I'm afraid of my sewing machine. There . . . I said it. I'll say it again. I'm afraid of my sewing machine.
In case you are just joining me, I bought a sewing machine on a whim in an effort to "find myself". (It went right along with learning to play the drums and getting my nose pierced. I guess if you are going to find yourself, a nose piercing, drum playing and sewing are three of the tamest ways you can do it.) I'm not actually a sewer - in the sense of having actual technical skill. I don't use patterns. Technical abbreviations like RST and WST send me into a tizzy. And I don't really do anything too useful with the sewing machine - like mend things, make clothes or assemble school costumes.
So . . . it seems like any little bump of a dial or flip of a switch sends my sewing machine into a tantrum which results in this:
So you can imagine the terror that filled me when I walked into my dining room - aka crafting/sewing spot - and saw this:
(This is actually a reenactment of the incident. Try explaining to a five year old that she is never supposed to do that again . . . except for one more time while mommy takes a picture.) A five year old is all about bumping dials and flipping switches. But it was hard to be mad when she looked up at me with big eyes and says, "But mommy I just wanted to be like you."
However, when I turned the machine on a few hours later to work on my journal for Service Boot Camp, my machine was majorly malfunctioning. Ugh!!!! In fear and trembling, I turned some dials, flipped some switches and . . . problem not fixed. I worked on the machine all night, and I could not get it to work right. Finally, I gave up, went to bed and slept poorly. Later the next day I sat down, turned a dial, flipped a switch, and . . . wallah, problem solved. I have no idea what I did or how to do it again.
I swear my sewing machine is just taunting me, teasing me, terrifying me. It worked . . . I'm still afraid, but I vow to . . .
craft on!
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