March 8th, 2015

2013, cyd, new

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2013, cyd, new

So, it's Sunday again.

I've decided the time will fly by until I take down the Xmas tree.

Doc made me cinnamon coffee to wake up to. As I guzzled my first cup and had a smoke, we went over his plans for the day. He's supposed to go over to B's. To bring J some laundry detergent. He left ours over there last week and she used it all because she ran out. So her plan for him is for him to get us more and them more. *insert scowly face* I did mention that she quit WallyWorld, right? For all the reasons the B and I fought over on Facebook last year. All the shit he said would never happen to her, or didn't happen in the company happened. And now they are citing the same articles to be anti-WalMart. Christ, some people are so stupid.

I asked Doc, if B got drunk and took the scooter out and wrecked it, could I stab him, and would Doc help me dig the hole. Doc informed me I needn't worry, he left the wrong ignition key with B. He can't start the bike. I am so happy. We're looking at getting the parts by Tuesday, and gawd only knows how long it will take B to fuck around and get it done. Doc is thinking, since it is getting nicer, that he will start taking his mountain bike and the bus to work and get some exercise. The big ass truck just uses too much gas and pollutes everything to use it every day. Doc is coming to terms that we may have to trade it in for a Fiat.

And I say that not just because I want a Fiat like nobody's business, but because they are the only car we can afford to get raped on the finance charges because we have no credit. How exactly I'm going to origami Doc into a Fiat is a little beyond my comprehension right now, but we'll make it work. He's about the size of Jeremy Clarkson, for you Top Gear fans. An inch or two shorter, but built the same way. Have you ever seen Jeremy try to navigate getting into or out of a Fiat? Less than dignified.

So, with one of the many sets of instructions on this page, I made this:

I wasn't planning on using this technique on this particular photo set, but I may play with texture a bit and run with it. I have done enough Lomo sets, which I was going to do with this set, but I really like the mid-century lines of the car as line art. This car is a Packard Clipper. No, I had never heard of it, either. It's so cherry. The upholstery looks original, but it is flawless, for all I know this car was totally rebuilt.

I have a confession to make to you guys. I feel like I've talked at length about this car, but I don't know for sure, because I'm usually posting under the influence of Seroquel. It makes me very talkative. It also makes me very open. So, sorry if I repeat myself. For every story I retell, a dozen others are lost in the soup of my brain.

You know, Jeremy Clarkson is really the only reason I need to emigrate to the UK. I wouldn't go for the politics, weather, or food. But the people. And a reason to use a British or Irish or Scottish accent after 6 months or so.

Doc brought home 3 one-gallon jugs of purified water last night. He sent me out to the big-ass truck to get them. I went out, went round the back of the trunk and pulled the first gallon out, no problem, second gallon, okay, third gallon had collapsed in on itself and drained half way, accordingly. Collapsed in on itself. So I took them into the house, and as I came in, I inquired if he might like to talk to me about the time vortex he had traveled through on his way home, and handed him the Very Strange Gallon.

He had no explanation for it, he just laughed as I made him swear to me that the Mothership had not contacted him without me.

Okay, I'm feeling insecure about the car image. Any input, good, bad, or indifferent. I'd like to hear it. I wonder how the technique would work on a Veyron. The raw look of the line art may contrast well with the painfully contemporary lines of a Bugatti. I just asked Boomer about it and she sneezed in my face. My cat books don't mention what that means.

Why am I wearing my hoodie? It's 70 outside and 80 inside. See, people, this is what I mean about cognitive symptoms. And,no, pot does not affect them. If anything it improves them by moderating your brainwaves and keeping things more level. I call it "slowing my mind down so I can think". It was only after I smoked last night that I could get my shit together enough to take a shower (schiz. neg. symptom). I don't have to do it when I wake up at this point. I can do my morning chores (pasted all over at eye level on yellow square post-it notes), and take my meds without being baked. I can't be spoken to during this time, and my routine cannot be changed one iota. But somewhere in there is progress.

I can make phone calls on my own behalf and get it right, advocate for myself, about half the time, It helps that when I get pissed I cry. Not when I get sad, just mad. So I've been doing better getting other people to join in and help me. I still won't take calls unless it's Doc or Kelli. But I see no need to speak to anyone else.
2013, cyd, new

And they go really well with trout.

My hair is now long enough to brush my arms below my sleeves. And when I wear tank tops, especially. Wow, is that annoying. Do I keep growing it out with the dual color look, or bleach the substantial roots and then some color I couldn't if I were employed outside the house. I'm torn between blue and purple. Leaning more toward royal blue. It looks good on me, that's been established. Goes with my clothes. And goes with my eyes as it fades. I have to talk to Doc about it. It's a matter of affording the extra box of bleach and the two or three jars of Manic Panic, or whatever the kids are using these days.

So I get major hygiene points for showering and straightening my hair and changing my clothes. Reluctantly. I was wearing my favorite black flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off.

I've been losing weight. I haven't been trying, though I've been wanting to. My 36" jeans are starting to slide down, which is fine, I have a closet full of 34" jeans that I like a lot better. It's the walking of the dog daily. And the complete lack of soda. Even though I use a lot of sugar in my coffee, it's nothing compared to how much sugar is in soda. And I've been trying to stay away from fast food by cutting out cheese burgers and bacon I didn't cook myself. This still allows me Arby's once a month.

