I find that I am now editing, nay, censuring my blog because I know some of the people reading it. Certain friends and family. Fuzzarelly sure is boring these days.
Let me tell you where I'm at today. And also for the past several months. No editing. I am not particularly depressed, but I sure don't have anything to cheer about. I find myself solving sudoku puzzles in order to pass the time. I am not interested in anything. I don't want to do anything. I merely want to get through each day as painlessly and quickly as possible. I am waiting to die, if you want to know. I am so tired of life. Not that I will take any active measures to end my existence since mother took that messy way out.
I am told that this is not normal. People should not feel this way. Yeah, well, here I am. It isn't icky hot anymore (which is so depressing), but the fall brings substantially less sun light which makes me sad and listless. Am I not a worthless piece of flesh?
The 300 little samples of Fuzzarelly Fibers that I sent to S.O.A.R. has generated maybe twenty hits at Fuzzarelly.com and zero emails. I de-listed my wares at Etsy because it got no interest. I don't know what to do. My stuff is good - at least to me. I have been spinning it over the weekend and it's been one of the more enjoyable things I've done in a while. It's rather pricey, but not outrageous. Not when one considers what people will spend on their hobbies.
But this is outside of my depression. I'd be depressed either way.
I stopped knitting the body of the leaf/green shawl when I became totally sick of it and began the edging, which is proving to be more interesting than I thought it would be. It's a fairly simple pointed thing and there is an end in sight.
I have sock yarn but no desire to knit socks.
I have way too many things that I am tired of tending to, keeping track of, storing. I don't have the energy to get rid it.
Sweetie is so attentive and adoring but I fear that he will grow tired of my sad face and cease to love me.
I have to pay $2000 for my roto-rooter session that my insurance won't cover. There may not be any insurance at all if Sweetie's job goes gone. Fuck me. (In the old sense of 'hit or strike' me.
I wish I were a bear so that I could hibernate for six months.
If you have stayed with me so far, this is your REWARD.