Admittedly I might not be as much of a twit as I could be.
I don’t think anyone would actually be interested in my 140 character rants.
Could you let me back in!
It’s cold out here.
I first twittered back when I didn’t even know that you could, under the name, wallywalnut.
Before I knew that was a handle.
I tweeted that I was having a cup of tea.
Nothing earth-shattering you understand, just a toe in the water.
Also I cannot lie
I was having a cup of tea at that exact time.
But when I joined Etsy I decided to explore how I could promote myself by unabashedly tweeting about my jewelry, and so I opened another account under the handle, coldfeetstudio.
But wallywalnut just wouldn’t die and, to be honest, he was getting a bit boring having done nothing at all since that last cuppa.
So the other day I eliminated him from the face of the tweeting world.
It felt good.
But for my sins now I can’t even for the life of me log into coldfeetstudio.
Have they thrown me out with the bath water?
I’ve tried everything. I’ve used their handy, have you forgotten your password? feature, even though, No, I have not forgotten my password thank you very much.
I have a different account for coldfeetstudio, but do they care?
No luck whatsoever.
I’m trying hard not to let it bother me. Who needs to twit anyway. But I have to say I do feel a little uninvited to the party :(
My quest will continue.
I will find out where, in that seemingly bottomless realm called cyberspace, coldfeetstudio has been banished to if it’s the last thing I do.
Then I will probably still not tweet as much as I could because it embarrasses me to unabashedly promote my jewelry.
So, here are some unabashed pieces I’ve just finished.
You’ve seen this one before, but I’ve now put a chain on it, and sold it!
Labradorite and Green Opals.
Oh, and here is that wonderful soliloquy.
To be, or not to be, that is the question—
Whether ’tis Nobler in the mind to suffer
The Slings and Arrows of outrageous Fortune,
Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die, to sleep—
No more; and by a sleep, to say we end
The Heart-ache, and the thousand Natural shocks
That Flesh is heir to? ‘Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To die, to sleep,
To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there’s the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There’s the respect
That makes Calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the Whips and Scorns of time,
The Oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s Contumely,
The pangs of despised Love, the Law’s delay,
The insolence of Office, and the Spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his Quietus make
With a bare Bodkin? Who would these Fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovered Country, from whose bourn
No Traveler returns, Puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
Thus Conscience does make Cowards of us all,
And thus the Native hue of Resolution
Is sicklied o’er, with the pale cast of Thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment,
With this regard their Currents turn awry,
And lose the name of Action. Soft you now,
The fair Ophelia. Nymph, in all thy Orisons
Be thou all my sins remembered.
William Shakespeare – Hamlet.
I’m going to have to get Kenneth Branagh out of the draw now.