I don't know how it happened. I imagined I could just dabble in paste--thought I would eat it just the One Time. Next thing I knew, I was hooked. I started hanging with the wrong crowd; the kind of kids who offered to share their bottles of Elmers. I started sneaking glue sticks out of my mother's purse. It got to be that the water soluble substances weren't enough, and I graduated to the hard stuff: tiny containers of Crazy Glue and Duco Cement--I once lost a whole weekend to a tube of E6000 and a bag of pompoms. But I hit rock bottom the day I got an unregistered hot glue gun. At first I was in denial. I pretended that my finger tips didn't smell of charred flesh and acted like I could not see the signs that I had a serious problem...even when they were staring me right in the face and involved styrofoam and some corks. Not to mention random seashells.

My obsessions with the gun grew and tiny strings of melted adhesive followed me wherever I went, like the gossamer wings of a craft fairy. Except not as pretty. Some mornings I would wake up and not even remember what I had done the night before...or why all my shirts were missing their buttons.

I hit rock bottom. My friends deserted me. I didn't blame them. My bad habits destroyed my relationships.

I didn't know if I was insanely talented, or just insane. I just know that this particular project, shown below, hurt A Lot. Next time, I would take the tights off first. I expect to be able to wear skirts again in 2014.

So heed my advice young crafters. Next time someone hands you a tube of Gorilla Glue: Just Say No, and stick to sewing. You'll find yourself in fewer sticky situations. Comment below if you are in favor of glue gun control and share your addiction. Together we can start a twelve step program for crafters. Made out of felt.

Lennymud