I saw my doctor on Monday, and you can all breathe a sigh of relief (or clench your fists since you know how great my estate sale would be) that I am fine and can carry on my drinking and worrying ways indefinitely. I have a possible hemangioma on my liver, which is a little blood vessel anomaly and seems common in EDS and my mom has one too so it is not anything to worry about. Bottom line, I still have EDS and things don’t work right and they don’t know why and there’s no treatment. The end. Stop going to the doctor, weirdo.
I have taken on too much work. The biggest aspect of that will end tonight when I go to the last dress rehearsal I need to attend as Costume Designer to ascertain that it is all good. It is much harder to do my job when my only staff is a sullen 12-year-old who smells like an onion farm and swears a lot. That notwithstanding, he’s been a big help. One of the dresses I used for this show was built by a student who graduated awhile back and I don’t mind saying that if that child were standing in front of me I might poke them with a pin in the eye for their sloppy, careless construction of what should be an immensely valuable piece of stock–a silk dupioni dress in a 24W that works for 1950s or early 60s and is a gorgeous violet color. Fortunately, being that I am a big straight talker, that student graduated knowing that I believed their sewing skills were absolutely subpar and several discussions had taken place wherein I said things like, “I would not want you to tell anyone that you learned how to sew in this shop.” etc.
Takeaway on that is that it is much, much easier to do something right the first time than it is to go in and unfuck it later. Unfuck is my own copyrighted term, ya’ll, so send me a penny if you use it. Sometimes, it is the only explanation that suits.
The other half of the too much work still drags on, and the magic is not flowing at this point, three mock-ups into it. If tomorrow is the last mock-up fitting then the magic may deign to come back, but I’m tired of this project and I haven’t even gotten the fashion fabric yet. Sewing tends to follow a “Love/Hate/Love” trajectory, and I have passed out of euphoric love and settled firmly into hate. Or, at least, the subset called Loathing. It will get better, but I need it out of my life sooner than I suspect it will be. Isn’t that always the way?
On deck for the moment the last project has winged its way away from me are four more online sewing classes.
You know, so I can relax for awhile.