Okay, it is just now 3:30 a.m. as I sit to type. I’ve had just about 4½ or 5 hours of sleep. And some weird and vivid dreams. And again I woke myself by talking in the night, but this time I was speaking in tongues.
I don’t put much stock into dream interpretation, so I won’t look for “meaning” in this night’s dreams. Fortunately the images and scenes were not overly sad or particularly happy; they were just mildly amusing, like a poorly written sitcom.
Having completed 8 years, I am now into my ninth year as a yarn dyer. My goodness where has the time gone? And why have I so little to show for my efforts? My finances are worse than ever at the moment, but I’m trying not to resign myself to a continued downward spiral.
The field of “indie yarn dyers” is pretty saturated now, full of hobbyists and others who may have great marketing ability, and superb “people-skills”, but are not particularly “artists” in the best sense of the word. But just yesterday I learned about two indie dyers committing great acts of self-sabotage in their public outreach, which resulted in a LOT of negative publicity for them, along with prophecies of their soon demise. I hope I never hang myself like that.
I don’t have a lot of great insights for this morning. But I do need to get back into the habit of writing and processing things.