Thanksgiving was a busy day here, but one that was generally good. We didn’t do the traditional turkey because hubby isn’t a fan of turkey and the neighbor who shared our meal literally can’t eat turkey due to an allergy. I still got my stuffing fix, though, because my daughter brought some home from their run north of here to spend their last Thanksgiving with their uncle.
Warning: rant ahead!
This week has been a roller-coaster. God only knows how grateful I am to be at home for good. If I were still employed full time, I wouldn’t have been after this week. Let’s just say I’m mighty glad we hung onto the walker for around the house. It makes me feel ancient, but I prefer ancient to the alternative of being in bed 24/7 forever.
My older son and his wife have dealt with one financial disaster after another this week. Some of it is self-inflicted, some not. I can’t rescue them, and something tells me even if I did they’d be back in the same situation in pretty short order. I feel for them and for the kids, but they’re going to have to figure this one out for themselves.
After a litany of tactics that straddled the line between nagging and reasoning, I think I finally convinced the spousal unit that he needs to quit dicking around in the workshop for long enough to get some photos done. I get that he enjoys his woodworking and normally I don’t mind. If I could I’d take the pictures myself and let him play with his wood. (Read that as you will.)
I love the man, I really do. I just want to kick his butt when he screws around telling me we have to do such-and-such which serves no purpose, then blows me off when it comes to something that’s we both agree has got to be done asap.
This is his latest project. Nothing wrong with it – it’s a nice enough item. It took him more than three weeks to plan it out and build it. He plans on selling them for $30 apiece.
For a man with an accounting background, I know he gets the disparity between three weeks to make it, a $30 price tag, and any real pretense that this has anything to do with income. Now that the template is made, he can undoubtedly build them in a few hours’ time. He can’t build them fast enough (or sell enough of them, certainly not in this area) to make them worth the trouble. It’s a nice little hobby, nothing more and nothing less. He even acknowledges the fact. And it pisses me off to no end that he insisted on doing this before doing the stuff that actually needs to be done.
I’m still working on half a dozen projects, but two are paramount. One is the online store. It should already have been live so we could capitalize on the holiday sales market, but that requires hubby to pull his head out of his ass long enough to take some decent pictures. We talked about it and he promised he would, which of course didn’t happen.
The second project is – pardon my language – so fucking important it hurts. I’m not talking about important to me personally, though it’s that too. It’s a project which, if I can get G to move his ass enough to get it done, can impact thousands of lives. It’s something I can’t believe doesn’t already exist. It should exist. It should have existed eons ago. I’ve done all I can without adding photos to the mix. I wanted to have it done before Christmas so I could give the first ones to my older daughter for my grandson with autism.
Meanwhile, G has badgered me to create a name and get the domain registered for a new tech business which has no clientele and has close to zero chance of succeeding. He wants “us” to do this together but all the services he recited would be me doing it, assuming we could magically drum up people willing and able to pay for it.
We could probably in fact sell the services, because they’re pretty specialized and are indeed needed. Ignoring the time involved, that is. However it’s highly unlikely to come from the geriatric neighbors he’s proselytizing and it ignores one glaring fact: it’s not happening. The whole reason I retired is that I cannot physically deal with the daily commute and other related BS of my old job. I can’t reliably do anything requiring 8 hours (or more, which is always the case when building that kind of business) per day, certainly not long term.
Time for hubby to put on his big boy pants. I’m not letting him get away with anything any more.