Embroidering Like a Motherfucker (Patreon)

Sinclair Sexsmith titled a Patreon post “November was a fuck of a month, wasn't it? ” and I can’t get that phrase out of my head. 

It WAS a fuck of a month, wasn’t it? And December continues to go fucking along as well. Fucking fuck fuck. 

I’m in England, visiting Matt’s family. This has been some of the worst jetlag we’ve ever suffered under. It’s almost like having the flu, but without any coughing or snotting or fever. So maybe not really like the flu, except that I’m so friggin’ exhausted and weak that I can’t think straight. If we’d arrived yesterday that would be fine, but here we are, six days in, and we’re both still destroyed. 

It’s funny how you don’t hear your own accent until you’re the only one in the group who talks like you do. I’ve got them hARd ARs that fill up my mouth and push through my teeth, while everyone here breathes out soft ‘ah’ sounds in place of words ending in R. Car becomes “kAR” in my mouth, “kah” from my in-laws. Garage is “GARE-OJDGE” to me, “gahahge” to them. Garbage: “GAR-BAJE” and “gahrbaj”— although they don’t actually ever say that word, because to them it’s “rubbish”.

I’m all fucked up about the election results. And then I feel guilty sharing that in public because I know that in the hierarchy of people who are about to be absolutely fucked over, Matt and I are comparatively safe. Safer, in any case. But even with that bit of comparative-privilege-buffering, jesus, I’m terrified. The entire week after the results came in, I was paralyzed. Just frozen. 

I’ve read some articles that speculate on the consequences of our election that leave me numb and horrified, but not enough. I’ve donated some money to various organizations, but not enough.  I’ve called some of my representatives, but not enough.

Since November 8th I’ve had that exact same sensation in my stomach that you get when you’re slowly inching up the highest hill on a roller coaster. The closer you get to the top, the deeper the pit in your stomach feels in anticipation of the frightening plunge you know you’re about to hurtle down. Except roller coasters have safety mechanisms in place so you can just enjoy the thrill without actually being injured. 

AnywayAnywayAnyway! I have lots of thoughts. You probably have been having nearly identical ones. I don’t have any Brand New Insights to offer. Just. Y’know. Sharing in the Fellowship of Cold Terror. 

Sorry, I meant to give you an update on what’s been going on behind-the-scenes. More so than Fellowship-of-Cold-Terror-sharing, I mean. But that’s been a pretty massive component of the last month and half. And tere’s been a whole lotta other stuff going on too! Auhg. Maybe I’m too jetlagged to do this right now. 

Ok. Here’s what I can manage: 

I have been embroidering like a motherfucker and it feels so good. Doing needlework is what I imagine meditation feels like; repetitive, soothing, slowly progressing towards a beautiful end result. Except for when I stab my fingers with the needle. That’s… probably not something meditators experience. I stabbed my right pointer finger so hard yesterday that it still aches today. If you wanna follow along (with the sewing, not the bodily injury) I’ve been posting in-progress shots to that “Story” thing on Instagram (It’s Instagram’s ripoff of SnapChat) and the final results on my regular timeline there. https://www.instagram.com/fuckyeaherikamoen/

Here’s my third embroidery project of this trip! You can see the reference photo I took, the simplified tracing I did of it, and my current status on the actual fabric. I’m figuring it out as I go along! ...just like... life? Yeah, good one, Erika. Noice.