Part of the Story

So apparently evil gnomes numbered this drawing. Because there are so many double numbers, I have no freakin’ idea what happened. I must have been really tired or stressed (or both, thinking about what night it was). I screwed up multiple times. I’m like 150 pieces off. I have a’s and b’s to tell the numbers apart for like a stretch of 150 pieces. I’m hoping that after I got to wherever I stopped last night that I caught all the mistakes. One issue was that it’s round and I usually number from the bottom up. But that should have been fine because I did one half first and then the second half. I found one batch of lost pieces…I had numbered one side, started on the second side (with a completely random number…am I losing my mind?), but then realized I never numbered the arms on the other side, so I went back and did them. That does not explain the clusterfuck that was the rest of the numbering in this piece.

I didn’t finish last night. I was too busy trying to find all my mistakes and make sure I traced everything. I’m betting I still missed something. Aargh. Frustration. I don’t need things to take more time right now. I need everything to be very efficient. Fuuuck.

OK. Well. It’s done. The mistakes. They will be part of the story. The crazy story that is me and my art.

So I was at the gym yesterday, reading a book that was recommended to me by someone somewhere that I don’t remember anything about, and I get this…

Yeah. I don’t think the lack of estrogen makes us calmer. Laughing really loudly at that.

I had a stitching meeting in the afternoon…we old ladies chortle about crazy things and discuss how to overthrow the government. You think I’m kidding.

Susan spun, Kelly knitted, I stitched. I finished Earth Mother 8…

Now that’s two that need baths and ironing. One more to go.

And I started the Tiny Pricks project. I thought about how to transfer text and finally said fuck it and started stitching.

I don’t need no stinking markings. The text is from a speech he gave last weekend. It’s a rambling clusterfuck, so I’m just gonna stitch it all until I run out of space.

By the way, this is my country. I belong here. Well, the natives may feel differently, and I am sorry for that. I’m not fucking leaving. That said, if you don’t like us talking back to you and telling you how fucked up racism and sexism and genderism and all the other stupid shit y’all come up with to remove people’s rights…well then YOU can leave. My family’s been here for a good long time, but the reality is that the majority of us are immigrants here. Our families did not start here. We need to accept real life history and stop using this shit as an excuse.

The background of this piece? The signing of the Declaration of Independence…from the country we left. You know, when we immigrated.

Ahhh. Sigh. Just stitching his words pisses me off. I’ll be glad to be done with this. I have a month. I’ve done 10 words.

OK, so here’s one of the numbering mistakes…

That toenail. What the freak was I doing? I just don’t know.

The word of the day is frustration. Followed by breathe.

I traced for three hours last night. I’d like to think I’m more than halfway done, but I just don’t know how many more mistakes I have in this thing. I have to do part of the sky on one side, one whole figure, and the outline pieces. I’ve been tracing for 9 hours. I really should have been done by now, if it weren’t for the clusterfuck that was my brain. I’m on piece 439 of 727 (except there’s really 150 more than that)…so MAYBE there are 300 more pieces. Three hours? Or so. I want to be done today. Not sure I can pull that off, but I’ll try.

OK. Do you ever have a conversation with your brain about how you really need the best behavior from it now? Like please pay attention and function properly? Because sometimes it just wanders off and leaves you with a skeleton crew. Anyway. On to the day. Hopefully my brain will come along.

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