I've mentioned this before, but I feel like diggin' it up again, probably because I'm lacking sympathy...
...kinda like how preggos eat dirt because they need more iron in their diet.
I make jewelry in my spare time. Which at this moment means every spare minute in which I am not at my "real" job or sleeping...or eating, or folding laundry every third week.
It started a few years ago, I stumbled on a fun little craft and decided to give it a try. I've always had my hands in tons of different mediums, so why the heck not shear a few sheep and make cutsie little beads out of their sweaters?
So I snagged a few different colors or wool at my local craft store, messed up a few beads, emailed a professional, learned the right way to do it, learned not to use craft store wool, learned that craft store wool made me itch something fierce, and so on.
Let's not make this a normal Stacie post. Go with the Reader's Digest version today.
Oh dear, I guess I do tend to get carried away with the details.
So let's fast forward to last fall: for some reason I decided to try making money with these little felt thingies. I took 'em to a store near Albany and much to my surprise people bought my stuff! There is a felt ball niche; it's small, but there.
Then I thought, "if a few people in Albany like my goods, why not try a craft fair?" Then I said to myself, I says to myself, I says, "But, not just any dinky little thing in the park where you show up for a few hours and families stroll by on their way to get ice cream, but a real, 30,000 attendees, rules and regulations, entire weekend kind of fair."
What were you thinking?
What was I thinking??
We've paid a quarter of a million dollars in supplies and fees (slight exaggeration, I admit), and my daily quota is to roll 20.6 felt balls (I generally round up, it's not quite that easy to tell when a ball is only .6 felted...) and construct 3.5 pieces.
That sounds reasonable.
20.6 felt balls...I mean 21 felt balls takes about 45 minutes. And just one of a certain style of necklace takes 3.5 hours. Do the math, friends. That's 3.5 + 3.5 + 3.5 + (3.5x.5) + 45 = STRESS.
And 57.25. But that's not taking into account the minutes and hours thing where you convert the hours to min....never mind, I've lost track of myself again.
(Warning: even more whining ahead)
People, I am tired: I space out on my drive to and from work.
I have no life: the stinkin' sun is shining and all I can do is look at it from my window or while walking my psycho dog.
I am getting sick of felt: I find it on all of my clothes, my furniture, my FOOD.
I want to not whine about something that I used to enjoy!
And that's all I have for you today.
No funny business.
Just pure ranting.
It's like I'm planning a wedding, sheesh.
But just so you know the "wedding" is June 11 and 12, so I should be back to normal after that.
I mean, after I go through a week of decompression. Like the scuba divers do.
Hopefully then I will be able to stay on topic.