I feel strangely detached today. All of the wondering about getting hired for real at work, stupid boys, and everything else seems very trivial at the moment. I suppose in some ways this is a good thing. It gives me the focus and clarity to get things done that really matter. Even if that is just getting through another week.
The weekend was actually very productive, both in a sleeping sense and in an actually getting things done sense. Yay me! I completely finished one of the 3 latest Rainbow dresses, got the major one done except for some finish work around the waist (I need to do another fitting before I can complete this), and did laundry. Yay! Dress three will get started tonight, I hope, and should at least go quickly. Then I can get going on an OES dress I need to get done for February, which will leave me free to work on my mourning dress (assuming of course I manage to get fabric for it) and fixing the Madame X dress.
I've pretty much come to the conclusion that I should just not date anyone at all until I figure out what I'm doing with my life. For some reason, men who express too much interest in me are rather off-putting, and there's not much point in pursuing anyone else when a) I will be leaving the area in all likelihood in a matter of months and b) I'm still broken from the latest "entanglement" (for lack of a better word). I feel like a horrible mercenary wretch going out with anyone at all at the moment. A feeling which is not helped in the least by the actual necessity driving me to sew right at the moment. Goes back to those awful Victorian novels, and this strange notion that the work is highly servile, under-appreciated, demeaning, and generally shameful in some unexplainable way. All except for the under-appreciated part is mostly my own problem, but that doesn't make the sense of whoring myself out any less real. I've never been able to successfully explain this to anyone either, which is highly frustrating.
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