I worked in the sewing room today. I'm making this 1970s McCall which really does not look like much on the envelope. The layout and cutting was a pain because it's a maxi, cut on an angle from the selvedge and I had a directional print. I ended up cutting the four main head-to-toe pattern pieces one at a time and could not even pretend to pattern-match.

I did not make a test which was probably foolish. Hopefully, the fit will be good enough. I picked this pattern after watching Caitlin Doughty's brief YouTube on shrouds. I'd like to make myself a burial garment and I think this one, if adapted to open along the front center seam, would be nice. I have a particularly lovely black floral voile which would suit the purpose.

I don't have many wishes, honestly. We've got no kids, and though many of my cousins are 20 or 30 years younger than I am, I don't really expect many mourners, should I die in 30 years of old age (rather than shortly, of the pandemic or fascism or failures of American health care or society in general). Still, while I'm alive, I like to think someone will care for me when I'm dead, if only long enough to put me in the burial dress I made for myself before cremating me.

Read an essay about how usage of the term "LatinX" can lead to erasure of Chicano/Chicana activist history which I saw in a tweet from an historian. Learned some stuff about Mexican history and was introduced to a new perspective about terms for groups of people.

I listened to some Coil and some Skinny Puppy. I fretted about putting my literal house into literal order. I avoided the internet. The world is horrifying and I did not want to face it.