Ok, guys, this is just a quick post because I have to do one of those actual money making things.
Please get your mind out of the gutter. It’s not that. I must write some copy for a grant application. Oops, that’s my old professional writer voice talking. Now, as a blogger II should say: I have to go fill out some paper thingy. Hmmm….Just go ahead and put your mind back in the gutter. It will be more entertaining.
So earlier today, I was thinking about Paper Calliope and came up with at least a dozen things that were making me anxious–most of them centering around the I-am-not-good-enough theme. However, another anxiety popped up that just pissed me off. And honestly, I hate that phrase. I mean, really? Piss me off? How disgusting. Yet, it’s a pretty apt description of how it made me feel.
See, I was thinking about ways to improve photography for Paper Calliope and I realized that every time I take a crafting action picture, I am self-conscious about my hands. On other blogs I keep seeing all these perfectly manicured hands. Not only are my fingernails not perfectly manicured, they have ragged edges and each have their own little compressed ink, glue, paint and who-knows-what mountain of gunk beneath them.
A solution would be to go get a manicure, but I’ve had fewer than five manicures in my life, because between crafting and pounding away*, I am so hard on my nails that it is pointless. Plus, I don’t see how I can still keep the gunk mountains out from under the nails. A day after a manicure it would just be shiny gunk.
Then there’s my hands. I am a city gal. I hate gardening. I can swing a hammer and use some power tools, but not particularly well.** In other words, I am
kind of a wimp. However, I am also only two generations removed from Swedish immigrants and relatives who toiled in the fields. As a result I grew up believing that weathered and aged hands were a sign that you were a hard worker and thus a person of good character.
I distinctly remember sitting at a seventh grade science lab table and comparing hands with a bunch of other girls and all of them noticing how much older my hands looked compared to theirs. I was so pleased. This proved that I worked hard and I was not a sit-on-your-ass-wimp like those other girls. Yeah, I know,
Fast forward 25 years*** Those aged hands are, well, shall we say, a lot more aged. That still never bothered me. Except now here they are showing up in picture after picture. So along with all the other insecurities I have about Paper Calliope, I am now self-conscious about my hands too. And that pisses me off.
So now that I have shared that insecurity with you, me and my old hands have to get back to writing that application thingy. And then I have to go look on Craigslist for a hand model and then I have to worry about the hand model actually being a serial killer who will murder me when she comes to my door because there once was a bad person using Craigslist. Now do you see why craft blogging causes so much anxiety?
Then I’m going to get down on my knees and pray to God that I never have to do a craft project in my bare feet because that might just do me in.
*Aha! I knew your mind was still in the gutter. I meant pounding away on a keyboard because I am always typing and writing. You should be ashamed.
**Although I can operate our elephant-sized snowblower like a pro.
***Shut up. Don’t bother counting. I’m lying.