My Valentine’s Day present arrived this week.
It’s a pink tool set, courtesy of my darling husband, who listened when I said I wanted a set of tools that would actually fit in my hands (which are the size of a 9-year-old boy’s) and I wanted them to be pink so the boys wouldn’t be tempted to abscond with them.
So I have a tiny (but heavy) hammer, and an awesome rechargeable cordless screwdriver with every kind of bit imaginable, and a pink tape measure, and a putty knife that’s so shiny it could double as a compact mirror. Just in case I need to check my make-up in the midst of a project. Then I can use the putty knife to apply copious quantities of make-up to fill in the furrows on my forehead.
No longer will I be caught using the heel of a cowboy boot to hammer nails into the wall, or a butter knife for a flathead screwdriver, or my eyebrow tweezers instead of needle nose pliers. Don’t laugh. I have a friend who used her kitchen mixer on a batch of drywall mud. We all do it.
Now I’m just itching to do a project, and suddenly, I can’t remember any of the projects I wanted to do. So my adorable pink tool box sits, forlorn and unused, in a chair across the room.
I think it’s mocking me.
This Dora-esque memory loss occurs with sewing and scrapbooking and crafts, too. I have boxes of fabric for projects of all kinds and beads and notions to make jewelry. But as soon as I lug out the tubs and pull out the sewing machine, my inspiration goes “poof.”
Or I get all these wonderful ideas and scenes and phrases for my WIP (usually while in the shower, or baking), but once I sit down in front of the writer’s tool box — my computer screen — all the words that were in my head disappear.
I think things are slipping into the chasm between the left side and the right side of my brain.
Where do all those lovely ideas go? Down the rabbit hole, perhaps?