Small Business Owner Me?

The scariest moment is always just before you start. –¬†Stephen King

You can read about my previous job in other ramblings. Just know this, I quit. My brain had had enough of cotton being shoved in and ideas being pushed out. The problem was the ideas kept boiling up despite the cotton leading to a brain fit to bursting. I am excited to say I am now solely the Owner & Operator of 1 Fuzzy Monster – A design/custom illustration/handmade goods company.

I am ready to take on the world one project at a time. A children’s book idea was presented to me not 2 hours after I left work for the last time and it’s a good one. Several ideas for new illustrations have cropped up. It was so bad I was forced to abandon relaxing on the couch and wondering what to do next for a jaunt to Dick Blick to buy supplies. And it’s a good thing I have a finite budget or I would have bought absolutely everything they had…twice. When I got to the city a car rolled out of the spot I wanted and the weather ¬†fancied up for me. It was like one of those dumb scenes in a movie where I cheerfully danced my way to the supplies–not really. But it was a close facsimile in my head.

Now I’m debating whether or not I should walk in the park before I start crocking some dinner and knocking out some fresh art. What a nice day!

Keep it nice. Think of me for your very next art project, okay? ūüėČ

Psst… I also went to Ikea. Fabulous!

 

Giant Spider, You are Dead But I am Still Scared.

I was straightening up the bed spread. The tag that goes at the bottom was on my side of the bed by the nightstand and the pillows had exploded off of the bed and onto the floor with my clothes from the day before. As I rounded the bed to fold the bedspread over attractively, I popped a pillow up onto the bed and screamed.

On the floor, curled up, was a fuzzy spider the size of a silver dollar.

I immediately called for help even though I was sure this spider was dead. But maybe he was a zombie spider, or a playing possum spider… Maybe he was waiting for me to get close enough to jump on my face and scar my psyche for life. Couldn’t take the chance. I made the boyfriend–who is also cleverly afraid of spiders–get it by shouting, “CUP!!! GET A CUP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” It was very girly which I am not normally.

He arrived with two purple solo cups and scooped up the spider. He said it was dead. I’m not so sure… Even now it could be in the trash can… Working its way to the surface past the paper plates covered in pizza cheese and the bits of jalapeno & meat scraps…

I might have to move.

Why My Day Job is like a Bad Relationship

Yesterday I was not in the mood to come to my day job. My night job as an artist/writer is almost always more fun/stimulating/fulfilling you name it & I was behind in a few of my awesome projects. So when arrived at the shiny exterior of my work I was in a raging bad mood and when I crossed the threshold the feeling of depression fell on my shoulders like a heavy blanket and there in a tiny dead heap was a bird.

My work had killed a bird.

I’m convince this tiny fellow with the bright yellow feathers in his wings flew into the negativity bubble that surrounds my work & died. His cheerfulness could not survive it. I imagine since he was so perfectly preserved that he was killed instantly by a brain¬†aneurysm. Sad but final. He was dead. I still had to go inside and work for eight hours.

Luckily, my fellow inmates do their best to fight off the grayness & I made it through another day. But in the midst of¬†commiserating, two of us compared this place to a bad relationship. We keep coming into it cheerful & ready to work on our issues. But it keeps coming at us telling us there is nothing wrong with it. Work says our feelings & ideas are not valid. Work says we used to be thinner, younger, prettier… Work never says thank you and never cleans up after itself. We are constantly cleaning up after it thanklessly.

I feel like I’ve been trying to break up with my job for months now. So do I stay & hope it changes? Or do I leave before I’m a tiny dead bird with my cheerful feathers stilled forever?