My sewing room is on the back of the house. I share it with the washer-dryer and a couple of shelving units full of storage boxes. There's no heat, which basically means it's a lean-to and not a room. When I sew I have to clear off the laundry piles and plug in a rather large space heater. Winter is not usually my most prolific time of sewing, but lately I've got the itch. Thing is...I have nothing to sew. Nothing fun anyway. The girls still haven't cemented a theme for the upcoming Halloween, and normal clothes aren't fun. It's all rules and orderliness. Halloween I can really shake things, make whatever I want. No rules.

Maybe I'll embroider something. Maybe that will satisfy this urge. All I need is a sketch or drawing of something. My favorite to date was the treasure map I made for halloween. I impressed all the little old ladies with that beauty.

Danse Macabre Wall Painting from Abbaye de St-Robert, Chaise-Dieu

I love Danse Macabre artwork. So, as my contribution today, enjoy some.

Have you ever emailed someone you don't know? Well since no reads this, and I'm just talking to a computer program, I should be more specific.



I emailed someone I don't know, and for no good reason. And in the email, I said nothing of interest. Someone's going to get my email, and wonder what the heck I was thinking. Even this blog entry is uninteresting. Maybe I'll give you some random facts about me.

• I have a gigantic head, and the skinniest forearms you've ever seen.


• I love to oil paint, but I don't do it that often.


• I'm a costumer


• I love skeleton art work (Danse Macab and Day of the Dead stuff)

I came up with a brilliant song evacuation strategy. In my head I started singing other songs over the top of my original song. For hours nothing worked.

Eventually I devolved to "The Way We Were" by Barbara Streisand. I didn't even realize I knew any of her songs, but somehow the fact that I did shocked me so much I forgot the original.


Too late I now have Barbara Streisand stuck in my head. Where was that hot poker? I think I need it.

I have this song stuck in my head. It's this 1990s dance song from a commercial.

Isn't it funny how the first 30 minutes or so of that were kind of fun. I wanted to dance and be silly. After 30 minutes I wanted to shove a hot poker through my ear.

Is that the right kind of through or is it threw?

We had this apocalyptic blizzard yesterday.



I am soooo ready for spring.

Yuck!

That is not my hand. This is a stock photo.

My apartment is completely infested with mice. Just yesterday my roommate Holly picked up a loaf of bread and 5 mice scurried out from behind it. Worse yet another mouse came rolling out a hole in the back of the bread like Sonic the Hedgehog. I've decided that it's completely okay to eat out every meal until the problem gets solved (i.e. my roommate's boyfriend kills them all).

I hear this is a common problem with old houses, that can somewhat be rectified by stuffing steal wool into all holes and crannies. We have the creepiest crawl space imaginable, but if it has to be done, it has to be done.

I hate Dan Hable.

And yet, he calls me every day. Okay...he doesn't call I me. He calls Doug, but to get to Doug he has to go through me (I'm the receptionist remember). He's been calling several times a day for almost a year. He's soooo not getting through, though he's welcome to leave a message.

I hate the way his voice sounds, and the way he never tells me what company he's calling from (though, he has to know I need it by now). I always have to ask him for his company even though I already know which (never buy anything from the Corporate Council Group). How could I not know which, he calls 3 times a day? I just don't want him to think he's making any kind of a difference. I don't want him to have any encouragement. I'm secretly worried that he knows all this, and not telling me is his way of intentionally annoying me.

I hate Dan Hable.

I've never really successfully mimed something to someone while they were on the phone. My boss is always, always on the phone (and she loves speakerphone) just when I need something. Since I'm also the receptionist I can't leave my desk for long. In a hurry to get back to my desk, the solution always seems to be the age old art of pantomime. One of us is terrible at this game. Either I can't mime worth a darn, or she can't guess worth one.

Just five minutes ago I pantomimed a pen and paper by pretending to write. She handed me a binder clip and mechanical pencil. Now the pencil is close, I can use that...but a binder clip? How are those two supposed to go together?

Have you ever wanted more things than you can have all at once. It seems that now that I'm feeling healthy and balanced I can see potential in everything. Selfish of me huh? And yet I don't feel guilty at all for wanting.

I'm just not quite sure what to go after first.

I've decided to post more. We'll see how long that lasts, but anyway that's the reason for my posting 3 days in a row.

My friend got married today. Her wedding reception starts in about 20 minutes. I'll be late obviously (I'm writing this from my desk at work). Usually I feel a little bummed when friends get married. Not just because they have a tendency to disappear, but also because there's a sense that I'm missing out on a big part of what life supposed to be.

This time I'm not bummed. I don't feel like I'm missing out. I like my life, and if this is all there is for me I honestly couldn't complain.

I'm happy.

I used to be fearless.

No really.

Alright you can stop laughing.

I was fearless. Then it suddenly seemed that one day I was a coward. I can remember clearly the exact instance it happened. I was standing at the top of a narrow stairway. On a step near the top I felt the carpet slide a bit under my left heel. In my mind, courtesy of my over active imagination, I fell. Left cheek to the carpet. Right knee striking the wall. Elbows twisted behind my back.

It's strange to be so afraid over something that never really happened. I don't know why I've let it go on this long.

Some things are going to change.

I went to lake Powell over the Memorial Day weekend. A good time was had by all. There was cliff jumping (this time I jumped), kayaking, and hiking down slot canyons. I slept under the stars in a sleeping bag that packs up into a teeny-tiny ball, and got up at 5 AM to paddle down Antelope canyon.

I've spent the last 24 hours telling myself I don't really need to go back next weekend.

I went to Moab for the weekend. I had great time. It was so warm and sunny. There was a car show going on, so everywhere we went there were these amazing cars. The red rock was beautiful, as always. I was hypnotised by it on our hikes. I couldn't seem to open my mouth to chat, with all that scenery filling my view.

We hiked out to Left Hand. It's this spot where people go cliff jumping. I'm deathly afraid of heights. Well, let me clarify that...I'm afraid of heights while I'm unrestrained. I'd be just fine looking over the edge of a thousand foot cliff if there was a two foot high railing, or rock climbing while roped in...but 5 feet is too high if there's nothing but my own sense of balance to save me. I say all this because I'm about to admit something. I didn't cliff jump. I was the only one that didn't. I'm a bit ashamed of that.

I miss Moab already. Well, I should say I miss that weekend in Moab already. Everything was just so perfect.

I slept in. Woke up when I should have been leaving.

I desperately hate mornings. More than mosquitoes. More than George Bush. More than insincerity and captious smiles.