Generally, I love scrapbooking. I love creating the layout designs, choosing colors to complement photos, devouring magazines and books to learn more, more, more. I love when people see my scrapbooks and are moved by them, whether to tears or laughter. Why does love always seem to lead to trouble?
For the past several years I've given family members scrapbooks - hard or digital copies - for Christmas. They're usually a huge hit. They were such a hit that my sister-in-law requested a scrapbook for her wedding gift. That was a year ago. I just can never seem to find the energy or the motivation to sit down and do it.
Then around the same time she asked I got the brilliant idea that I could do custom scrapbooks for people. My mom, trying to be supportive, decided to become my first customer. She ordered 3 identical scrapbooks for my kids, my brothers kids and for herself. The were supposed to be gifts for last Christmas.
It would seem that I am an incredible flake, and maybe on some level I am. But I am also responsible for 2 kids, a husband, a cat a house and a few jobs. I can't work on scrapbooks during the day because kids and scrapbook materials don't mix well. At night, I'm pretty much incapable of doing more than drool at the television until I pass out, which usually is about thirty minutes after my kids have gone to sleep.
Knowing that I have all these responsibilities, people have still made their requests. It's flattering on some level, but I think there may be a teensy bit of resentment. am I not stretched thin enough, people? Now, it's not like anyone is breathing down my neck for their books, rather I'm breathing down my own neck because I feel bad. I don't like to disappoint or flake out on people, but I only have a finite store of energy, which is usually depleted by five o'clock every day - I just don't have any more in me.
the books will get done. Maybe by Christmas, maybe by next year, who knows. I know one thing for certain: it's a darned good thing I never went forward with that business idea.
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