I got too many regrets
I've smoked too many cigarettes
I've had more blondes than brunettes
I'm not expecting your sympathy
But it's all been too much for me...
-Monsoon, Robbie Williams.
Okay, so technically, the lyrics aren't quite accurate. But if I had to pick a song to fit my mood, it's be this one.
The "Do you ever feel, already buried deep, six feet under screams but no-one seems to hear a thing" line from Katy Perry's Firework is kinda accurate too.
Because lately, regularly*, I've been feeling like it's all too much. That it's won, I've lost, and now I'm stuck. It's all become too much for me.
At what point should one consider faking ones own death to escape the clutches of a dozen half-done projects, a trail of sketches for dozens more, and a fabric stash that I'm constantly worried will smother me in my sleep?
I am in too deep. My plans stretch too far forward and I will never be able to catch up, never be able to make all the projects I have thought about, done the maths for, bought fabric for. I have too much fabric, and I'm buying it twice as fast as I'm using it - three times, four times as fast. I suppose this is what if feels like to be caught up in a big lie and realising you can no longer talk your way out of it.
Hell, I was never even gunna be a quilter. I was gunna move to Adelaide, do a fashion design course, and then maybe become a buyer for one of the chain stores, or open a little bridal boutique, depending on how I was feeling about traveling. Never did "Amass over 100 fat quarters" show up on my list of life goals. I don't want "Finish your fourteen half done projects" on my to do list. And while I genuinely am the happy, optimistic person, full of wonder and amazement at everything and anything that I claim to be, underlying this is the knowledge that I'm also a big fat faker, and sometimes that bubbles to the top of my personality, and I wonder how the hell I got myself caught up so deep in all this.
I suppose I feel like I'm somehow indebted to all my half done projects, that I only got partway through creating them and what kind of mother would I be if I left them to waste away their days unfinished and unused? That I promised those fabrics something when I pressed the "proceed to checkout" button, and now they're languishing unloved in a box. That if I don't make all the quilts I can see in my head, they will never get made. But every new quilt I think up, every bit more fabric I buy makes it worse, and once the "hooray, new fabric" feeling has worn off, I remember that this has made me even further behind.
My plan to finish at least half of my part done quilts was probably the best compromise between getting at least some of them done and not driving myself bonkers by banning myself from creating new things. For that reason, I wouldn't ever ban myself from buying fabric, not least because a lot of plans I've made already still have little holes in them that need to be filled, and denying myself the option of filling them, or forcing myself to fill them with something I'm not satisfied with would probably make it worse.
But I feel guilty when I'm not getting on with something. I took a break from the big projects last night and pieced myself a couple of little pillows from the charm squares Shay gave me, and even though I needed it to escape from the pressure of the five big projects I'm actively working on, I still felt guilty about it, and tonight to make up for it I told myself I would quilt two of the basted quilts I had lying about. They're pretty much done, almost, and I probably will get them finished before I go to bed, but somedays I kinda feel like chucking it all in, running away from what I've spent so long amassing, because I worry that I'm not realising it's potential, that someone could do a better job of it than me, that I'm just faking it all and pretty soon you're all gunna realise.
I'm not a mind reader, but I'm fairly sure we all feel this way about something or another. That we're all just pretending to know what we're doing. And what I've decided is, that's okay. If we're all pretending, and we all know we're pretending, it's a little white lie that's necessary to allow society to function, no different to the lie that a little bit of plastic or paper is worth as much as a trolley full of food. It only is because we all agree it is, and that's okay.
I've decided it's the ones who actually believe all these lies they tell themselves that you have to watch out for. And that I'm gunna get over my worries now, and go and get on with life.
I've got some quilting to do.
*when I say regularly, I mean for at least one minute every day. Regularly doesn't have to mean often. Hayley's comet comes around regularly too. I wish my self doubt only came by once every 72 years.