I don't know why. I've always thought it was SAD (and when I lived in the PNW it probably was, because: hello, increased carbohydrate intake and withdrawal from social activities? That would be me) but winter here in San Francisco has been mostly one bright sunny day after another. Not entirely, (thanks a lot, Christmas storm) but fairly frequent. I probably need to take more vitamin D.
I got reminded this morning of a blog post I saw years and years ago, which essentially said: you people with your perfect blogs and your perfect lives and your mess-free children (or cute messes): I do not believe you and you can go jump in a lake. This morning I was wandering around famous sewing/crafting blogs and well, this. I should have remembered that this happened last time I did this, and which is why I made it a kind of personal policy not to read Perfection blogs regularly. While I occasionally find inspiration, mostly they inspire feelings of inadequacy. You want to know what my front room looks like this morning?
Which is not bad, except for the dirty cereal bowl and the pile of crap on the front table. I just finished a pair of socks. Go me. What you cannot see in this picture is me sitting on the futon in an ancient sweatshirt and old yoga pants with holes in them. Let's turn left and right, shall we?
The pile of yarn that I am slowly listing on Ravelry in my Massive Destasherino, slow because my camera really, REALLY hates purple, and it's not so hot about dark blue either. I wish I could just throw it all up there (pun intended), unedited, but I don't want to mislead anyone on colors.
It would have been smart to do this BEFORE I moved, but I thought I had some kind of bending space-n-time superpower and could work full time, paint and clean and pack and do all the other house crap that needed to be done, AND have time to take pictures, color correct them, list the yarn, and pack it up and send it off.
Ha ha. NO.
And this is the lovely view to my right, the boxes of books we will put into the bookshelves (or get rid of.) This is a far cry from those houses full of white, spare rooms with perfectly blowing blue curtains. Logically I know they are editing heavily and arranging and making perfect stage sets. But emotionally that doesn't seem to quite register with me.
We're working towards order, but we also both work full time, and often extra hours, and frankly, I prefer to de-stress by sewing or knitting or reading in the evenings instead of trying to figure out where to put the damn bookcases. It will come. Just that January doesn't seem to leave me a lot of energy to do even the important things.
I'm not fishing for sympathy, just giving you a rundown on why it might take me two weeks to never to answer email. It's not you, it's me.
Meanwhile the cat has parked herself on my lap and dozed off and I am apparently going nowhere for awhile. That's ok. There are worse fates.