Forgive this post. It'll be choppy. It'll be ugly. It'll be hard to follow. But I feel like I was mowed over by steam roller and then thrown into the bronx and stabbed in the abdomen a few thousand times, while simultaneously being administered large doses of heroin. And then angry norman set of a nuclear blast in my left ovary. Yes, I've been bed ridden for awhile now and I'm going crazy.
Sometimes I think my house has a sick sense of humor.
"Awe, man, I'm sorry you don't feel good. We'll just sit here and marinate and get all nice and stinky for you until you can walk again."
Thank you dishes. Thank you for nauseating me. You too garbage. Thank you for equating stink with sympathy. You guys suck. At least the laundry is willing to just splay itself lazily around the house. I can handle that. It shows sympathy through mimicry. Oh well, at least the rabid house eating squirrels have left.
Pacing the 20 ft space between couch and bed until two in the morning is on par with stench ridden dishes. So is having boughts of artistic diarhhea and no art toilet to relieve yourself. Why must all of my ideas keep me up at night? I accepted the fact that I was going to be granted no sleep and rolled with it. After a six month artistic dry spell, I was knocked over by a gale force wind of inspiration. And now I have a goal. By July 15, I will open my first Etsy shop. No excuses. It has been a dream of mine for almost three years now, always brushed under the rug with the same lame excuse of, "I don't know what to sell."
I admit I am the worst Jack of All Trades. The utmost, inefficient Renaissance woman. I want to know how to do EVERYTHING, which often leaves me little time to master something. Since I'm constantly on the art prowl, I am constantly distracted with new ideas, new projects, new opportunities which leads to feelings of being overwhelmed and the death of all of my ideas.
But, after visiting numerous farmer's markets and re-evaluating the kind of life I want to live, I know that I must start somewhere, even if I have no road map. Much like my bakery, I've gathered enough strength to take a leap into the unknown. Why it takes me so long to take the leap of faith, invest, and go for stems from my ghastly fear of failure. And to be honest, I want my own income. Not much, a little side money to help pay for my numerous hobbies and also to treat my husband. I don't know what it is, but I like the opportunity to spoil him with surprise dates. I can't do that without an income.
I can no longer bear the feelings of inadequacy and boredom any longer. I miss terribly the constant motion my bakery afforded me. I miss creating. I miss sharing part of myself with the world. I cannot communicate, nor bare my soul, face to face, but I can express myself through my hands, and now I intend to do just that.
I can't suppress my need to create any longer, nor can I allow myself guilty for wanting to create. I need to start moving forward or I'll be stuck here forever.
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