I love crafts.
I’m sorry. I said that wrong.
I LOVE CRAFTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The idea of making something. To wear something that you took the time out to force yourself to sit down and become completely and utterly frustrated at is like the biggest endorphin rush to me. Don’t get me wrong. I am in no way, shape, or form an expert at anything. Right now I’m currently redoing a scarf I made for my daughter on a loom because A) I suck at paying attention to instructions and B) Reading instructions can be hard. I may be a former Librarian but I’m a very simple person. Instructions will be like 3ch, 4dch, 5tst, H1N1, do the hokey pokey and turn yourself about.
Do I realize that there is a method to this madness usually located in the key or at the very least Pinterest? Yes.
Do I realize there are videos online that will show me in real time how to do it? Of course.
Am I too lazy to refer to either one of these? You’re darn tootin’!
Why can’t it simple like “Loop this around here. Do this and voila! You have now knitted a king size comforter fit for a literal king. Here’s your million dollar reward.”
Wait, what do you mean “if I just read the instructions I could do that with time and patience”?
Well…well…you read too slow! So there!
I have what you call “confused fingers and too high expectations”. I have a Pinterest board that is full to the brim with projects that I want to do but I have something called “kids, a husband, and 1 paycheck to rule them all”. If dreams could pay for the things I wanted to craft with then I would never go shopping for clothes again.
I, with every fiber of my weird twisted being, want a sewing machine like I want Tina Turner’s hair, Beyonce’s thighs, and Benedict Cumberbatch to stop being so popular so he can put out more episodes of Sherlock (Side note: Since Sherlock premiered and the 10th episode came out almost a year ago, I have gotten married twice, got a divorce, went through two pregnancies, bought a house, lost a house, started college, dropped out of college, and moved across state lines…TWICE!). I want one. I don’t need a Berina or another super expensive one. I’ll take a cheap little someone who will just make me some pillows or a skirt. Is that too much to ask? We surveyed our bank account, kids current clothing needs, debt, and car that is super overdue for an oil change and survey says: “Girl, you so funny!” Wait, I still hear them laughing.
Now when it comes to crafting, here’s my problem: I’m addicted. It makes me happy. In my crazy hectic life, crafting is one of a few things that calms me and is purely mine. Ida
has too short of an attention span to do much of anything is too young to really crochet or knit and my husband has absolutely no interest in it. Maurice, well, he likes to chew on the yarn. My days are filled with constant movement and cleaning up messes while carrying around a caffeine drip to keep me from dropping. So when I can sit in the quiet and just rest my tired body by tangling string together, it’s amazing. Does anyone else in my family understand? No, at least not at the level I feel it.
Currently, I have no place to really craft. My bedroom currently house a huge dresser and three beds (1 King, 1 twin, and a toddler bed) because air conditioners are expensive and I don’t know how we signed a lease on an apartment without realizing that it doesn’t have central air. I’m not about to drop an additional $200 on something I might not ever use again after we move out of this glittered infused cesspool we call an apartment in February. The only place I would be able to really fit a crafting station, at the moment, would be in the kid’s room. The problem with that is my kids are 4 and 1 and I already spend about 20 minutes every night untangling my
crushed dreams and desires current projects. Or at least I did until, as per usual when I get frustrated with my current situation, I gave up. I currently have three blankets and two scarves sitting unfinished in my living room and about 6 miles of yarn more tangled than my hair. It’s hard and frustrating not being able to do something that helps separates you from the mundane of your life. It’s almost degrading. It’s like having life tell you that you are only the titles that you have and who you were before those titles is dead and gone. You’re futilely chasing this forever lost person and refusing to give up.
Well, that got depressing.
My name is Meg. I’m a craftaholic. I’m a dreamer longing to dream…and fries. I want to dream and eat fries.