/ by Christina Osheim

For my blog readers, thank you for sticking with me. Theres a part of me that feels I should apologize for being down and struggling to get my spirits lifted back up. And then the rest of me throws up their hands and say "NO! You do not need to apoligize for being you!!! People can choose not to follow this or shoot you an email, txt, esp message telling me to quit my bitching. Recommend prozac, Dr Phil, Chicken Soup for the Soul, a tranquilizer, a mohawk, whatever!!!"

A friend last night at craft night was telling me a piece of advice that was given to her : You can't teach a pig to whistle."

I have been thinking about that a lot. Maybe that is an aspect of me being unable to lift my spirits.

And a few hours later....

I had a theme going and I have lost it. I am a vendor at MarketSW in DC. It is an awesome event. If it were in Charlottesville I'd go every time. But as a participant. Not as a vendor. Its that sad thing of you don't know until you try. And that seems to be the current theme of my life. You dont know until you try. And ultimately the majority dont work. The questions become did you break even or not (rarely does it enter into profit) and if not how much was the loss and was it a "fun" event to be at not making money.

talk about that non alcoholic glass being half empty. Ugh. 

I have lost the train of thought and dont know what to write because I am feeling like Im reverberating in the extremes. What do I want to do right now? Its an extreme. And would be overly dramatic and "boo hoo hoo poor me" blah blah blah themed. The reality is if I dony choose an extreme I am stuck in the mud. I do not know what to do. I am so afraid that I cannot fake it. And I need to tomorrow for the open house. God, i just want to crawl in bee and get in the good old fetal position and just stop. Just stop. Pause. Full stop. Figure out what the fuck im doing because clearly I am messing up somewhere. Maybe I am the pig trying to learn to whistle. And I cant. I am meant only to snort and eat slop. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

I dont know what to do. Everything I try is wrong. I dont know what to do.

So Im sitting outsidr ay this market trying so hard not to cry. Or rather to sob. i habe 87 minutes left before pack up. I am fucked.