The other day I made an inny and an outy.
Which I’m thinking of making more of in different designs.
I keep toying with the idea of selling wholesale, but can’t quite get my head around it.
Do I really want to make the same stuff over again, or do I just want to make my one of a kind jewelry pieces?
I could do both.
I could sell my one of a kind jewelry pieces at wholesale, but how much can I push the price I want for them when I have to sell them at fifty percent of the retail price?
That’s the bit I can’t figure out. They take me a long while and I don’t just want to give them away.
So it boils down to what am I worth, and can I stand firm to that?
That’s pretty hard for me.
I’m thinking something is in the air though if I want to save the world.
Selling a piece here and there isn’t going to eradicate world poverty now is it!
I’m also dithering on a website.
My life, I tell you.
Here’s another piece of amethyst.
The stone is gradually winning its way back into favour.
And a bracelet.
I think I might make another bracelet today.
The prudent man is still waiting.
So the boy woke me up at four last night with a bum call.
Actually I woke up all on my own, but happened to check my phone and saw that there had been a call from him an hour before.
With a no voice voice message which sounded like windshield wipers going in the pouring rain in that, I’ve had a bad accident and am upside down in a ditch, way.
No screaming though which was a bit of a relief.
Of course I knew he was O.K., but he had mentioned going to a bar last evening, and, mum that I am, I just knew he was in hospital or something horrible and he needed me. But then why would the message stop at three seconds? Surely he would have said something, like ouch. So maybe he wasn’t in an accident, but was being attacked and tried to call home but had his phone ripped from his hands and stomped on by the bad guy which had effectively ended the call at three seconds …
But I knew he was o.k. and that it was just a bum call, but …
So I got up, had some juice, and worried some more until I decided that, yes he was twenty one but that didn’t mean he could bum call me at three o’clock in the morning and not expect me to have to text him and asked him if he’d bum called me so that I could go back to sleep again?
Amazingly he replied almost immediately. He had bummed me, and he had also taken some sixty pocket photographs.
Still couldn’t go back to sleep though.
Update on the strange, what are you really doing here, painting.
And I’m off.
Talk to you later.