Clusterfuck in the Craftroom

I managed to finish the birth sampler which is now two years old but finishing the bell pull is going to make me cry. It needs to be at my parents' on Friday so I hope to overnight it tomorrow. When I got home today I tried to sew it. Sat down to wind the bobbin--no spool holder. Um, if you randomly put away a spool holder somewhere not with your sewing machine where would you find it? The vegetable bin in the fridge? (And can I just remark that when I was looking for the pins, I found the old pins but not the ones I bought to replace them when I couldn't find them.) I searched high and low but I am pretty sure it is wherever the new pins are. I tried to take the holder off the other machine--but it doesn't come off. Which is sensible. But I couldn't find the foot pedal for that machine (of course not!) so I am sewing this mother by hand. What a pain in the ass. I'm up late and I'm not sure I'll even be close. I should have driven to my cousin's--90 minute round trip and I'd still be done with it already.

I was very determined only to use fabric I had on hand. The flat fold fabric is fine, and the bell pull--well, some days I like it and some days I think I should have sprung for something new. Wait until you see the stand-up, though, that fabric couldn't be more perfect if I went shopping just for that (Sam's sampler--I just have to sew the front to the rest of the cube, which is kicking my ass).

Speaking of ass-kickings work is getting me down. I love how everyone in the world is an expert. I love how their expertise extends from what they do, say running a college or neurosurgery, to what I do (write, make magazines). How much do I love being told that my article about a graduate student (MD/PhD in pathology) should include his background because you know, being a foreign-born science grad student is so fucking unique. No offense to my foreign-born grad student scientist readers--I love you, but your experience...not that special.

Plus which I have company coming on Friday. The place is a sty. The usually spotless dining room is the best example. It looks like the craft room directly upstairs sprung a leak and left crap all over the dining room table. Where's my fucking fairy godmother when I need her?

So, um, pictures another day, okay?