Hand sewing and I still haven’t got tetanus yet

Hell, is it ever weird that I’m wielding a needle and thread on an almost daily basis.

It is (was?) compulsory for 13- and 14-year olds in my school to take Home Economics classes. I remember there were two modules, cooking and sewing. As I was more interested in my skateboard and getting into trouble with my neighbours (get your mind out of the gutter), these hours I had to spend every week in an apron or in front of a sewing machine were considered hours wasted on something I would never, ever do when I eventually grew up.

I was half right — I certainly do not cook. I could follow the instructions well enough at school, and the portions were always pre-measured, so it was really quite hard to fuck up your curry puff or yam cake. My impatient nature has not abated, however, and any food preparation that takes longer than ten minutes, in my book, is too long. Jamie and Emeril fan, I am not. Pot noodles are my friend.

We had these sewing projects in home economics. Y’know, the kind where, at the end of the semester, you proudly show off and wear your apron or vest? My sister and I were two peas in a pod, we asked Mum to ‘help’ us with the project (i.e. she did the sewing and we pretended to at school). As a result, I have a deathly fear of sewing machines (that’s probably more because I’m accident-prone and unco) — a sharp needle moving quickly near where my fingers are supposed to be is not something to be encouraged. I remember there were a lot of parts we had to make sure were in the right place. Something about bobbins.

So, it’s pretty clear machine-assisted sewing and myself are not exactly meant to be. In fact, sewing and myself are not really concepts one would associate in one’s mind. And definitely not in the minds of anyone who knows me.

(By the way, I think it’s fucking freaky how so many of my classmates from school are either blogging and linking to me or reading my bloog and sending me e-mail. I’ve barely spoken to any of my classmates in over a decade — the ones I keep in touch with were friends from primary school — and yet here we are now, exchanging e-mail and finding out what’s happened to our lives in the last 13 years. If anyone out there can tell me, I’d like to know what happened to Rachel Chan and that cute girl who was my ‘老婆’ — we had a strange school — in 1992.)

It really baffles me how I’ve become so enthused about making sock dolls. Making a few like Dave and DJ Del, even Trev, I can understand. But to take an eight-month break (Audrey was a present I’d promised Lydia so I had to make her), and then to dive into this frenzy of sock mutilation? It boggles the mind. You’d think that with the extra time on my hands I’d get into more frequent website redesigns and the usual that tickle my fancy.

(Not that I’m not dreaming up new designs as well as writing for my magazine and going to the gym and making sock dolls — it’s a very full life in a non-income-earning way.)

Now I’m even considering trying my hand at some other crafts that can be managed with hand sewing. What the hell is happening to me?! I blame the water, as always, but you must admit this has been a most puzzling and peculiar development.

• 6 Oct 2005

• Thinking