Confessional

It's time for some privileged information. There seems to be a rash of studio cleaning on blogs these days. I find that inspiring except that none of them seem to have sewing areas as atrocious as mine. To me, they look a little messy. Mine's not 'a little messy'. Mine is an nonnavigatable heap. My family calls it the Black Hole. I haven't even been sewing in there.....I carted my machine up to the kitchen table.

How does this happen? Don't I know how much better I feel when I can work in there? Is this some deep hidden reference to where quilting ranks on my priority list? Do I need to call Betsy, my beloved therapist? (probably, but that's another post).

So, here are the provisos: no mocking laughter, no sending the photos to girfriends with subject title 'you thought yours was bad' or some similar quip, no---absolutely NO---patronizing comments starting with 'you poor thing' followed by good advice.

You MAY pray, send good vibes, etc...., paypal a gift certificate to a cleaning service, show up sometime this week with a shovel and some tall boots.

The Room:

This is the room where I'm suppose to sew. One of my machines is buried in here somewhere....

Room 2:

(Sorry. This image has been deleted. Trust me, it was awful.)
This is my mangle/storage room. Maybe you can discern part of the mangle in the lower left corner, hidden under the mountain of batting.

I have to dig it out this week. Why? Because I made a solemn vow to my devoted husband that I'd finish my taxes before going to IQA in Chicago next week. And my tax info is buried somewhere in there. Today I'll hold my breath and dive in.

Call 911 if you don't hear from me soon.