I meant to be good at the fabric store, I really did. But then I
got out of the car and went in
Measure twice. Cut once. Curse. Repeat.
No, my sewing room is not messy. I just have everything out
on display. Like a museum.
The only place housework comes before quilting is in the
dictionary.
Don’t be silly doctor! This is a “fabric stash,” not a
“hoarding disorder.”
“I will not buy any fabric until I use my fabric stash at
home,” I said. And then I laughed and laughed. That secret happy dance you do when you realize you are
finally done hand-cutting all 9,000,000,000,000 squares for that quilt.
Fabric is so addictive that it should be a controlled
substance.
It’s all fun and games until the bobbin runs out.
You know you are a quilter if your ironing board is always
set up, but you never iron clothes.
Stitchin’, Bitchin’, and Braless. A quilter’s life is good.
Sometimes I think maybe I should do something besides sew. .
. then I realize how silly I’m being and go back to sewing.
Of course I talk to myself when I craft. Sometimes I need
expert advice.
I’m in therapy, and sewing is cheaper than a psychiatrist.
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