Well it figures. Santa hates me. It's obvious. All this time I thought Christmases as a kid sucked because between welfare and an insane Mother well, they sucked.
I know now that the reason Christmas always sucked is because Santa is trying to kill me. I don't know if it's a competition thing, if he feels like my hand crafted goods somehow threaten his mass produced ones, maybe he just doesn't like women, or dogs, or both.
It's the only thing that makes sense, really. Otherwise how would any rational person explain the perfect storm of illness, home remodeling and the break down of an otherwise stalwart sewing machine? Or maybe they could, but faced with the utter lack of motivation on my part coupled with the head exploding learning 'curve' that is Photoshop and picture taking, it's all very clear.
In fact, I bet I was born into a really nice, wealthy family. Santa must have like, a Magic Mirror which foretold of my creative abilities. Sent elves out to look for me, scour the earth and then when they found me, stuck me with a crazy woman.
Who knows? Had I not been cruelly kidnapped and displaced I could have, with my well adjusted parental support and barrels of cash, had my own kick ass Workshop. Maybe even offered those poor Elves a better pay scale and benefits, plus it's a lot warmer here.
Despite Santa's black and evil heart, I did manage to survive. And while I'm years behind where I could have been I make some pretty nice stuff. I figure what happened is Martha Stewart ratted me out. That bitch has always been jealous. Her Chows must have tracked me down (Martha and Chow Chows are like bread and biting butter) despite my own dogs covering me with hair and saliva in an attempt to damp down my scent.
So what does Santa do? It's glaringly obvious. Breaks my machine and uses some weird elven based mind control to remove all my motivation and desire to craft anything more then a, well, anything. Of course, now that I know, I can start to pull myself together.
I'm pretty sure this means listing much for Christmas is a bust. Almost all my Grumpy stuff is on consignment. Santa can't touch that. Although, if I start seeing my monsters mass produced, I'll know who to blame. SO for now, I'm resigned. That sounds so much more noble then burnt out and wanting to kill someone. Which isn't a very 'accepting' set of behaviors.
My apologies to anyone waiting for inventory to be listed. I can't imagine much will before the first week of December. Then I have to get it all up before the Easter Bunny starts in...