The sun is turning the horizon bluish gold, like tepid pondwater. It won’t be all the way up for another hour, at least- but the heat from yesterday still lingers, night having done little to cool the parched house.
It’s 4:53 a.m. I’m not up because I’m doing something cool, like making buttermilk syrup and monkey bread for my kids. I’m not up to watch the sprinklers drench the yard, in a valiant attempt at keeping our grass on the greenish side of the summer color wheel. Nope. I’m up, and have been all night, because I don’t how to say “I can’t, I’m overloaded.”.
All night long, I’ve been wrestling with some lovely dupioni navy fabric, and an absolutely beautiful silver that really should be looking more like a bride’s maid dress and less like a pile of frustration. It’s my fault, and I don’t want the person I’m making it for to feel bad- I thought about not writing anything, but I need to, I need to vent, so that I can pick the pile of tulle and silkiness back up and whip it into something pretty. Hopefully.
See, the problem is, the pattern is about three sizes too small. Strike one. Patterns run that way, for anyone curious. They just do. It’s dumb, but true. So for starters, I have to alter the pattern to measurements I only have jotted down on a piece of paper. I also have to fit it to a body that is not at my house, and hasn’t been since buying the fabric. (Again, not her fault- life is like that.) Strike two. The wedding is in Utah. On Monday. Strike three, at least for me.
I ran to the store to buy more fabric, making it just before they closed. Last night? Yeah, it was, I’m sure, but since I haven’t been to sleep yet, it’s hard to remember. Anyway. I’ve spent the whole night making a dress that isn’t going together right, that I cannot try on to see if it fits, and has to be done ASAP.
I’m up here writing because my frustration levels were getting to the point where the seam ripper was looking like a mighty fun problem-solving tool. So I’m taking a little break. Hopefully it will go better after I have a little snack and clear my head.
None of this is my friend’s fault. I could have said no. I could have returned the pattern when I realized how small it was. I could have done a lot of things. At this point, if I could just buy her a dress, I would. I would I would I would. It would be easier on my tear ducts.