I’m eating like a guppy. Apparently guppies will eat until they explode if you let them. Emotional eating. Are guppies sad? Happy? Bored? Stressed? Interestingly enough, the topic of today’s Weight Watchers meeting was ways to diffuse emotional eating. I’m not doing such a hot job. Just before the meeting I got an email from someone who had baught one of my necklaces last week. She wanted a longer chain and I was so concerned with making this sale, that I wasn’t as careful as I could have been. Consequently a couple of the links were loose and it broke. Now she didn’t want a repair, she wanted to return it and get her money back. Of course, I apologized, gave her my address and agreed to refund her credit card. No biggie. It happens. But my brain refused to let it stop there.  I was instantly plunged into despair. “If she really loved it, wouldn’t she have wanted it fixed?  She didn’t love it. Nobody loves it. Why am I investing so much in something that only my mother and I like? I quit. Done. Shit, I can’t quit. I just spent a fortune on new display pieces and a *^%#ing trolley.” And while all this is going on, I have breakfast. Oatmeal. With raisins. And a banana. Then half a bag of gluten-free pretzel sticks. And another banana. And a Starbucks venti mocha frappucino. Light. Cause, ya know, I’m  on Weight Watchers. This is ridiculous. I stop eating long enough to take a breath. And I start to write. And the blues lift a little. And I finally feel full. Ok, a little more than full. Ok. Ok. Art is subjective. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. A rolling stone…wait that doesn’t apply here. But maybe there is a lesson that does. Even if nobody but me and my mother like my work, it can’t be shoddy. It may be crap, but it’s my crap, and it had better be well-made crap. And I take another breath. And I unbutton the top button on my jeans. And I go back to work. 

Art

carynjune