Sofia is making poor choices in her life. I feel like it’s been a long, downward spiral. I’m behind on my math homework. Last night I stayed up late watching Taiwanese soap operas. I’m being unproductive as we speak, writing frivolous stuff like this when I ought to be researching the statistics of homelessness and studying for organic chemistry. Not good. Not good at all.
Yesterday was the same way. Instead of doing work, I decided to sew. The bodice of my creamy yellow sundress I made out of that fabric I purchased at the Japanese Cultural Center’s rummage sale was too long, so I shortened it. I could have been doing my study guide for International Relations with that time, but no. Afterwards, I needed a needle to hand-sew the finishing touches. On 3 pincushions, I found 3 darning needles, a couple of tapestries, and a crewel. Not okay. I wanted a sharp. Where are all my precious sharps? Why do I have 3 pincushions? You know, I’ve had this tomato one for a long time and I never liked it. It’s so cliche. Come on; a tomato? Everyone has a tomato pincushion. I like my Miss Meow pincushion better. I need to downsize.
Plus, there are probably needles in there.
So, I snipped it apart. I lost a pincushion, but I found 34 needles inside. Who would have ever known? It had such a cheerful outside, that red tomato pincushion. Who would have ever known there were so many dangerous and hurtful things inside, hiding behind it’s brave front? Or is that a bad analogy, since I actually like needles? Should I ruminate instead on the release of potential nobody could see from the outside? All I knew that red velveteen tomato to be was a worn out, superfluous pincushion. If I had not delved deeper, I might have tossed it without ever discovering the treasures inside.
I’m sorry. I’ll stop now.
I started this meaning to tell my latest “Strange-People-Who-Invade-My-Personal-Space-At-Bus-Stops” story. I would have thought by now that everybody would be tired of these, but since my no. 1 fan requested it yesterday, I guess not. If I can think of a moral to the story, or something else to tie it up with, I’ll tell you another time.