Bah humbug

I knew there was a reason I didn't make adult-sized stuff. Now I remember. It's a pain in the ass.

I've been trying to make a dress for a girl at work. I'm currently having a break before I do something silly to it. Two attempts so far to stitch a piece that's about two inches long, and as I unpicked it for the second time, I just got so annoyed. Why do the pattern makers make things damn near impossible to stitch without catching other bits of material or going right off the stitching line? It's a nightmare. It was going so well up to that point as well, and now I'm in no mood to sew, let alone do anything else.

Too many late nights have finally caught up with me I think, on the weekend when I have too much to do and not enough time to do it in. I even managed eight hours sleep last night, which was probably the worst thing for me to do at this point. After doing fine on about 6 hours max for the last few weeks, the lay-in of an extra two hours has put me right out.

Plus the lack of caffiene.

I really should think about mainlining espressos. Failing that I shall go and make myself a really strong cup of coffee and sit and glare at my sewing machine over the rim of the cup. I normally drink diet pepsi. I used to drink coke, but switched to diet to lessen the sugar intake. Unfortunately, I think diet coke tastes disgusting. All I can taste is the sweetner and nothing else, so I drink diet pepsi instead, because at least, to me, that has a flavour that isn't just pure aspartame. Well, I would drink it if I had any. I don't. Himself, who "doesn't like" it, still seems to manage to force it down his neck, leaving me pepsi-less. We do have diet coke in the house, which is what he drinks, but I'm damned if I'm going near it. I may be suffering from a lack of caffiene, but I'd rather have the headaches and grumpiness than the evil taste of that in my mouth.

So today I am definitely grrrr about sewing and grrr about lack of caffiene. Time to go put the kettle on and drink hot drinks on a hot day and then get on with trying to get this bloody dress made. It's a Vogue, one of the Vintage patterns. All I can say is that ladies who made those dresses back when they were new either had a lot more patience or skill than me. Or were masochists. I'm going with that option.

Right, time to go and stab pins into some material with all the venom I can muster, and then calmly give up and hand stitch the bloody thing instead...

That was then...

This is now...

What a week it's been. Work has been slow. Days pass like racing snails. The evenings on the other hand, the time I have to myself, just seems to disappear.

What have I done this week... Hmmm

Last night I was out all evening. First at fat club (nearly a stone gone so far and working on it, but not really very good at sticking to the eating plan...) then out at the dancing.

For those who were paying attention, I decided to go learn to jive. So I went... I've been going for almost two months, with a break while I was off at Beltring. I started just going on a Thursday, then decided that going on a Tuesday as well might be a good idea. I can't drive, so kept having to scrounge lifts from people. I gave that up as a bad idea this week, after spending too much on taxis when lifts dropped out. Now I cycle.

So... fifteen minutes of cycling followed by dancing from eight till eleven, then another 15 minute cycle back home again. If I'm not fit (and thinner) by the end of this, I'm going to cuss.

I really need to get on and do some sewing, but I find myself sat in front of the computer yet again writing this stuff. I have a dress to make for a girl at work, as well as another dress to make for a friend. After that I have some baby bits to do before I can even think of getting on and making myself another skirt for my dancing. Which is a bit of a sod by the way, because the lovely skirt I made for dancing just before I went away no longer fits me. Well, it does, just, as long as I don't mind a skirt that sits on my hips.

Ah well, I've persuaded a friend to take up jiving too, so that at least I will have one person to dance with come next year's Beltring. Maybe I can enlist a few more to the cause before then... We shall see...

Lost...

I feel lost. Mixed emotionally. Who am I? I don't know. Does anyone? I wonder. Those that know me best might say yes. I wish they would tell me.

Who am I? What is my favourite colour? What do I like to eat? Am I loner or a socialite? What music do I like? What do I turn off when it comes on the radio? What car do I want to own? What would my ideal job be? Who is my ideal man? Do I want one? Which do I prefer? Long walks with someone or sitting on my own with my own thoughts? Am I needed? Wanted? What makes me smile? Laugh? Frown? Cry? Italian or Chinese? Sun or rain? Hot or cold? Diamonds or practical? which would I choose? What makes me tick? What's my favourite ice cream? Where would I love to be right now?

I'm looking for something. There's part of me missing. There's an empty space needing filled. A void that won't go away. I know what it is, but don't know where or how to find it. I look, but don't find. I search fruitlessly. I try to solve the mystery of making myself a whole, and end up emptier than before.

I feel guilt. I didn't write. I didn't call. I didn't make contact. I called too much. I intruded where I shouldn't have gone. I don't want to hurt. Don't want to hurt others. I said too much. I didn't speak enough.

Conflict. It's in my head. What to do? What not to do? Why do it if I can avoid it? Can I avoid it? Would things be better if I ignored it or met it head on? What would I say? Where would it lead? How would it end? Badly? Would things improve? What if they don't? Do I even want to try? Will anything ever be different? Has anything changed when I've said things in the past?

I want to talk to someone, but who? Other people have their own problems. They don't need mine as well. Some say they do, but suddenly are busy, tired, whatever.

I'm lost. No map, no compass, no magnetic north to guide myself by. I stumble on day after day wondering where I am, what I'm doing, why I did what I did, why I torture myself daily with the whole pantomime of life. It's not me. Really it isn't.

If there's an answer to all my questions above, if you know who I am, please let me know. Perhaps knowing that will let me know where to find the part of me that's missing.