Luna's Baublebilities

Let's face it.  I'm depressed.  It's January.  It has been freakin' cold and a lot of the supplies I had stored in my South Studio (enamel paints for filigree, acrylics, specialized glues for jewelry and textiiles)  froze and are ruined because we had to seal off that section of the house in order to make headway in the battle against Winter.

My North Side Studio looks like this.

It is the only warm spot in the house some days and this is where everyone wants to huddle.  My dye table is covered with other people's junk and stuff from other projects that I would rather do in the South Side studio but can't.  Because it is cold.






See the plastic?  Some days it billows out like there is some enormous, liquid animal trying to push it's way through into the rest of the house. 










The kids have been hacking and snotting and puking for over a week.  I've had a low level of ongoing physical malaise for most of the month.  I've been mentally incompetent and my work ethic is just gone.  Completely.

 The other day I took some time to thumb through some old journals because I wanted to revisit some favorite doodles.  And because I was too lazy to get up and do any actual work.  I discovered a few things;

First,  I was a much more interesting person before I became Maxx's Mommy.  I think that I might become more interesting again in the future - I remember feeling pretty burdened and lame when MB was small, too.  (So - if you have a friend who used to be lots of fun, deeply intellectual, insightful, creative and generally good to talk to and she now has kids and is a total bore - be nice to her, O.K?  It sort of sucks sometimes to have that part of yourself forced to the back burner or into total hibernation so that you can manage your kids and house and etc...)


Second, I found a great doodle I made during a talk by Pres. Monson during the April 2006 general conference.  Isn't he adorable?  Don't you feel bad for him?

Third, I found a good prose poem that applies pretty well to my state of mind this month.  I scribbled it sometime between 8/2000 and 5/2001 - certainly it is a winter poem and was written before we had to put our old Springer, Roxanne, down.  I miss her.

I know that what I need is to get the house clean, get some exercise and banish everything but fabric and dye from my North Studio & give myself permission to drag some beads and findings from the frozen tundra to the livingroom.  Emmeth encourages this.  He would like to help build a necklace.  Or take one apart. 



Anyway - here's the poem.  Careful.  It's ugly.








Welcome to my BioRythmic Trench

a trench = a ditch; a place to channel unpleasant/unwanted stuff from one place to its disposal; a place for smelly men with guns to lie in while they reload and to crouch in while they fire at the enemy; a long hole in the dirt; a place where people piss;

an entrenchment = a thing that soldiers dig and build to keep people out - to keep the enemy on the other side.

Who's the enemy??? 
Surely it is this old dog.

Blind, deaf, lazy, fat, stubborn, inconvenient.

I could just kick her.
But I don't
I know how she feels.