Dear Diary,
Last Monday I spent my ENTIRE sewing day making a Christmas dress for Ping. I even altered a doll clothes pattern and cut out a matching dress for her doll. Perhaps if I hadn't been wrestling with things that used to be as easy as breathing to me (laying out actual patterns and following sewing instructions), I would have noticed BEFORE it was nearly done that what I was actually working on was an Epic Failure. Yes, Dear Diary, Epic. Failure.
Now, I don't want you to think I'm exaggerating (you know I never, ever, ever, EVER do that). I had witnesses. Even my Beeg Seester couldn't find a way to say it was okay. She suggested removing the collar. I did. It didn't help. I decided to alter the sleeves. Um, no, that didn't save it either. In the end, I decided that the fabric I'd chosen and the pattern I was using just weren't ever going to be on friendly terms. So, when Me Darlin' Mither asked me a few days later what I had finally decided to do with the dress, I said, "I wadded it all up and shoved it in a drawer".
But, now that I've gotten enough space between myself and the experience, I can see that there is no salvation (at my hands) for any of it, and today I am trying to work up the nerve to - gasp! - throw it all away. I'm glad you can't talk, Dear Diary, because you might tell me to at least re-use the fabric. But, Diary, I just can't do that. I am not that strong. Really. I'm not.
In fact, Dear Diary, I've been leaning pretty heavily on these wonderful words from a recent sermon:
"Failure is always an event, never a person."
Today is sewing day, Dear Diary.
I'm really hoping it is uneventful.