Yesterday, I started the day like a sloth mired in cold molasses. The alarm did its best but failed in its task, droning on for over a half hour without breaking through. Hubby made three trips up the stairs to snooze it, barely conscious I acknowledged his presence and was told breakfast was in the making. None of these interruptions was enough to totally breach the fog and I was back in dreamland before his feet left the last tread. I was exhausted and without eight hours of sleep, my eyes open with the same degree of difficulty as unsealing a rusted jar.
Finally beaten to a state of awareness, I crankily swung my feet out on the cold floor. I sauntered into the kitchen at 8:30 with the enthusiasm of walking to the gallows, helped myself to now cold boiled eggs and sat in the living room with a scowl that could frighten a dog, none of mine of course, they’re used to my many faces, but a visiting pup might have scurried under the sofa.
I felt like the walking dead. Zombie like on the outside and mildly comatose on the inside. After feeding the pups I dropped to the floor in front of the wood stove and curled with Fiz, where I promptly dozed and stayed there until 11:00. I ask, who naps after waking, and on the floor? I read somewhere that this is a sign of sleep deprivation and it’s probably true, I barely get seven hours or less each night when I prove every day that I need eight.
The night before I had a ball of gas after a late dinner that hardened my gut and made me crawl into bed at the ungodly hour of 10:30. If there was a way to plug in, I could have lit the town Christmas tree till new year’s. Movement was torture; only my eyes darting across the pages of the book I was reading was tolerable. I loosened the catch on my bra to take the pressure off my rib cage, allowing my lungs to expand, each breath driving a sharp, stabbing pain throughout my midriff. I never get gas, my stomach is lined with steel, anything that goes in stays there and is dealt with accordingly. I’m not sure what created the solar flare beneath my rib cage; we had meatloaf and scallop potatoes for dinner, not exactly a potent accelerant, but I was in agony! My central core was so inflamed, I truthfully didn’t know what end was going to start and end this war. The trots or nauseousness teeter-tottered back and forth, both calling dibs on the nearest bathroom in case either camp fired the first shot.
I tried fizzy water to bring up the gas and belched like a beer totting barfly allowing enough relief to lie down. I had no idea what folks with acid reflux or indigestion go through. I’m normally a through and through, digestive slip and slide kind of gal, but now I have a new respect for your pain! To make a long story short, after several hours of slowly tapping the pressure, I began to feel normal.
All this gas didn’t bode well for a good night’s sleep. I was awake very late, cheated of sleep and wasted by morning. Now, well into a nap, I didn’t have much desire to leave the floor, let alone the house. Needless to say I was late for work, arriving unfashionably at 1:00 P.M. I wasn’t too worried, the shop is well taken care of by Deb and Shane and with the Wednesday evening hook-in, it makes for a long day so taking the morning off gave me a bit of a break to be rested for the evening.
There was a full house for the hook-n. We are still downstairs because of the beads upstairs covering the tables like a second skin. I wasn’t hooking, while forced to lie in bed the night before, bloated and useless, in between reading my my mind sought creative refuge. That afternoon, someone had sent a picture of a wonderful Christmas Tree made with leftover wool worms so I thought, why not make one with roses fashioned from selvage edges?
I had a Styrofoam cone form, dug out the glue gun that was still in its package from years before and prepared to burn every finger on my right hand. That gun packs heat! I scorched myself three times even before I put in the glue sick! I’d never used one of these self-torture devices before and now I’ve found something worse than needles! I’m either all thumbs or just careless but there was constant flesh singeing and yelps. My fingernails were coated with glue; there were webs, long strings like white hair everywhere. Tell me….why does crafting have to be so painful and messy?
I was rather thrilled with a first attempt. It only took an hour to make, especially when Deanna helped with some of the roses. I placed a few leaves, purchased from Atlantic Fabric and then dug out glass pearls for a bit of bling and viola, a lovely, Victorian style decoration. I can see trees done in different colours and different sizes. Maybe a Styrofoam wreath to hang on a door? A kissing ball? How about a workshop in it? Strap on your glue gun and come on over. I have hoards of Selvage edges. If anyone is interested I’ll pick a day!
