I have to make a wooden sign that is as high as I am tall by next Friday for a performance art event.

This should be fun. In my history of manufacturing I have only succeeded in a multitude of identical wooden shelves, an omelet of reasonable tongue, some cards, a knitted shawl, and an incredibly ropey arrangement above the kitchen sink, which would be impossible to classify beyond a disaster. And the bedraggled greenhouse, which I must sing a hopeful spring is coming, spring is coming to, in more forelorn noticings.