It's interesting the roundabout ways in which we get what we want. I wanted another day vacation (actually I'd like many more, but let's not go there just yet), and here I am at home on the couch with stitches in my knee thanks to a careless move when building a sheet-metal shed yesterday. It's not that bad; I'll be back at work tomorrow, but when I woke up this morning it hurt a lot and I couldn't walk. Instead I managed an awkward painful hop-shuffle-drag gait across the house and called in sick so I can keep it still for the day. I'll have to work on a more comfortable way to get those other vacation days. Speaking of vacation, we just had an excellent week of freedom. We built a shed, swam at several new old beaches, cleaned the house and let it get messy again, harvested onions, had some dear family moments and saw an old friend, and explored tide pools. Again, please (though maybe without the shed).
I think I can safely say that my job is making me sick. Here I am again on the couch, utterly useless for the second afternoon in a row. Yesterday I came home, set all plans for adventure aside and took a nap with the cat. Today my head aches and I feel puke-ish. Maybe because I'm sick of this job? Daylight savings time is a rough adjustment in the bakery. The good news is that I quit on Saturday. It was a glorious relief. I felt more relaxed than I have in ages, and a huge smile kept creeping onto my face. Afterwards, we celebrated with gelato (yes, it was sunny and so warm for March) and a walk around Swan Lake. (Ducks, again! Mallards and scaups and cute coots.) But now, it is so hard to keep going back after I've quit. The place feels so unwelcoming and people talk through me and around me. I am counting days, and double-checking the calendar very often. At home I have half finished art projects on my desk and sourdough ready to shape in the fridge. It has been ready for days, again. Laundry, long since dry still decorates the racks and furnishes the hall like tented scaffolding for the rabbits to hide under. The ganache I brought home is mostly still all in its bucket (sadly it is too sweet for my liking and while decent does not taste of especially good quality). It is sad to see the home front in such a state. I long to be here more, pouring my care into everything that keeps us happy and whole. I'm looking for new work that is better suited for me, and I hope something will be (though really I want to be an artist instead), but I think both Jer and I wouldn't mind too much if I have a little lull in between. We've agreed that it'll be easier for me to seek something new when my energy is no longer going to surviving and resenting my current job.
Our timid budgies have finally worked up the nerve to check out the paper I wrapped around one of their perches six months ago. They spent the fifteen minutes following discovery shredding it wildly. Patience... happiness?
Even though things are difficult right now, they are definitely improving. Dear friends, I wish we could spend the afternoons together, drinking tea and laughing.
I'm excited to be regaining my mornings soon. Morning is such a special time and I prefer to savor it slowly with coffee and herbal tea, plenty of healthy breakfast and staring out the window listening to the birds. The gap between my conscious and subconscious mind is a bit hazy upon waking and it's a lovely time for musing. The other night I dreamed I was among people canoeing on the Hay River, up north. Decadent birches lined the silty blue water and as the sky grew stormy the old trees cracked, limbs falling around us and then the canoes were split birch trunks and the current pulled us on. The dream when I think of it now is a shifting expanse of stormy blue and the pattern of birch trunks repeating.
Seven put the dandelion leaf on Zephyr's head; we're not sure why.
There is something about a process so tedious, and so much work, that takes the fun out of creating. Like I'm so busy scrubbing and steaming and rinsing and ironing that there's not a whole lot of room for creativity anymore.
I want to be able to spontaneously sketch and scribble and twist wires and beads together without feeling like I am wasting my time and ignoring the real
work art that needs to be done. I want these dabblings to be my art.
Part of me knew it all along, but I stubbornly continued headlong towards the foggy notion of a successful craftsperson, of sustained craft in my life, under my roof. I gathered supplies earnestly, gleefully hoarding all manner of dyes and squeegees and fabric scraps, and I built a functional studio of it all. Functional, but not functioning. My studio has been hauled on many moves, and it seems like I leave a little more in boxes every time.
I'm ready for my loom and printing table, buckets and dyes, screens and rolls of fabric to stop looming in the corner of my eye making me feel guilty for not having the time and energy to plod away at them.
So, where does this leave us? I am selling my studio equipment to good homes. I do still have a lot of printed fabric in (ugh) various stages of completion. When it is ready and finally done, I'll sell it or give it away as gifts. As for this blog, I imagine it'll follow me on to new adventures. I'm excited to see where creating so much space will lead. And I'll always be creating.