Sometimes I really wonder about myself. I like to think that I go about the business of my day like most folks do, but then something happens that makes me scratch my head in wonder and go running for the self-help aisle at Borders.
In the photo above, you'll see the latest progress on "Shenandoah Spring". Looks pretty good, doesn't it? Now while most people would be thinking to themselves "Gee, that's a really pretty design and lovely color palette", all I could think last night was "Why can't my Ginghers be just a TITCH closer to the floss colors."
Eye yai yai. For about seven hours last night I sat in the Happy Chair laying floss and lusting over Gordon Ramsey on the TeeVee, but my eyes kept darting over to the arm of the chair on which the offending scissors were perched. I OBSESSED about these damn scissors. At one point, I think I even contemplated heading upstairs to the studio to see if I had any acrylic paint or possibly a magic marker that would enable me to modify the color of the handles just a TITCH to get it into a more suitable tonal pattern.
The TITCHES will eventually be the death of me, I'm sure. I seem to fixate on something that is perfectly acceptable in whatever form it is, but my brain tells me that if it were just a little teeney tiny TITCH to the left or to the right or fatter or thinner or bigger or smaller then I'd be happy. Then I obsess about the TITCH until I get tired and cranky and call it a night.
So today, as I type this I look at the scissors and say to myself "Who knew I had scissors that were so perfectly matched to this project? Woo Hoo for me!". And then I go slice a peach and get on with my day.
Do you suppose there's a drug for this?