Fatale Abstraction

So the great simplification continues.
I've hauled impressive parcels of flotsam and jetsam to Goodwill today, and even managed to drop some more desireable junk at a consignment store. This is SO overdue. At least one piece of furniture will be kicked to an accomodating curb in about 8 hours.

I have this bad habit of making mish-mash bead pieces comprised of dozens of focal beads combined with a broad woven mixture of tiny seed beads. I call this bead-roux, and my bead gravy always makes for a really original project. If I use the same roux again, I'll add one more bead or two to the mix so it won't be identical. I get bored.

This means that in my jewelry studio, I literally have dozens of plastic tubs and containers half-full of beads and other bits and bobs, but there are no lids to be found. How did this happen? I can't figure our whence the lids have evaporated. I certainly wouldn't have discarded them. Perhaps they sulked off into the Sunset, bemoaning my neglect. I'm consolidating the tubs and finding there is way less of a mess than I thought, I was just very efficient at stringing the mess out over dozens of containers. Dozens of soup bowls have been repatriated to the kitchen, but I'm keeping the spoon rests, dammit. Shallow basins are great for picking up tiny beads... Now I have mere fileboxes with ziploc bags corresponding to particular projects and color groups. I've probably handled about a quarter million beads Friday night in little bins, vials and bags (if not more). I'm not kidding.

If the world monetary system ever totally breaks down and we revert to beads, well, I'm rich, beeyotch. If you can find your way to me at that wretched moment, I'll hook you up. Just ask for Empress Phlegmmy.