Lord, I must have been high on something when I forgivingly suggested that I'd wear the latest version of the Janet Jacket out of the house. Seriously, it's amongst the crappiest things I've ever made. You could not get push me out the door in that thing of ill-fitting splendor. It's taking all of my willpower not to trash it this instant (recognizing I'm going to need it for the next attempt).
It's like I took a perfectly good pattern and hacked it to bits. (Maybe this is a slightly over-dramatic take, but I don't know just at this moment...)
I feel vaguely wallow-ish, nay despairing, like I really can't sew my way out of a paper bag. Never mind one made of fabric.
But, I suspect, no one ever got better at sewing by wallowing in despair over one's lack of talent. Or one's apparent inability to learn.
Whenever I feel this way I turn my mind Kenneth King's sage words (and I'm seriously paraphrasing here cuz I cannot remember where first I heard this): You haven't learned to sew till you've wrecked thousands of yards of fabric.
I feel eight or so yards closer to perfection.