I am apparently a good quilter. After my first quilting class, at which I performed such miracles as sewing two pieces of fabric together evenly and drawing a triangle–both of which feats somehow managed to be beyond the ability of some of the other people in the class–the teacher, on her way out, remarked to one of the women working behind the counter at the store where the class is held, “This one’s going to be another John.”
Another John? I thought. Hell, once I hit my stride, these people won’t even remember who John is.
That was two months ago.
Now I have been reduced to a quivering mass of despair, hoping fervently that, once I am discovered, the women who run the store and teach the class aren’t going to be talking about me on the phone, saying, “Faustus? We had such high hopes for him, but he’s turned out to be nothing but one disappointment after another.”
But the thing is, it’s really not my fault. I blame Island Batik.
When I made this block, it was only the first step in my grand design, which was to lead to the creation of a beautifully-designed queen-sized quilt using these colors and this pattern as a foundation. But the design hadn’t reached full maturity when I bought the fabric; I realized, therefore, that I needed more blue. So I ordered a few more yards of it.
Only to find that it had been discontinued. Island Batik had stopped making it just long enough ago that nobody had any left. And I mean nobody. I called like fifty of the stores listed on Island Batik’s web site, and not one of them had any of this fabric.
And now, knowing that the perfect fabric for my quilt exists but is forever beyond my reach, I am completely paralyzed. I can’t buy a less suitable fabric and make a quilt that I know to be inferior. And yet how can I walk into class on Thursday, after two weeks off (the teacher was judging some quilting competition in Vermont), knowing that they’ll think I’m a pathetic loser who doesn’t deserve the appellation “quilter,” having failed utterly to come anywhere close to the expectations they had of me? How can I even live, knowing that I will be eternally dogged by the shadowy figure of John, perfect John, in John we trust, always a Faustus and never a John (well okay except for that one time but I was really lonely)?
I have somehow managed to turn quilting into something at which I can fail. Up next is napping.
If you don’t see any posts from me for a while, it’s because I will have put my eyes out with a basting needle (size 7).
Now, now. Suck it up like a starving artist would and view this setback as an opportunity to do something else creative with your design. Put a solid block on one end or something. Good heavens, do you think John worked himself into a tizzy the first time his imported silk manufacturer discontinued his favorite?
Don’t despair yet. Go immediately to eBay, where some mercenary may be holding Island batik hostage; I mean, for auction. (Ok, now we really won’t hear from you for a while.)
Come on, you can make it work. Draw on your inner fabulousness.
Lord, did I just use the word “fabulousness”? Shoot me now. And then work on the quilt.
Faustus, I never thought I would say this to you, but, you need sex.
dear faustus, keep on keeping on Son….your never say die, catch the ball in left field, pay the goddamn traffic ticket, and sheesh: where do they find people who perform those goddamn porno flicks, is an inspiration to all us sane motherfuckers out here. I think I may love you, from your brief , but nicely written prose,, but will need to check your butt stats and your availability on Thur’s. @ noonish for a coupla hours.
till then, , Hugs and kisses,
Faustus, i really miss reading your blog!!! Update soon please! 🙁