Resistence

I must not buy the sewing machine.

I will not buy the sewing machine.

But I want it. But I shouldn't buy it.

I shouldn't buy it because I haven't even used my mothers yet. At least not in the last five years.

And just because it sounds so loud I think I'm going to go deaf when she's sewing with it, doesn't mean that I should, during my first sewing project, go out and buy a sewing machine.

Even if I have two other--three other--projects planned.

Even if it will last years. Years and years and years of dresses and skirts that actually fit me.

And not just dresses...I can go to Spoonflower and buy t-shirt cotton, and make myself fun shirts that are also quirky, shirts that express my unique, freakish personality.

And plus, have you seen these bags?

And the quilts? All of them?

I could so totally use a sewing machine for those things. And I know that Mom's machine doesn't do knits, so if I ever wanted to, you know, sew something not regular cotton, something like denim, I couldn't do it unless I upgraded.

But I'm not buying it. It would be a bad idea.

It would be bad because I don't know how often I'm going to sew.

But I would sew more if the sewing machine didn't sound like a train. Trains are loud. And I would sew more if the machine didn't shake the house on its foundations. That's loud. And vibratey. I don't like that machine. I'm afraid of that machine.

And that's why I never learned to sew with it before. Because I am afraid of it.

If I have a manual, I would learn the right way to sew with a machine, and I wouldn't be frightened, right?

I'm not buying a machine. Not today.

But if I didn't buy it today, it might not be there tomorrow...or even Monday. What if it isn't there?
That's what the internet is for, though. A person can order things online, you know.

Yeah...

I guess so.