One could even say I’m chirpy.
It doesn’t matter that there is a crap load (industry technical term) of yarn in my in box to photograph and add to the website:
Doesn’t matter that the store windows need changing, the store displays aren’t tidy, and my desk looks like this:
And the new project* I started? It looks like this:
Or that my day was replete with curtailing drama, answering pattern questions, and researching whether mercerized cotton is considered organic (turns out it’s not and our new yarn is a truly organic yarn).
My delight is an overfilling fountain of three fold happy-making-ness:
A number 1: I’m off of my self imposed Ravelry ban.
I made the adult decision in late October to have no access with the site because my habit… eh, addiction… uhm,time spent on the site was taking over other things in my life. Important things. Not things like earning a living, laundry, or grocery shopping, but things like eating and bathing.
Here’s a tip lads and lassies: If you choose Ravelry over bathing you need to set down the virtual crack pipe, so to speak and get yourself to a support group. Happily, I think they have one of those on Ravelry.
B number 2: The newsletter is out…
…and it’s purdy. I wanted to add this photo but there wasn’t any more room and the photo of Momoe (pronounced moh-moh-ā) holding a bowl won out.
My own personal level of hell, which I’ve always imagined was sandwiched somewhere around the chamber of pounding and the chamber of scales, was called (insert ominous music)the chamber of newsletters. When I took over this position from my predecessor, K-Dawg, I thought her drinking was a tad excessive. Now I know, it wasn’t enough.
Not only did the newsletter arrive to close to six-thousand recipients in just two minutes (versus 3 or more days), our new newsletter service sent out the correct and current newsletter.
Gone is the email filled with angry “Unsubscribes”, “Why’dya send me my newsletter so lates”, and whatnot. I felt so bad for each unhappy customer every month because I could never anticipate where the roulette wheel of chaos would land.
Gone was that shrieking harpy (me) cursing a blue streak so scandalous dock workers and carny-folk would blush.
Gone are the tears: mine and my coworker’s.
Gone was the heavy drinking, and today my liver isn’t distended and hard like twice cooked chuck. Lemme tell you it’s not good the store is close to Betty Ford’s and Jake’s which coincidently is affectionately called “Conference Room B”.
Today I feel confident that I can truthfully apologize in this public forum to Dory (they know who they are) for receiving a newsletter each month that was unwanted. Our old tool just loved Dory. I’d remove the address yet the tool would send it off anyway. One would be so lucky to have a spouse as committed and in love as that tool was to Dory. But it was a love that was taboo.
C number 3: I’ve forgotten what it was.
Maybe my bliss was only two-fold and B number 2 was so awesome and almighty, it seemed like it was two things.
Yeah, I think that was it.
would blush. My co-workers are especially grateful because too often my wrath was misdirected to one of them.*P.S. Don’t mention this little diversion to my Secret Gay Husband. He won’t understand that at this time I just can’t take another minute with his more than thrice-knitted socks, even if I’ve completed the heel turn. Again.