Imiss making. Everything is packed away, boxed, and closeted. Mostly I miss it because the immediate task at hand is unmaking. Taking apart my life and Frankensteining into an as-yet unimagined new design, like one of those little plastic number puzzles where you slide the numbers around to make order.
Going through piles of stuff and not being moved to save it from the trash bag is giving me soul callouses.
I hate interior decorating. For the first time in memory, I have to decide what goes where and I'm spending way too much time staring inwardly at a blank canvas. There is no spatial imagination.
It's going to be a long winter.
Addendum! Page of Pentacles. It's time to hit the KDP books.
Nuts & bolts time. Feng Shui, anyone?