Darla's Deepest Darkest Secret(s) That Ort Can See Right Through

Previously...

 

I AM A FAKE
I AM A FRAUD

 

Here I am. I make shit for a living and I despise craft. Crochet hooks, floss, decoupage lack nature's rough and tumble; no vagabond rhythm at all. But I have no control over my twitchy fingers. I just can't walk away from discarded things. (Ah, how nice the heart looks pulsating in its hutch by the window!) There she goes. The Girl Who Coaxes Beauty Out of Pieces of Trash. (So weak, so feminine, so utterly useless!) Recycler of the lost and forgotten, I see bits of me in all the wares up there on the self shelf. (Isn't that the definition of ... ??)

 

It must be noted that during Darla's moment of doubt and self-loathing, she was in the midst of creating a new hand-lettered sign (to be displayed in one's kitchen or rumpus room) for the Vintage Vixens Spring Bazaar:

 

do stuff
have fun
make a friend along the way
and leave ambition to the rubes
because
to strive is to miss
the point of this ride
entirely