To tell this little story, I have to tell another story that I’ve been avoiding for awhile. I actually wrote about it once, but it’s sitting in my graveyard of unpublished drafts. Anyway, let’s just get this going. I hate my sewing machine but it’s not my sewing machine’s fault, not really.
When I graduated high school I got a large monetary gift from one of my relatives. It was a $400 check and I knew almost instantly how I wanted to spend it. I bought myself a great sewing machine with about 2/3 of the money and some fabric, patterns, and sewing notions with the remainder. I sewed up a grand time and love that little sewing machine. It traveled with me from my parent’s home to my second apartment (the first apartment was really close to their home, so I just used it there) in Mississippi. I barely used it there, but when I lived in Nebraska, I went crazy, made tons of stuff, basically just enjoyed it overall. When I moved to Des Moines I again brought it with me. I used it, however rare, and lent it to a friend as well. I got it back from my friend shortly before I moved everything out of my Des Moines apartment and into a garage for storage.
That’s where all the things went when I moved out. The garage was owned by someone I shouldn’t have had any reason to trust, and within 5 weeks of moving out of that apartment and couch surfing while waiting for a new place, I realized all my belongings were now lost to me. You see, this person, for the most part fell off the face of the earth, stopped answering my calls, wasn’t ever home when I went there, and like a coward hid behind the facade of lobby security when I attempted to visit them at their workplace. I couldn’t get into the garage and the police wouldn’t interfere because I didn’t have proof that I rented the space. My children and I lost everything we owned which included; Every possession we had accumulated since moving away from my parent’s home three years prior; Everything we got to keep in the divorce. And even a few childhood mementos of mine that my mother had mailed us a few months prior including my favorite dolls from American Girl.
|The New Annoying Beast|
Now, back to the sewing machine, the story of today. A few months after the household goods loss, I purchased another sewing machine, inexpensive because I had very little money given that I was trying to rebuild our life with material necessities. And you’ll never guess why I hate it. Or maybe you will. Because it’s cheap. It barely works. The tension is nearly always off. And I just hate it. Yes, based on the pictures provided they look very similar. I assure you, it’s not the looks that count. The one I have now is a beast. The one I had then was a beauty. And all this determined due to what they did for me. By the way, in case you’re reading this thinking I’m married to the Singer brand, I’m not. It’s just based on the features I liked, in my price range, during both purchases.
A month or two ago I took apart the entire bobbin casing because it got jammed. And I fixed it. It worked, but I had to be really careful with it. The other night I sat down to sew a few things and realized that between using it two days prior and that very moment, someone had touched the dials. Someone had really disturbed the delicate balance of productivity for that terribly cheap machine. My children aren’t allowed in the work room, but the lack of a lock and the enticement of beautiful fabrics and being told “No you can’t.” convinced them to sneak in during a small window of non-attendance. Their playroom is right next to the workroom and only the doors separate the two spaces. I’m not surprised it happened, I’m just disappointed with the result.
I have no remaining energy to fix this beast. I have no desire to fix it. I want a working sewing machine that I’m not constantly trying to fix or be wary of. I want to be able to sew without doing sixteen test strips and wasting 35 yards of thread prior to each use. I want my old sewing machine back. *tears* I want my desire to sew beautiful things to quit being clouded by this piece of junk machine.