A box of mixed biscuits, a mixed biscuit box.

The limitless amount of time on my hands has been slowly chiseling out the following conclusion: I am a useless waste of space. No, no, it's true, I have been making a decent effort at looking for jobs, applying to at least one a day, but at a 16% national unemployment and underemployment rate (16%!!! It was around 25% during Ye Olde Grand Depression), it's getting harder and harder to stay optimistic. So, what's a gal to do to make her existence seem worthwhile? Getting back to basics. The four cardinals: cooking, knitting, cleaning, and yes, folks, darning. You'd be surprised at how many things a modern woman could darn.

I went down to the basement in search of my old crafts box, thinking I'd be lucky to find a few brushes and some fabric paint. Instead I discovered a bonanza of art supplies, knitting paraphernalia, glass paints, t-shirt print materials, an embroidery hoop, and a boatload of other crap I don't even remember buying. The bad news was that my knitting box proved to be a sex palace for moths, and I spent the better part of the evening salvaging my patterns, half-finished projects, and spools. Old moth cocoons may look like bits of dry leaves, but, uh, they're not. It's nasty.

Ugh.

Look, I could tell you about the knitted bag I am working on, but really, the reason I'm writing is because I desperately need to write. About anything. I've been feeling pretty gloomy about this writing dry spell, and as usual, when in search for answers, I turned to Google, and came across this passage by Maya Angelou:

"What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks ‘the cat sat on the mat, that is that, not a rat.’ And it might be just the most boring and awful stuff. But I try. When I’m writing, I write. And then it’s as if the muse is convinced that I’m serious and says, 'Okay. Okay. I’ll come.'"

It's not a newsflash. I know all this. Persistence. Discipline. Not fussing over making it perfect. Slogging through quagmires of crap. We've all been through this before.

I'm going to try and write in this blog a minimum of five times a week. I'm going to stop feeling guilty for even needing a minimum. I'm going to let go of my expectations. I'm going to relax. I'm going to darn some more, and maybe write about it. I'm going to make eggs Benedict, calorie count be damned.

Mr. Brown is out of town, where the clown is upside down.
Mr. Brown is out of town, where the clown is upside down.
Mr. Brown is out of town, where the clown is upside down.