I dreamed my dog got eaten by a bear

Bizarre, given the relatively small native central Texas bear population, but there you are.

I spend the first 1/2 hour of my day drinking coffee and working on art. It's a thing. It works for me, usually.

Today I was working on a little white doll, embroidering her face and attaching it, sewing on sparkly things, etc. Every time I thought about work (which, I admit, is a whole lot because dude, busy), I dropped the damn needle.

No, seriously. La la la I'm sewing in eyes, I think about production, boom. Lalala I'm fashioning a mouth, I think about assholes, crash.

In the middle I burst into tears, kicked the file cabinet, and found the needle again (fortunately, part of the lessons the universe was attempting to teach me this morning did *not* involve losing the needles or poking myself with the needles or stepping on the needles). By the end, her face was attached, her belly was sparkly, and and I was not thinking about work.

Hell, by the end, when I went into the sewing room to run her body through the machine, discovered that my needle was broken, the bobbin was empty, and the timer on my 30 minutes had just run out?

I could laugh.