WorkSpace: The Final Frontier

Having been living La Vida Loca this weekend, three birthdays and one more tomorrow, there was little writing done. Or working. But lots of Life, the Universe & Everything chatting, drinking, snacking, and grilling. And porch sitting. With dizzying moments of those woo-woo-woo swirly, 3-D, eyes gazing skyward, "What would happen if...?" daydreaming.

What would happen if...Steven and I were off work at the same time, brainstormed how to make a fortune, and lived happily ever after next door to each other?

What would happen if my JunkWench business actually took off, and I had to actually hire on help?

What would it look like if I did house-sitting, garden-watering, pet-tending as an actual part time enterprise, so much per hour, many references, early AM hours preferred? Like $20 per hour or per visit minimum, here's my card.

How much does it cost to get a trailer hitch put on, and find an itty bitty trailer to haul stuff around instead of getting a truck?

Will the universe bless me with limitless abundances if I haul a bunch of stuff I don't know what to do with to the curb with a big "FREE" sign on the tree? Will this stoke my Good Karma? Will the neighbors complain?

Suddenly, I am revisiting my urge to design furniture, and have found some sympathetic souls who appreciate affordable modern chair design. Should I concede defeat to the IKEA gods and just forget the whole idea? Is this the seductive voice of the Viking trickster god Loki leading me like a lemming off the cliff?

Steven suggested finding an agreeable intimate friend to share householding with, two living more cheaply than one, go in on a house together...and I said, "You mean sex for money?" He gave me that patient look, like I'm the last dance hall girl holding up the bar on a Saturday night.
"No, silly, a caring roommate or friend," and I remarked that at this point I was much more likely to find a job. Then he quit talking to me.

The Perfectionist is wreaking havoc with my Inner Buddha. "Don't you even think about painting canvases until you get that studio space completely organized!" "Focus on the money-making projects, don't squirrel around with the fun art stuff until you're making some more money." We all know this tyrant. The one who also makes you buy the 99 cent shampoo that gives you troll hair. "Don't you dare get the Pantene until you are making money!"

The curious thing, is that I am basically living the daydream life I always envisioned while on an interminable conference call with the mute button on the whole two hours, or taking another 6 hour register shift during Christmas, or sort of enjoying my day off while dreading the phone ringing at any moment to break the spell. Except for the $10 million dollars part, that is, from the amazing book deal/movie rights/wheelie suitcase full of unmarked $100 bills on the curb part. Or even, say, lower 6 figures to get warmed up from some genius idea I sold for fun and profit. I have that life right now---with less than a month to fire up the Money Generay-tor.

Being a very creative person, I am receptive to ideas from other people, and I spend much time going off into Brainstorm Mode, don't make any prejudicial limits here. When I know damn well that I want to futz with fabric and fibers, funky vintage stuff, paints and writing, webstuff and digital images, and not ever wear a name tag ever again. Even one of those name stickers you are supposed to write your name on illegibly in hotel ballrooms with bad coffee.
"HELLO! I'M trying to play nice today."

Now don't spread this around, but I've even thought about putting an apron on again and working for a caterer, as long as I never have to deal with the clients in any shape whatsoever.
I can make all the food, even platter it up if you insist, but Mrs. Hargrove and I must never breathe the same air. You schmooze, I'll make the kugel.

In the meantime, I'm off to fluff-and-puff the Groovy Rhubarb booth, add some new stock, and figure out how to get a large antique trunk from my basement to the House of Vintage. This trunk alone could make the month for me. How about one of those four coaster-wheel moving dollies and a short rope? I'll drive really slow through the neighborhood and only make 2 right turns. These are moments when you pay the price for all this rugged individualism.