i always wanted to be a really amazing writer. i daydream at work and think of all the wonderfully worded things i would leave on here.
then a few hours later when i sit here my mind is blank and so is my keyboard.
its my youngest sons birthday. i sent him a message wishing him a happy birthday. his green light is on, so i guess he is ok. i still have not heard from him. my sons birthday has never been easy for him. my fathers and mother both died at this time. so i can see why he would not want to celebrate. i hope things change for him around his birthday. i dont know if he avoids me , hates me or in general does not care what is going on with his mummy.
i have nothing going on in my life that is profound. i work , i go home. and hope that i do my job well. some people do amazing things like fix my car, or make my dinner when i go out. will someone even remember me for the simple things i do????
i make things no one else wants but me. things i make are packed in boxes and sooner or later for
gotten about. i move on to a new idea or new stitch to learn. when i die my kids will take one look at these things and toss them in a donate box. i would not even begin to speculate on what they might even want to keep. this past xmas i made lace balls for the tree. hoping someone would like them enough to buy them. nope i still have them all. only another artist understands the unstopable urge to create something. i am still making squares for heathers blanket for xmas. i make 1 square per day and sooner or later have enough to put together.