I had a great idea for a project to do for my father's Christmas gift. Months ago. I planned and sent away for a kit and it finally arrived. Three days before he arrived in Canada. I have been working on it in stealth for the last month solid. It is a cross stitch picture of his two dogs. It is 8x10 and made up of about 35 colours.
I have a confession to make.
I hate this project more with the passionate hatred of a thousand suns and moons. I have invested hours into it and am maybe half done. It hardly looks like I thought it would. I hate it. HATE IT. Want to throw it in the garbage and stomp on it.
But, now I'm half way through it. And if I don't finish it, I am sure my brain will implode.
Why did I decide to do this for him? Why oh why did I not just buy him a book? He loves books. Books on war and politics and history. Books on things I do not care about. Books he will read and pass on to friends. Books he will never read and will stay on the shelf for years.
I decided to do something thoughtful instead. I have noticed something. Anytime I do anything thoughtful - I end up wanting to string someone up by their hair and use them as a punching bag.
Next year, I am thinking gift card.