this is one of those posts where I confide in you, my gentle readers…
(even though you aren’t really ALL so gentle, now are you?)
… something has been on my mind. something has been gnawing at me. nibbling at my thoughts.
I’ve been preoccupied with a desire to do something, to have something, to be a certain way.
This is something else altogether.
I want to sew. I want to make clothes. Cute hip duds that only I can have. That are for me.
You see I have never in my life enjoyed looking like everybody else. When I was younger I had tons of time and energy to shape my look from what was available in the world around me…
I do not have that time and energy anymore. I have a different kind of time and energy. A new kind of Cami time and energy… the kind that involves a sewing machine (which I don’t have) and fabric (which I need to get) and talent as a seamstress (which I totally don’t have).
There’s hope though. You see my mom can work miracles with a needle and thread… I think I’m hoping some of that rubbed off on me. I’m hoping that some of her innate skill sunk in.
I want to make myself cute little dresses, skirts and shirts. Clothes that I can love to wear, love to see. Love to know that they were made just to go with my big boots and my questionable sensibility. Clothes that reflect my own personal since of style and whatthefuck attitude.
Clothes that I made.
You see in a whole lot of ways I’m like my dad… but he can’t sew a stitch as far as I know… so I’m hoping in this way I’ll be more like mom.
Only she makes an awful lot of bears and monkeys and bunnies (oh my, I know). I don’t know that I want to make those. Unless they look really sad and are made of black depressing fabrics leftover from cute little dresses I made for myself….
Too bad I don’t have a sewing machine, if only I could very quickly procure one…