Artsy Fartsy

I have really been upset lately, over the fact that I never seem to have time to sit and do my crafty projects. Real "have to pay the bills" work has taken over my life. Even when I do have time to sit around and sew, or make jewellery, journals, and all the other project ideas that have been popping into my head, I am just too damn tired. I can't find the brain power to concentrate on anything more than online Scrabble or trash TV.

But, I realize now, that I need to take the time. Somehow, I just need to fit it into my day.

Festival season is coming, and I want to be prepared well in advance, and would love to have some of my new creations ready to sell. I have also been neglecting my Etsy shop, and should have taken new photos, and added what new items I do have long ago.

So that's that. Time to get my arse in gear.

But until then, check me out at the virtual craft sale over at http://cafehandmade.blogspot.com

The Lost Journals of Abigail Road

I used to have a book full of poems, random thoughts, songs I had written, quotes I liked, etc. I have been looking for this book for a few months now, ever since Das Piper moved back, and started encouraging me to write songs again.

There is some good material in that book, wherever it is. I'm sure there is some angsty teenage bullshit in it as well, but even that, I would like to read again.

I started writing in it in 1997. My Auntie Kathy bought the journal for me, when I was staying with her and her family in Winnipeg, on my way back from Halifax. It had been my first big adventure on my own, and I had alot to say. As soon as we got back to her house, I went to my room, and started writing.

A few months later, I ran away to Vancouver, and I had even more to write about then.

I forgot about the book, until I had a big dose of heartache thrown my way a few years later, and I took it to Montreal with me.

I wrote a lot of good one-liners in it, in my twenty-fifth year, when I was having the worst year of my life, and wanted to just end it all.

I vaguely remember having it in my possession when I moved to the House of Pain, but apparently had no use for it, and now, it is missing in action.

I am sure, that it is hiding around here, somewhere. But where? It kind of bothers me to think that it is just out there, alone, without my watchful eye upon it. I am very protective of my journals and the like, and hate the thought of someone finding it, and sitting down to read it.

I have been thinking about this journal for months. But last night, around 3am, it really started to bother me. The more I thought of it, the more of its content came back to me. It felt good to remember some of those poems.

I remembered what I had written on the second last page of the book. A list of adjectives, describing what I thought of myself, in 1997. It flashed like a photograph in my mind.

Sister.

Writer.
Singer.

Lover.

Loser.

BITCH.

Tom-boy.

Liar.

Musician.

Friend?

Fighter.

Coward.

Leader.

Innocent?
Traveller.

Drunk.
Smoker.
Creator.
Weird-o.

Motivated.
Funny?
Pretty.
Punk.
Poser.
Boring.
Fun.

And it goes on and on. I wish I could remember more of the list. I wish I knew if anything should be added or removed from the list.

I've got to find that journal.