I hate the first entry of a new blog. I feel like I'm on a job interview and I have about three sentences to hook you or lose you before you start thinking "I don't have time for this. I could be reading Perez Hilton right now. I hate the font she's using. Ooooh, I forgot to check my horoscope, and then I need to update my Facebook status...." and poof, another reader, gone!
Still there?? I know, I have to check Perez every day too. Since I gave up watching the news and can no longer afford my former diet of four tabloids a week, if it weren't for Perez and TMZ.com I would never know anything that's going on. And by "anything" I mean important celebrity news such as, is Brangelina still intact? Who the hell could cheat on Sandra Bullock, and with THAT tramp?? And hello, what about Kate Hudson's new, um, additions??
Whoops. I get distracted easily.
I used to have another blog which I updated every few weeks, depending on how pathetic I was feeling. I whined a lot about my failed relationships, my chronic disorganization, the paragon of badness that is my dog, and anything else I could think of......except my artwork. I wrote about my dolls once or twice, and I think I mentioned some of the beading classes I taught, but I rarely wrote about either. I'm sure that's partly because I feared being as deadly boring and self important as most of the knitting blogs I've read.
I think it's also because I knew if I put as much angst laden instrospection into my art and why I create it as I do my disastrous love life, that I might be forced to like, learn things about myself. And if I learned things about myself, I might have to actually use them, and, you know, grow or something.
That's a lot of work for the mama.
Then something happened to make my life so pathetic that not only could I not stand to write about it, I couldn't stand for anyone to know about it.. I lost the job that I thought I would stay in until I retired, that I loved and thought was Where I Was Supposed to Be. I was a librarian at a medium sized public library, which means I was underpaid, overworked, and felt like I was doing Something That Mattered. I was also very, very good at it, at least the part where I bought the books and got people to check them out and read them. Librarians reading this will know that in libraryland, none of these equate with professional success unless you also can do these things while firmly lodged inside the director's posterior region.
Well. Losing my job meant that not only was I unemployed in a profession that's disappearing faster than the rain forest, it also ended up meaning that I left the profession entirely. In an attempt to stay in my house in Columbus, Ohio I ended up working at a yarn shop for a year. I loved working there and working with knitters, but realized that working for very, very religious people does NOT mean that you are working for honest people. In fact, often quite the opposite! So that ended badly, too, and at that point, I was lost.
I made some big changes, such as moving back in with my parents in another state, and finally my life, while still not what you might call "interesting", is looking up. And by "looking up" I mean that writing about it does not plunge me deep into the Vale of Tears. Most of the time. I left behind my home of 13 years, my doll club, and the career I thought would be mine until retirement. Sometimes that still seems like a lot to take in, but each day is getting better.