I like sewing. I like the idea of sewing. I like the end result. I love buying fabric, when I have the money to do so. But I'm not very good at it, which means that I don't often actually do it, which means, of course, that I'm no good at it, because it's hard to become good at something you don't practice at. (This, incidentally, is why it took me three tries and a year to learn how to knit.) My mom got me a sewing machine for Christmas, and it was embarassing long until I got it out of the box (I am afraid of the sewing machine.) The first thing I tackled was turning a pair of jeans into a skirt. All future projects involving denium will wait until I go home and can use my mom's machine. A couple of broken needles and a lot of cussing resulted in a done skirt but also in my neglecting the machine for another long while.
Anyhow, this afternoon, I pulled out a half-finished dress and approached the machine with trepidation. It's done, however, and doesn't look bad. It's not great - you can definitely tell it's homemade, and not in the best of ways - but it's not bad. It's comfy. It'll do for running to the library or if we make it back to the beach this summer or something like that. Part of the problem with it is that it violates one of my prime directives of clothing: large women should not wear big, shapeless clothing, as it makes us look even bigger. This dress may end up becoming a shirt and top at some point.
So, I feel mildly satisfied. I have a drawstring skirt to seam up, and then I should find a smaller project to practice on. I can always use another bag, and I have enough fabric in the stash that finding something suitable shouldn't be a problem.