I can't say I'm to thrilled I always see you and your counterpart, 4 p.m. on the same days. But, so is the price of getting [insert something you really want here].
The other day one of my best friends text me "You don't love me anymore." Why? I hadn't spoken to her in [insert inconsiderately long time frame here]. I don't know how long it had been since I had bothered to ask how she's been. I don't know when I called my mother last. I don't know when I had my last meal or if I remembered to take my vitamins at all these past weeks. I don't know if I'm making any sense right now. Why? Because I go to design school. And believe me, you will never understand what it is to be a creative minded person unless you are one because even if you aren't working your brain will not let you stop. Was that the right color, the right fabric? Were those buttons too big? Should I recut and sew?
I would like to allot time for people, maybe somewhere between my 3 to 4 hour long studio classes, after which I literally continue working until I attend them again the following day.
"You don't love me anymore."
I don't even fucking love myself anymore because I forgot how to. Because all I love is when I hear that an assignment is completed at an acceptable level for me to pass. All I love is the rare occasion I ever get something right on the first try. All I love is the rare occasion my work gets a compliment.
I just need so badly to know that it is possible to be happy. That I will eventually find a place where I can place the people who care about me above getting the right seam allowances on my patterns.
To anyone left who I have not ostracized, to anyone left who has stuck around past the monster I have become. Thank you. I love you more than seam allowances, pattern paper, and fabric shears combined and multiplied.
I wonder if people see me and think wow, she works really hard, she must not have time to focus on pampering herself. Or wow, someone hose that bitch down.
♥
Lini, deliriously yours.
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