I'm not very good at consistency. You probably already know this seeing how my blog posts range from beginning of summer to beginning of fall.
Okay, that was my confession. It feels good to get that off my chest.
Onto better topics that peak your interest more than my failure as a blogger.
For several years I dreamed of an office space to call my own. Unfortunatley, the only space that was available to me was an upstairs bedroom.
This was no ordinary bedroom, my friend.
What started out as a task to cover the old nursery wallpaper ended in half the family feuding in the middle of Home Depot paint chip aisle. My teenage sister had one color dream and my parents had another.
I don't exactly recall all major events because at that point I had parked myself in the garden section and pretended like I had no affiliation to the spitfires in aisle three.
All I know is that the bedroom sharing a wall with mine that once displayed a sweet, quiet scene of bunnies hopping through meadows and pastel borders curving the room transformed into the inside of a canary. And I'm not joking with that inside of canary visual.
The room exploded with yellow and the overly patterned curtains added to the headache that formed each time I peeked inside.
I hated this room. I wanted the happy bunny family back.
So for years, I avoided this room. I kept the door shut and only dashed in when I was in need of access to the attic.
And so it sat. Abandoned.
Slowly my collection of photography gear grew until I was pushing the seams of my little farmhouse bedroom. I was getting desperate.