Gotta love an ego boost!

My day job appears to be, at first glance, the mirror image of the creative sloth that is sitting here, at eleven pm, trying to type one handed because the other hand is holding a Marlboro.

But now I realize that my daily bread-earning compliments my muse-seeking side. Accounting has become my yen to my yang. My black to my white. My classical to my heavy-metal.

And today, those two sort-of met in the middle.

You see, I am a Purchaser by trade. Yes, read 'em and weep ladies-- I SHOP for a living. Mind you, I'm not out perusing Prada. I work for a fairly small but elite Marble Mosaics company. Anything that is needed for the company or it's workers, I buy it. From saw blades to copy paper.

Recently, I was asked to get quotes for employee t-shirts. I fired back that I couldn't get accurate quotes without the full t-shirt design. I was emailed the t-shirt design, which turned out to be nothing more than 1 graphic that they wanted to use on the back of the shirts. I was told to figure out the rest. So I did.

And after corresponding all morning with the Marketing and Promotions guy via long-distance email. He said that I did a really good job, and had I ever considered Graphic Design. Yippie!


I repeat, YIPPIE!

Did I mention the company has a design center. A loft high above production where David Bowie is inclined to follow Enya on the CD changer. A place where CAD (computer aided drafting) and watercolor renderings co-mingle. A place where all the desktops are beautiful marble slabs.


Yes, I've considered it. I would love it. I wonder, though, if my creative juices would run even drier after a full days worth of being artistic. I might loose my Yen. or whatever.

~K.

Crap, the guilt cometh!

Okay, so I felt a little guilty blaming my kids for becoming such a boring, unimaganitive mom, that I had to give them some air time.

Owen will be 5 next month, and he has really grown up in the last few months. Mind you, he can still throw a 3 year-olds temper tantrum like it was nobody's business, but I can plainly see that my first baby is no longer a baby.

He has his Preschool graduation last week, and I was startled to see the fruit of my loins actually behaving like a little man, all dressed up in his shirt and tie. I will not go into how I felt to see him don the ceremonial cap and gown.

(Don't blame me for the Bambi-killing...that one's all on his redneck father, bless his heart)

And Emma, what can I say about her except that she is most assuredly my daughter, sent from heaven to remind me how stubborn, opinionated, and demanding a child that I was.

And boy does she do a bang-up job of it. Sometimes I say she's all girl, like when she waltzes in after preschool and announces that she is changing her clothes, which usually results in a large ambigous pile of clothes that I have no choice but to wash.

Other times, though, she is the reincarnated tomboy of my childhood, giving the goods back to her brother before he has time to realize, literally, what hit him.

While at the beach the other day, Owen kept close company near me, not trusting the water to stay in the ocean. Emma, on the other hand, walked right down to the water's edge, plopped down and dug a hole (repeatedly, I might add, becasue the waves kept erasing her handiwork.

Night and day, those two. And I wouldn't have it any other way!

Good night, and good luck!

Oh Where, Oh Where Can She Be?

I just don't get it, this inability to take action. Those last ten words add up to more than I have written in a month, if you don't count snappy emails and terse business memos.

I used to be such a creative person. I handpainted my children's dressers, not because I couldn't afford new ones, but because I wanted to! I blogged, I plotted, I tinkered, I painted, I edited, I mused....

(I wrote and designed the ebook & cover you see at left)

And for the last six months, nothing. Nada. Zip.

My most creative thought today was, well shit! I forgot that too! I am seriously worried that I have lost "the essense of me". Before I had kids, or at least the second kid, I was a much more interesting person. But now that I have a 4 and a 5 year old, I feel so much duller.

Maybe it's because I've always been a solitary person, and now I have nothing to myself. I don't mean to imply that I sat home reading a dusty tome while others where out tapping a keggar. I enjoyed binge drinking until I passed out, fell down concrete steps and awoke sitting in the passenger seat of my white camero covered in vomitus-- for example-- just as much as the next gal. But I digress...

What I mean to say is that I've always cherish time to myself. Stretches of time where my brain mixes and molds the silly putty of creativity, finally sputtering out a perfect Mr. Potato Head replica. Now, I don't have time to ferment the grains. I am not a machine, dammit. I can't just spew creative juices all over the paper at will. I cannot gleek.

Great, now I'm not only aging and dull, but apparently somewhat touched in the head.

I'm off to the bizarro sleep world that I thrive in, because, in my dreams, it is weird NOT to be weird.

~K.