This morning when I was writing my blog I was depressed. I was sad and disheartened and just all around blue. One of the most unhappy things was my chosen workspace. Imagine a dingy basement with a dingy workbench. Two years worth of crap and junk piled nearly to the rafters. Cleaning it up and setting it up was a daunting task and I had no idea where to start. And then my husband asked me to go down to the freezer and get him some ice cream.
This is what I found. Thank you Love. It’s not finished. I still have to rearrange things and set it up so it’s my own little happy nook but you did all the hard work and I love you for it.
I got sniped in an auction last night. I watched the thing all day. Put my bid in before lunch and sat with the high bid all afternoon telling myself repeatedly that I must not get my hopes up. Must not plan the many delightful projects I would work up if I actually won. I am aware that sniping is a thing. I spent some time mentally preparing myself for the possibility that last second (not minute, second) bids would most likely happen and that I wouldn’t win this lot of stuff I so craved. I lost by 50 cents. Is post-auction loss depression actually a thing?
Crafting is expensive. In the long run one does save money by giving handmade things as gifts and by using already owned materials to make needed things. If you think of my auction in a certain way I actually saved money by losing since I was fine without the goods I didn’t win before I knew they existed and will live without them now that some sniping piece of garbage has won them. Yes, I am a freak and stalked her profile. She’s a housewife who has nothing but time to sit and make beautiful things all day and obviously has the money to afford to buy things at full price. I am aware that winning materials for cheap at auctions like this is one of the reasons she appears so affluent. I’m mostly just bitter and whining uselessly at my inability to catch a break. I have things, THINGS! inside me that need me to make them. They need to come out and be made and gifted and sold to others. Sadly, real life doesn’t appear to be inclined to cooperate with me so all of these wonderful things just stew in there.
As delightful as it is, crafting can be depressing too. At least for me. I go to stitch and bitch gatherings and see how incredibly quick the others are and wonder what one has to do to get a stitch rate so speedy you can’t even see their hooks or needles flying. I hear about mountains of yarn, and beads and findings and tools available free to good homes and can’t seem to be the good home they were looking for. I plod through my day at work thinking about all the great stuff I could be making and then run my arse off all evening with my son and then fall into my comfy chair too exhausted to go down and clean out the space I’ve chosen to house my little obsession with handmade stuff.
I know I just need to be patient. Work will figure itself out. My son will get to an age where he could work beside me or do his own thing instead of dragging me away from anything that isn’t paying strict attention to him. My workbench will get cleaned out and set up. Jars and baskets of supplies gleaming in neat and tidy array just waiting for me to put on some wicked good tunes and tell the real world to fuck off for a while. I’m making things. I just have to wait. Wait and keep trying. It’ll all line up someday and I’ll be ready.
On the subject of good tunes. I’ve been directed to an incredible online radio station. Classic rock. Probably what I’ll have on when I finally get the chance to find my crafty side and let her go free.
Check him out.
I am a mom with a full time job. I depend on coffee to live. Beyond avoiding the incredibly horrendous headache that happens when I get past 10 in the morning and haven’t had any yet, I like the taste and the smell of a fresh pot brewing is a happy part of my morning routine.
I have a small problem though. This:
If I leave my cup unattended for even a moment he helps himself to my serving of good morning.
For anyone not too familiar with dogs and which breed is which, our buddy Ace is a Jack Russell Terrier. Most people would recognize the breed by well known examples such as Eddie from Frasier or Wishbone of children’s tv fame. Those two were well trained and obedient. Ace, not so much. One thing the tv pups aren’t great for showing is that the absolutely last thing a JRT ever needs is a morning caffeine rush. Ever. Ace vibrates with energy in his sleep. He can run in circles with the boy for hours and tows me along onleash like I’m not 400 times his size (I may be exaggerating a bit, I’m not quite that big yet). He is never in need of a boost.
Still, I often sit in my big comfy chair, reach over to grasp the handle of my cup of morning ambrosia and find a cup of pouty disappointment in its place. All I have to do is look over at the dog, rattling like a whole flock of irritated snake tails, to know where it got to. Good thing I made a whole pot.
I always have at least two projects going. One is usually a large one, like an afghan or towel set, that takes up some space so I need room to spread out. The other is always a small and easily mobile project that I can pack in a little bag and take on the bus with me. I’m on the bus for at least two hours a day so it’s nice to have something to do and I love the fact that I’m being productive.
This is me knitting on the bus. It’s gonna be a cowl made from a basic 2×4 basket weave pattern I found on Craft Cookie. I use my Denise Interchangeables with a cord so I don’t have long needles poking anyone sitting next to me.
About that. I find, when I’m working on a project on the bus, that no one wants to sit next to me. I’m not scary looking or smelly. Don’t listen to loud music. I always try to take up as little space as possible yet the seat next to me is almost always the last one someone sits in. People actually stand sometimes rather than sit beside me. I always wonder why. Is it fear that I’ll snap and start stabbing people with my needles? Honestly, I find knitting and crochet very relaxing and am probably one of the calmest people on the bus. I’m eagerly awaiting someone saying something. Just wanna be able to say, “if I start feeling stabby you’ll be the first to know.”