Basement Swimming Pool. No Movie Stars.

I'm on a basement break. Itchy eyes, burning lungs. (Sounds like a great film title... Maybe that's what I'll call my next poetry book.)

Last night, snuggled in with Beloved, A Pomegranate, and The Big Bang Theory... The Big Tall Boy knocks at the door.

"Uh, the basement is flooding."

Say wha?

Utility sink backed up when the laundry tried to drain. The kitchen sinks are also not draining properly. This has happened before.

So, after at least an hour of TBTB and I taking turns mopping, scooping out buckets of water from the utility sinks, running them up the stairs and throwing them out the back door, My beloved comes with a snake and a "One Second Plumber" from his parents house. All my efforts with the plunger did nothing.

Snake didn't work. And, we all got shot in the face with backed up water that came flying out of the laundry drainage pipe when we put the One Second Plumber gadget to work. (Poor sweetie got the worst of it, I think.) The absolute BEST however, was having to drag the cat litter box that had overflowed with water that had spilled over into it, out to the freezing cold yard at 10:30 or so. Maybe 11.

Yum. And Brr.

Lots of stuff got wet. Lots of stuff has been thrown out. I'm feeling whelmed, and the world weighs heavy on me in this moment. My "studio" is supposed to be down there, but today I feel like giving up. There's no room for the girls to play with toys, between the shipping boxes, the stuff in bins listed on etsy, all my crafting stuff, laundry, the guinea pigs huge cage, and the CRAP. It's an unfinished basement. So uncomfortable, despite all my efforts and optimism.

Today, I've been going through it all, but it's hard for me to be down there for more than 10 minutes without exploding. My eyes are itchy (I changed the Squeakers bedding today. That didn't help. I've got the air purifier running, the dehumidifier running, and my clock radio to block out the noise of both.) We need to move. I don't want to get manic over this. I also don't want to QUIT. Quit all of it. Quitting at creating, painting, sewing clears the house off tons of stuff, but will surely leave me picking my cuticles in agitation.

I checked my ING direct account on one of my basement breaks. Watching it's balance rise makes me happier. I found out I got accepted for the trial version of their no fee chequing account, so I set that up. I had to call a customer service rep to ask a question, and he suggested their tax free savings account, explained it all to me, and I switched that over too.

My plan is to close my regular banking chequing account, as it runs me $13, and earns me NO interest. It might take a few months to make sure everything is running smoothly with all my direct debits and all, but the whole thing has lightened my mood.

And given me a chance to have a tea, and rest my itchy eyeballs, before heading back down there.

Paperback Writer

Good Goddess, Love Me.

I write. I write like mad, about all things. I journal, I ponder, make poetry, make lists, short stories, chronicle dreams. I love writing.

Grabbed a few Writers Digests from the library, and somehow end up on J.A. Konraths page from there, with lots of tips for writers. Very good reading. So, I'm sitting here on my legs till they go numb (I've got it bookmarked) until I come to the page where he chronicles his "adventures" in getting published. Twelve years of waiting tables ( a coincedence? ) persisting at his craft. Twelve years of patience from his girlfriend-turned-wife. Twelve years. TWELVE.

I immediately feel weight place itself firmly on my brow. It's blue and gray and foggy. I turn off my computer, drag my notebooks with me to bed, and fall sullenly into fitful sleep full of lucid dreaming.

What's it all for? All this art? All this craft? All this talent? My busy mind doesn't have rational words to express myself, so cannot speak about it with my beloved, even as we assume the position for sleep and turn the lights out. Poor man. It's the wrong side of my cycle for me to be having a blue fit, but he loves me anyway, quietly sliding his thumb across my brow to take the frown away.

I wake up with a new angle for the current fiction. I groan at myself from under smelly sheets.

Later, when I can speak about it to my beloved, I explain to him how I feel it's all for nothing. What's the point of expending all this energy and passion? All this time? I feel at odds with myself. Because despite 15 hours of "woe is artistic-me", I still get up chewing on plot lines and character development.

He knows the right things to say at the right moments. He knows when it's time to just listen. I couldn't have written a more perfect romantic lead.

I'll continue writing. Continue toting note books in my backpack around town, 5 pens floating around the bottom. Because I'm driven.

The Odds be Damned.

The Last Show.

Last weekend was the last big show of the year for me. It was quiet, but I did alright. It was a two day show in the Penetanguishene mall, and I was thankful to NOT have to break it down at the end of Saturday. (I could stand and talk all day long... I love that part. I hate the breaking down bit, though.)

It felt nice to know that I can take a few weeks "off " now, as I've got enough stock to take online over the winter months, and focus on making my studio space workable and beautiful! Up till now, it's been a bit of a dumping ground.

These are the wands I made up for this last show. They were a hit! The ones that are left will most likely end up online.

Luckily at this show, they provided us with a bigger than average table. And luckily, I had extra material to cover it! I also got to connect with Ms. Bee of Recycled;Revamped;Reused . She made me a pair of gloves from upcycled sweaters, that fit my long thumb perfectly! She's also now a member of the Midland Craft Mafia , so all in all it was a productive show.

Sales from the website to the U.S. and elsewhere are pretty much done, if it's intended for Christmas. This will be the last week to ship out for Christmas to Canadian addresses.