My counselor says that there is a powerful connection between not creating and depression. When I went to work in factories and started coming home and dropping, things went bad, ending in that period where I counted getting dressed as a major accomplishment.

So now I’m making things. I was making things before, some, but I think I was going along with what other people were calling good; tiny lace, delicate little things. I’m a bulky yarn bright color sort of person. Some of those things count, some didn’t have much to do with me. Now I’m all about the ripping it out and making something new. There’s still a little too much impulsiveness going on, too much the desire to get moving without spending the time to think things through. I have no idea what I should name that particular demon. She brings a lot of scary things with her; remembering when I was manic (and I was – I just never admitted it to anyone. Although I was pretty sexy when I was wired that tight. I also was 25 or so. I don’t think it would be as becoming in my years of accumulated “wisdom and gravity”).

Which leads me the long way around to today’s finished item; The Mosaic Pot.

This was a near thing. I started it once, realized it was just crap, washed the pot and the stones, and started over. I thought it through some, but not really enough; as it is, it stands really close to the edge of macaroni necklace spray-painted gold. Or maybe bad crop art. But it’s done, and I learned things, like letting the glue skin over before you apply the mosaic thingie. (And if you look real close, you can see little tiny me’s in the stones.)

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And here you can see the plant’s glowing eyes. I think it’s saying, “Feed me….”

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