Procrastination

Here's the thing. I really want to work on my quilts. I have had to make myself sew this week. I have the pattern (in my head) and the fabric all sorted out. Well, okay I sorted and sorted for several days and got the final selection by Tuesday. And I started to sew. At the machine. And it is coming out okay, not wonderful, not breathtaking, but okay.

Is that what I am afraid of, that it will be just okay? Or worse, ugly?

Or the the intended recipient won't like it. He won't, but not because it's not wonderful, but because teenage boys of his ilk wouldn't like anything made by grandma. Only if I give him green stuff, green with zeros on it (plural) is he apt to be excited about his gift. So okay he won't like it and that doesn't matter, I am making it anyway. I am not making it for him, but because I want to be the kind of grandma who has given each of the grandkids a quilt. Why, oh why, didn't I start (I did) and finish (I didn't) when they were still in cribs. Crib size quilts are smaller, quicker to make, and cute. They also don't have to be fashioned to the child's interests, because at that age, they really don't have any readily identifiable interests. So I didn't.

But I like sewing. So why all this procrastination?

I'd have written this Monday, but, you know, I didn't get around to it.