Stabby…

I’m having the most fun over the past two nights (Sunday and Monday evening) stabbing Aida cloth in a manner that allows me to be creative, but also avoids all of the frustrating parts about cross stitch.

stabby night 1

As you can see, I am using a bright pink thread whose original use I cannot recall, and I have created a line of X’s. I have an 8×8 frame, and I just started about a 1/2-inch from the edge and started stabbing.

stabby night 2

The frustrating part of cross stitch is, for me, trying to follow a pattern. It’s not a hard process. You count the spaces with the color, and then count them again, and then a third time, and maybe a fourth…fifth…and so on. And then you stab and make your X’s. Continue following the pattern, counting, gaining confidence.

And then find out somewhere, seventeen or eighteen hours ago (doesn’t matter if you just started, it’s going to be as far back as humanly possible) you made a mistake that will require you to undo everything you’ve stitched so far and either rage quit the project, or redo everything.

Without a pattern, there’s absolutely no way I can screw things up! Except for when I cut the floss too long and it gets knotted, but I lived through a couple of those episodes already.

Maybe I’m making a giant rectangle of pink. Maybe I’m making a border for some adorable quote that needs to be stitched in six by six pixel letters. Maybe I’m going to create negative space for a picture, or a heart, or a circle, or smaller squares.

I don’t know. But it keeps me off the phone, it keeps my hands busy, and I’m enjoying seeing the progress.

Keep stopping by for progress updates!

LOL of course.

I recorded 27 minutes of video to put on YouTube this weekend, and then I couldn’t get the footage to a computer to edit it. The advice to turn your camera settings up as high as they’ll go doesn’t work when you have the slowest Internet speeds because you can’t afford the rates for the faster speeds.

It’s fine, though. I kind of let it all out, and I felt really good after doing it, but there was a lot of stuff shared that don’t need to be out in the public. I vented to friends, and that should be enough.

I’m going to try to stop complaining now. 🙂

Hope you’re having a good day.

The Deleting Urge

Sometimes I get urges to delete things.

Blogs, most frequently. Once a Facebook account. Twice all my Facebook posts (I’ve mentioned that recently.) Other social accounts. A user account that I really regret getting rid of.

Now books.

It’s a good idea. It really is.

But it’s also a bad idea.

But also a really, really good one.

Damn it.

The Deleting Urge is here.

How I write

I like to break the 4th wall.

I like to be a lot silly.

I like to slip in private jokes for my friends, and for me.

I write too much of me into my characters. Shhhh…

I write better when I write fast.

I don’t like to edit much more than for grammar and continuity.

I am struggling a LOT right now with writing. Maybe that’s come up? Or maybe I’ve just been ranting about it in my journal for a few days. It’s stress. Personal stress, family stress, and pandemic stress.

And the fucking masks. I know I mentioned the masks (which I will wear while loathing every second, but not resenting them).

But anyway. I got an idea for a scene — I guess it’s more accurate that a scene started playing in my head — while I was in the bathroom, where a character complains to another character about their nickname, and the second character tries to convince them to go with it, because the author is getting tired of typing it. The first character rationalizes that the reader doesn’t mind reading it, and she prefers it, so it should stay.

I’m going to keep that.

Heh…

Masks

Just a little rant that’s a little too long for Twitter.

I hate wearing the masks.

Here’s a story:

I went to a store yesterday. The temperatures outside were in the high 80’s, I think, but the humidity was tolerable. The store itself was frigid, the air was moving, and it was cool inside.

But I was sweating bullets, despite the cold air on my neck and arms, because my fucking mask is like wearing a diaper on my face. There was sweat on my upper lip dripping into my mouth, for crying out loud. It’s hot. It’s uncomfortable. I can’t wear my glasses with it because the fogging is so bad (I don’t have a mask with a nose wire, yet), and my breath blowing up the nose into my eyes when I wear my glasses is intolerable.

The moment I got into my car, I ripped that fucker off and threw it on the passenger seat. I turned on the air full blast to try to get the sweat that seemed to have sweat off my deodorant under control. I was sweating under my arms, on my neck, under my boobs, not to mention the mask-shaped sweat patch on my face.

I’m still going to wear the fucking mask.

I’ll probably adopt the mask further, if we ever got a vaccine for this fucking disease and I get the vaccine, to don it any time I’m not feeling 100%, because it fucking makes sense. How did this get to be a societal norm in other countries but not here in the US?

I hate the fucking mask, and I’ll bitch about how hot and uncomfortable the fucking mask makes me, but I’ll wear the mask, and I’ll get grumpy about every single person who walks into my office without one without giving me a chance to put mine on (because in my little office where I’m the only person, I feel comfortable not having it on. If I have to walk outside or talk to someone, I’m putting that fucker back on).

Seriously, guys. In an office full of people, stand in the fucking doorway if you’ve decided you’re too good to not wear the fucking mask, even though it’s fucking required to fucking wear it, so I can put mine on and at least protect my-fucking-self.

Fuck.

So there’s that.

Don’t you dare ask me how I’m doing. It should be clear.