Thursday, January 3, 2013

*for the record*

no shit.
that was my December.


  a mess of metal.  a set of callused and sore thumbs....
the sting dead from pride and excitement 
of a booming studio business.

I'd say R & S went through a fierce growth spurt.
a great first year.
a December I will never forget.


It's been 2 weeks since my departure from my studio.  Seeing my business through the busiest time of the season and then promptly peace-ing out to the holiday goodness and a home away from home was about the smartest thing I've done all year..... with family and friends to visit, my hometown to re-acquaint myself with, and a whole slough of babies to introduce myself to.  I have kept myself busy enough to feel needed, and relaxed enough to still call it a vacation.  I have gained fresh air and fresh many things.

The last month of 2012 was an ass-kicker, to my surprise and chagrin.  Business boomed, and I made...and made...and made....I made late at night, and early in the morning.  I made even if I bled.  I made even when my eyes were crossed.  Rag and Stone hit high-gear.  or overdrive.  or something like that.  


Now, Here's something I'll share.
and only because I should admit it here in text.
a small window.
into myself.

In the heat of the battle, I always find a way to bite off more than I can chew.


I don't know if it's a screwey sort of survivalists tactic, like adding more to my mountainous responsibilities will make me LESS insane, like another pile of work might add some perspective at the last minute.  I promise things.  I say yes.  I say no problem.  I say yes again.  I plan dinners to entertain when I should just chill.  I throw on extras in every direction....and then I throw a party on top of it all.  I push and pull and extend to the point where I can't do it anymore.  And so, I usually end up in a pile of my own tears.... a whimpering emotional rollercoaster, where even the sappiest and stupidest of country droll on the radio sends me into a teary-eyed spin. Every meal is my last, every dirty sock a war zone, a washing machine on the fritz a complete and utter ending of the world.  My mole hills turn into Mount Vesuvius.  My so-called-problems exponentially grow until I drown in them...whether or not they are ACTUAL REAL LIVE PROBLEMS or not.

I turn into a self-inflicted and over-saturated pile of goo. 

That being said. 

my little word for 2013.



I owe an inexplicable amount of thanks
to my Jesse.

Bless his heart,  he is always there to feed me, give me coffee, and tell me I am doing a good job.
even if I am not.
even if the goo is extra messy that day. and the mop is nowhere to be found.

This guy.  He deserves a solid round of applause.
and maybe a new mop.
because for sure, the old one is completely worn out and probably nowhere to be found....
now that I have taken my vocational blur to another state...
he probably hid it in hopes it wouldn't be needed for a little bit longer.

or at least till next christmas.

xoxo  Erin