Finally beaten to a state of awareness, I crankily swung my feet out on the cold floor. I sauntered into the kitchen at 8:30 with the enthusiasm of walking to the gallows, helped myself to now cold boiled eggs and sat in the living room with a scowl that could frighten a dog, none of mine of course, they’re used to my many faces, but a visiting pup might have scurried under the sofa.
I felt like the walking dead. Zombie like on the outside and mildly comatose on the inside. After feeding the pups I dropped to the floor in front of the wood stove and curled with Fiz, where I promptly dozed and stayed there until 11:00. I ask, who naps after waking, and on the floor? I read somewhere that this is a sign of sleep deprivation and it’s probably true, I barely get seven hours or less each night when I prove every day that I need eight.
The night before I had a ball of gas after a late dinner that hardened my gut and made me crawl into bed at the ungodly hour of 10:30. If there was a way to plug in, I could have lit the town Christmas tree till new year’s. Movement was torture; only my eyes darting across the pages of the book I was reading was tolerable. I loosened the catch on my bra to take the pressure off my rib cage, allowing my lungs to expand, each breath driving a sharp, stabbing pain throughout my midriff. I never get gas, my stomach is lined with steel, anything that goes in stays there and is dealt with accordingly. I’m not sure what created the solar flare beneath my rib cage; we had meatloaf and scallop potatoes for dinner, not exactly a potent accelerant, but I was in agony! My central core was so inflamed, I truthfully didn’t know what end was going to start and end this war. The trots or nauseousness teeter-tottered back and forth, both calling dibs on the nearest bathroom in case either camp fired the first shot.
I tried fizzy water to bring up the gas and belched like a beer totting barfly allowing enough relief to lie down. I had no idea what folks with acid reflux or indigestion go through. I’m normally a through and through, digestive slip and slide kind of gal, but now I have a new respect for your pain! To make a long story short, after several hours of slowly tapping the pressure, I began to feel normal.
All this gas didn’t bode well for a good night’s sleep. I was awake very late, cheated of sleep and wasted by morning. Now, well into a nap, I didn’t have much desire to leave the floor, let alone the house. Needless to say I was late for work, arriving unfashionably at 1:00 P.M. I wasn’t too worried, the shop is well taken care of by Deb and Shane and with the Wednesday evening hook-in, it makes for a long day so taking the morning off gave me a bit of a break to be rested for the evening.
There was a full house for the hook-n. We are still downstairs because of the beads upstairs covering the tables like a second skin. I wasn’t hooking, while forced to lie in bed the night before, bloated and useless, in between reading my my mind sought creative refuge. That afternoon, someone had sent a picture of a wonderful Christmas Tree made with leftover wool worms so I thought, why not make one with roses fashioned from selvage edges?
I had a Styrofoam cone form, dug out the glue gun that was still in its package from years before and prepared to burn every finger on my right hand. That gun packs heat! I scorched myself three times even before I put in the glue sick! I’d never used one of these self-torture devices before and now I’ve found something worse than needles! I’m either all thumbs or just careless but there was constant flesh singeing and yelps. My fingernails were coated with glue; there were webs, long strings like white hair everywhere. Tell me….why does crafting have to be so painful and messy?
I was rather thrilled with a first attempt. It only took an hour to make, especially when Deanna helped with some of the roses. I placed a few leaves, purchased from Atlantic Fabric and then dug out glass pearls for a bit of bling and viola, a lovely, Victorian style decoration. I can see trees done in different colours and different sizes. Maybe a Styrofoam wreath to hang on a door? A kissing ball? How about a workshop in it? Strap on your glue gun and come on over. I have hoards of Selvage edges. If anyone is interested I’ll pick a day!
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