on slapdashery

slapdashery:  (n.)

1.  the act of doing things in a careless or hurried way
2.  utilizing a complete lack of patience when trying to make or build something
3.  my middle name

Construction doesn't lend well to slapdashery.  Sewing doesn't usually either.  It's like baking, requiring close precision.  My husband is the baker, I'm the cook.  He saved this desk.

I struggle with patience.  It would be quite adequate to say that I am not a process oriented person--I want a desk and I want it now and will do everything I can to get it done in a day.  But alas, polyurethane takes 24 hours to dry, supplies need to be purchased and then returned and purchased again, and boards need to be cut and then cut again.

Here's what I've learned about building desks:

1.  Measure.  Then measure again.
2.  Don't guess what height you want your desk.  An arbitrary number of 33 inches, because I like tall desks, doesn't work with any chair that would still allow me to touch the floor.  Too bad I found this out after I build the supports.
3.  Wood soaks up a lot of paint and stain.  So buy extra--a lot of extra.
4.  I haven't the faintest idea how to clean a paintbrush so it won't harden with polyurethane.
5.  My cat can squeeze out of window open only 5 inches.
6.  My square isn't square, so all my cuts were at an angle.  Now my whole desk is angled.
7.  Angry painting in the dark does not a pretty desk make.
8.  1"x10" lumber is actually 3/4"x9 1/4."  This makes a big difference when the side support of the table sticks out those extra 3/4".  I'm convinced the fourth dimension is where all of the wood that's missing from these measurements is hiding.  It's just a bunch of skinny slivers of lumber hanging in space.

We're getting close--I can see the light.  Tonight we will be screwing the top boards together to make the table top.  And it will look like an actual table.  Then 5 coats of paint + 2 coats of an accent design + 5 coats of polyurethane + 2 days of drying time = a functional, amazing, mind-blowing desk.

the traveling sewing machine

For many years, my sewing machine lived in it's original box in my tiny closet underneath all of my clothes.  Every time I wanted to sew, I needed to go dig it out of the bottom of the closet, which usually took a lot of effort and heavy breathing.  When I finished graduate school, I repurposed my desk into a sewing table.  It was tiny, but a lot better than excavating my sewing machine out of my closet every few weeks.

During school, my desk lived in the living room.  Meanwhile, I had a room full of dying plants all to themselves.  It was called the Dying Plant Room.  I desperately want to be a gardener, but I'm just not good at it.  The dying plants lived on, but always looking desperate for even a single drop of water.  When I finished school I didn't water the plants more, I just used my newly-acquired wisdom to know that I should give them away.  So I gifted every half-dead plant to a friend.  How nice of me.  With those plants gone, I moved my sewing machine desk into the Dying Plant Room and rebranded it as the Craft Room.

But I had one problem with the new Craft Room.  It was full of windows, which makes it incredibly hot in the summer and very cold in the winter.  Uh, and I usually sew in my skivvies.  I can't be bothered to take on and off my clothes every time I need to try on an article of clothing.  That is really too much to ask.  So the window-ful Craft Room wasn't going to cut it.

So me and my sewing machine are on the move again.  We've decided to invade the Man Cave. This time, we're leaving behind the desk, and making plans to build an L-shaped desk that spans two full walls of the (former Man Cave) now Studio.  This weekend, we plan to commence the epic endeavor of hand-crafting this monster desk, so my sewing will be on hold for a few days.

This hot Man Cave mess will soon be transformed into a sexy Studio!

Wish me luck!

(As a side note, every other room in my house is called the normal name:  the Bedroom, the Bathroom, the Kitchen.)