I’m afraid I’m in a bit of a pickle. My husband has slightly spoiled me when it comes to office equipment.

We haven’t been able to get me everything I wanted and needed over the years, but I’m used to him at least trying. He tries really hard. I mean, if I had to rate husband effort I’d give him over 9000. It’s been great, for the most part.

But it also means I’m a spoiled raging brat now. I want stuff for my office. I want to be able to get work done in style. I want a working printer, a computer that hasn’t exploded in at least six months (the last part mostly thanks to my readers), and… and… I want stuff.

It’s become an addiction. I no longer want stuff. I need stuff.

The latest item we’ve been talking about adding for at least a year now is a paper cutter. I originally thought of getting one during one of my many attempts to step away from the ebook business and into something that would let me take lunches and sleep at night on occasion. I thought I’d start a shrinky dink charm business, cuz it was something I felt I’d like to do. But the cutter I finally managed to buy couldn’t cut shrinky dink paper and I had to return it to get my money back.

Months upon months later, my husband finds the silverbullet for me. It’s the cutter’s cutter, and it does all the things I would need it to do. And, the best part, it comes with a commercial use guarantee. And. I want it.

I know that, being largely invisible, getting this cutter with the thought of branching out into making arts and crafts and leaving ebooks behind is just a fairy tale fantasy. For example, my account at etsy costs me money. It never brings any in. And the Apocalypse Store, OOAKLeaf, only sees one living visitor. Me. But that hasn’t stopped me from pining day in and out, torturing myself by comparing my project ideas to what I can find done by other people, and checking the website for specs again and again. Man do I want this cutter. I’m silly for wanting said cutter. With the money it takes to buy the silverbullet, I could pay off some debt instead. And I know this.

Yet I can’t help my strangely sharp fantasies about this thing. The ideas that are flowing. The overall addictive need. Please, Santa, if you give me a silverbullet I’ll polish your damn reindeer’s hooves. I’ll do unspeakable things to your wife. Give me the damn silverbullet!!!

I even started a gofundme page.

Okay you know what? I even promote the page, I want this thing so badly.

I wonder if Van Gogh ever felt this way, I mean for more than the tip of his ear. “Phucketh, if only I could haff some damn curelean blue! I must paint the sky, I tell ye!!”

It’s either the silverbullet or I cut you with… aaah… another… cutter… Um.

Yeah I have no good conclusion to this ramble.

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