No time to write. The only reason for doing so at five minutes to midnight is that I’ve stuck the needle backwards into my finger again and I’m bleeding on the bride dolls. This is nature’s way of telling you to stop.
There are other ways. There’s suddenly waking up because your head has fallen forward causing self insertion of a paintbrush up the nose. There is dropping stuff on the floor and hitting your head on the table because your distance judgement is shot. There is the very jolly having to stand up and jiggle around because you’ve been sitting working for so long your bottom has gone numb. There’s loss of sense of reality causing talking to the dolls and also plain good old fashioned eyes not working anymore.
I have now dressed the squaws and their papooses (papice?) and I’m on to the brides, which are the last, after which I have to invent doll stands for everyone and make them, then I’m done.
After that all I’ve got to do is get the brand new 12th scale glass eyed lady up and running, take dolls off the site and do the show packing. Take the other half for some tests (medical not sanity) possibly get results of same if bad for me. Wash iron pack. Source and report Midweek Miniatura. Design a stand for the new dolls and maybe photograph them for you to see, though not get them in the shop yet but I will save some for there. And try not to get carted off to hospital for another other ECG in the middle of it, that would really put the cat among the pigeons, so I’ll try not to stress about it in case it self actuates.
I can’t remember ever having any real concept of the word ‘boredom’. I wonder why not?
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