Once again, the best laid plans of mice and Smam have come to naught. I’d be distraught if this weren’t a typical Monday night occurrence. There’s just something about work on Monday (I am not ranting) that drains the creative life force right out of me. I sat down after supper to add a few more inches to a double spiral weave that I’m currently working on, and made 3 mistakes in less than 5 minutes. Not that they were major flubs; frankly, they were worse, because they were the simplistic type that happen to beginners. So I put my needle down, turned the lights off, and closed the door to the bead room. That’s the only way to avoid a true disaster: walk away before the avalanche starts.
Oh, yes, that was bead room, not bed room. There really are that many beads in my house. In fact, every so often I have to ride herd on the little buggers and drive them back to their own pastures. One of the side benefits of Empty Nest Syndrome (besides the milk available for tea at all times) is the ability to change the purpose of the abandoned nests. It wasn’t very difficult either… I only added the letter”A” to an already fine room. Creating Mr. P’s music studio took real effort: starting with the two coats of lacquer based primer in order to cover up Beloved Offspring’s navy blue walls. For an otherwise exemplary specimen of humanity, his decorating sense was excreble.
Before I turn in for the night, I’d like to express my thanks for all the encouragement I’ve been given for my endeavors. However, if anyone can explain how to control this freakin’ touch pad, I shall be eternally grateful. Therefore, the cursor shall be known as “Slippery Little Devil” until help is forthcoming.
Mr P? Who is this mysterious Mr P
Bead room envy!!! I have to be happy with Bead corners ,just added another. Was able to lay claim to a 6 foot spinning rack at work and to my great joy (I am very easy to entertain) I filled it with a vast amount of bead tubes.I may be able to get some work done now that I don’t have to spend 3 days looking for delica #310 and charlottes #268.Now If I could just get some time off from work…….. Haven’t found the brain cell,check under chocolate. If not there, just eat chocolate it fixes everything.
Blast & dam (any beavers near by?), that pesky brain cell better show up soon, or we’re all going to be in trouble. Have you seen the “caviar” beads yet? My bank balance is definitely going to be in big trouble. You’re right ; chocolate shall be my salvation!
Figured I’d be the good brother and at least let you know that I’ve actually perused the pages of your Blog. I also support the effort wholeheartedly.
Being of the same flawed genetic stock and disfunctional adolescent environment I can all too well understand its purpose and even more disturbing relate first hand to your concerns, issues and anxieties.
For me there is a real upside to your blog. It saves me the painful work of writing my own therapeutic prose and through your effort I might be able to exorcise some of my own demons. It’s important you stick with this because one of my major issues is lack of focus and being easily distracted: (gee does ADD come to mind?). I would never be able to stick with my own blog for any longer than a few days before I was pulled in some other unrelated direction. So much for self-regulated therapy. So in any event hang in there and keep writing. The mind you save may be other than your own.
As for your touch pad, I too have struggled with getting the damn thing to cooperate. Fret not for there is hope. I guess it’s like most anything – PRACTICE and patience. It took forever but I finally got the hang of it and at times actually prefer it to a mouse. So if I can do it, there’s no doubt so can you.
Say hi to one and all.
Dysfunctional? Whachoo tawkin’ ’bout Willis? That’s spelled “diss-FUNk-shun-all”. Hey, at least they let you use a knife at dinner before you were 12….. Now THAT ought to put the fear into a few readers. No, kind and gentle people, I was not the neighborhood slasher, I was the family klutz. I understand that now, but it did hurt as a child, only, you know… distancing myself with time and awareness, I realize that the ‘rental units felt bad for me in their own way… and they never really knew what was wrong with me in the midst of a family full graceful athletic types. Cheer up; think of the agony that the Geezer lived with every time he mowed the grass and saw that the neighbors’ lawns never lined up neatly with his cuts. Here, just in case you miss hearing this now and again… “Goddamn it, Boy!”
Thanks for the encouragement, I’ll keep typing for both of us.