Let's add blogging to the list, since sewing something like this is already on there. I'm avoiding a project for class, due on Monday. No idea how to even start this, so the materials sit in the back seat of the car while I try [as well as avoid] brainstorming ideas. What doesn't help is a remarkable bitterness in seeing other people following their bliss and actually making a go at it, whereas I tried and failed. I realize I'm making generalizations about people's lives on the five second sound byte I hear, because everyone lies, even if it's only a little bit, about their lives. Call it an omission of truth if you want. People envy me the talent I display knitting socks. I envy them their stable jobs. Or relationships. Their cars that aren't falling apart. Sometimes envy is too gentle a word.
And I'm a little upset with this professor, who despite the pleas of the entire class to extend the due date, insisted we capable people would be able to turn this project over the the space of a week. I'm a little embittered about that one as well.
And I'm turning 27 on Tuesday. Yeah. I know. I'm a baby.