rackin' Frackin' Dress!

Today I choose to swear like Yosemite Sam.

The dress.  Well, here's what it's going to look like.

Here's what it look like now.

AND I AM ON MY SIXTH FITTING OF THIS STUPID PROTOTYPE.

I need a drink.

ARGH!

I put together the bodice of the prototype.  I tried it on.

It was around seven inches too big.

This, again, is why prototypes are important.  It also points out to me, AGAIN, that I have a much different idea of my perceived size and my actual size.  I lost a lot of weight a couple years ago but it still hasn't sunk it.  This is something I need to have sink in.  Otherwise I will NEVER GET ANY GARMENTS DONE.

In other news, I'm updating the bedroom on the cheap.

From this:

 And adding stuff that took it to this:

For way cheap, it's a good time.  Also to the poor kid whose prom flowers were inspired by the glittery stuff I used in the vases?  Sorry.  Or else you're welcome for my free genius.  Actually it doesn't matter cause you're mom probably took credit for the whole thing anyway since you were being such a snot about NEEDING to be different and giving her such a hard time that she about broke down in the store telling me about your teenagedness.  And she was right to take away your cell phone after you threw it at her!  Also I'm glad that it broke, you big dummy.  YOU THREW IT.  SHE DUCKED.  IT HIT THE WALL.  WHAT DID YOU EXPECT.

Kids today.  Geesh.

The Inner Isolation*

Inner isolation is something no one told me about when I was diagnosed.

No one can understand the internal isolation I feel right now.  That inner dialogue of worry, or fear, of panic that I try to push off or outrun.  To others it manifests physically as me being depressed, down.  Quiet or, yes, fake.  Fake as in an too large of a smile or laugh.  It's the only way I know how to cover it over with people who don't know what's going on.

Sometimes I wonder if other people get the impact of all of this.  This inner panic as I wait.  Wait for test results.  Wait for my hearing.  The constant inner fight against panic.  The fear.  The tears always close to the surface.  The feeling of craziness (a constant lately) and the isolation that comes with it.   I can't talk about it with most people because I get the usual comments of, "don't worry about it," or, "it will all be fine."  But what if it isn't?  What if this appeal, this appeal that has so many tests and letters and statements behind it isn't enough and I'm denied again?  What then?  Thank God I have a therapist who I can pour all this out to and who tells me that it's normal.  That I am not crazy.  That this is unfair (yeah, yeah, life is unfair) and I've been beaten with that unfair stick a lot but have come through.  And she says I will this time too.

It's easy to sit in that other chair and not be in the one holding me and my inner isolation.

Right now I feel like I'm in a holding pattern and I'm losing fuel and about the crash.  I have three weeks until my hearing and I refuse to talk about it with anyone close because the tears!  The tears will flow!  And it's so hard to explain.  It's so hard to handle.  It's so hard to be alone in my head.

And this is in no way a "pity me" post.  Sometimes it's just easier to write down what I'm thinking in order to sort things out and get to the root of what is going on inside my swiss cheese brain.  So I'll close comments for this post because I want no pity or pep talk or sarcastic comments.

*I know healthy people have problems.  Divorce, loss, change, I know this.  But this is my blog and right now?  I'm talking about my problem.  This is just one of my outlets.  No offense intended.  Now go drink your Ovaltine.

An Audible Gasp

Hey I finished the wreath.  Yes, you may all gasp at once.

This was a fun project that I will definitely do again.  BECAUSE NOW I HAVE A TON OF CARD STOCK!

Also all the lines of the pattern pieces for the muslin for my couture dress are finished.

Who says insomnia isn't productive???

Like, A Bazillion Dollars

I'm beginning to understand why couture clothing is so expensive.  Want to know the secret?

It.  Takes.  Freaking.  Forever.

Especially for a person who likes to wing it.  I've made prototypes for most of the garments that I've made before I made the final piece, but I've never gone into this much detail.  But that's cool, I wanted to learn the ins and outs of couture, right?

Like using tracing paper to trace every line of the pattern onto the muslin.  ON BOTH SIDES.

And then thinking, "Yay!  That's done!  Sewing time!"  But then going forward in class and finding out the next step is to sew over EVERY LINE I JUST TRACED.

I have done this to seven pieces.  I still have 21 to go.  Face palm.  Well, face palm only because I didn't expect this step.  I'm sure there will be many more steps that I won't expect and a lot more complaining that you will get to be a part of lucky, lucky reader.  At least now though I can justify what I charge for crap I (will be) making.  Not crap!  I mean awesome whimsical Frou Frilly Frou Couture (tm) clothing!

I think next I get to start assembly.  That or I get to rip everything apart and start over.  Evil instructor!!

And Then It Exploded

I'm always on rhododendron watch around this time of year.  I'm all, "when are they going to bloom?" and the bushes are all, "when I feel like it, damn calm down woman!"

Then overnight the rhododendrons decide to explode and I wake to all this:

And it is lovely.

Also you are invited to my tea party:

Silly hats required.