![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Post project, recovering
I had no idea while I was in the middle of it just how much, how completely the dress project dominated my life, all aspects of it. I was taking advantage of working from home for my day job, neglecting that work in favor of sewing. Every evening not at dance - and even a few after I got home - was spent on it. We neglected home maintenance, nearly drove ourselves to penury eating out because there wasn't time to cook, scraped the bottom of our dresser drawers because there wasn't time for laundry. It was insane.
Oireachtas is done now, there are no more hard deadlines - at least until March - and I can get back to more or less normal life. I have a couple of tights orders from back in early October that I'll have caught up in the next couple of days, and nothing in the queue that gives me heartburn. A few more tights, a couple of Yeoman uniforms. It's all good, all attainable with a minimum of fuss. The sweatshop work is done for now, though, and I am glad to be home for the foreseeable future.
I have expressed this before, but I hate full-service hotels. Michelle is fond of Hampton Inn and that's cool, but all the major feisiana are held in big hotels, the kind with dudes in hotel livery who can't allow you to schlep your own luggage, where the hotel restaurant is expensive and never worth the cost, and every amenity is charged for. They half-empty your bank account paying for the room and then nickel and dime you the rest of the way.
I think I'm in a depressive down-swing, and I think that because I have no enthusiasm for music at all. I was invited to play at a local coffee shop, and I turned them down flat. Not interested. I haven't even opened my guitar case since I played for Oasis at the end of October.
Oireachtas is done now, there are no more hard deadlines - at least until March - and I can get back to more or less normal life. I have a couple of tights orders from back in early October that I'll have caught up in the next couple of days, and nothing in the queue that gives me heartburn. A few more tights, a couple of Yeoman uniforms. It's all good, all attainable with a minimum of fuss. The sweatshop work is done for now, though, and I am glad to be home for the foreseeable future.
I have expressed this before, but I hate full-service hotels. Michelle is fond of Hampton Inn and that's cool, but all the major feisiana are held in big hotels, the kind with dudes in hotel livery who can't allow you to schlep your own luggage, where the hotel restaurant is expensive and never worth the cost, and every amenity is charged for. They half-empty your bank account paying for the room and then nickel and dime you the rest of the way.
I think I'm in a depressive down-swing, and I think that because I have no enthusiasm for music at all. I was invited to play at a local coffee shop, and I turned them down flat. Not interested. I haven't even opened my guitar case since I played for Oasis at the end of October.