This was an expensive medication month. It set me up for 90 days for two meds. So my grocery allowance was low. But doc managed to get me a couple of fresh baked mini baguette to eat with tuna. I had my salmon from a couple of weeks ago. It had been in the freezer. I pan fried it with a brown butter/lemon/dill sauce and made pan fried ramen noodles with brown butter and minced garlic marinaded in olive oil. When the noodles and the fish were done, I combined sauces and poured them over the noodles and fish on the plate and made the top of the fish sizzle, just like the show off chefs do. A brief glance into my past life.

I told him if he gets me a rainbow trout, I'll use the rest of the Champagne to make a sauce for it. Salmon would fight with it, but trout would work with the strong flavor, I think. Just use it like lemon juice in a pan fry. Next month I want slivered almonds and trout and fresh green beans. That's a bit out of the realm of the 30 or so things I usually eat, but I'm craving green beans almondine. And they go really well with trout.
2013, cyd, new

everything will be fine

This place was set up for short-term occupation. It was cherry through the first two years. Now that we're halfway through year three, all manner of stuff is going wrong. We know they completely replaced the a/c with an industrial unit, redid the roof, and replaced the water heater with a fucking huge one. There were a few cosmetic things they did, but not much. Frankly, it doesn't look much from the outside. With the privacy screens on all the windows and bars and locked safety gates. Big ol' tree outside. Big ass truck.

On the original subject, now on our list of things maintenance can come do for us is replace our kitchen faucet. It wasn't new, by any means. I would have guessed it was installed in the 80's, when it looks like the kitchen was redone, at the tail end of the 70's with its dark cabinetry and medieval handles. Then, tile was added. Nice, ceramic tile. And it's a big kitchen. It could have an island in the middle of it, but I've resisted, I like having room to flail around when I cook. An island would just be something to run into and trip over. It is time for the faucet to be replaced. I could use new sinks in my bathroom, but I'm not pushing it.

I was describing the latest drama with B to Kelli today. He stepped over another line with me. He was given, without asking, and without compensation, some of my latest crop. The one I worked so fucking hard on. And then he asked for it, but before it could be given to him, he insulted it. No, it's not medical grade. It's a girl playing around in some extra space in a grow space. That's why I was so generous with him. And the fucker had the nerve to look the gift horse in the mouth. And his mouth didn't touch the spliff I'd sent with Doc. Fucker.

So I tell Kelli all of this and she is just incredulous and is asking "Why are you putting up with this shit?" And the truth is, he is a savant with anything with two wheels. He's just also a drunkard and a louse. Doc has been really good about keeping him out of the house.

Doc tried a new schedule today. He slept early in the morning to the mid-afternoon, and was up for a few hours before he had to go to work. And he wasn't rushed or feeling the sleep meds still or anything bad like that. He got off to work on time. I liked it.

For some reason Chewy hates going for walks with Doc. He took Chews yesterday and today. And both times the dog climbed up on me and clung to me. It took us five minutes for him to be convinced to go to Doc. And it took the "stern" tone to do it.

I'm in my I Don't Give a Fuck shirt. A 15 year old wife beater, not long enough to cover my Buddha belly and Herb, my muffin top. White, ish. Holes. Skin tight. Something I would love to wear up on stage. Go up on stage with my jeans pulled up over my muffin top and point that out and how uncomfortable that is and use that to launch into a piece (yet to be written) about living up to the whole body image thing. How expensive and exhausting it is. Coming from someone with unshaved armpits and body fat and scars. I know, it's easy. It's obvious. But it could work.

I wonder what the kids are doing these days. A lot of corporate minded stuff. Anti-corporate, I should say. I have no idealism about that, I can't put feeling into that. The type of toilet paper I use is on my boycott list, but it is what I can afford. WalMart sucks, but I can't afford to shop anywhere else. And anywhere I could afford to shop would be just as bad. Fair Trade is for the rich and idealistic. It's a really nice thought. But when we're surfing the clearance section desperately for butter or eggs, fair trade is the farthest thing from our minds. What is on our minds is, "Just a few cents less."

In that vein, I'm going to apply for SNAP, once Doc gets his taxes done. Even a few dollars a month for food would be cool. At the same time I will be signed up for Medicaid, and may actually have the means to get something done with my teeth.

Doc has a shift bid coming up, and is going to try to stay on the same shift, since he makes more an hour on that shift. I'm cool with it. it really doesn't matter when I sleep or when I'm awake. Just regulate my schedule with my meds. Easy peasy.

Speaking of, I think I'm going to have a smoke and a bedtime cup of coffee (don't judge me!) on the patio, under the fairy lights and then call it a night so I get up early. New week tomorrow. Maybe next week I'll get my first entry for the art project. For the post I made today, I added my name and copyright. I set the year at 2000, because I didn't know when it was written, I do know it was published in 2006.

And apparently I was on something called Vegas Mojo at some point and had a link to it. Carelessly, I deleted it. I've never run across it in my vanity google self-searches.

Anyway, that was so long ago. Everything was so long ago.

Yes, maybe blue hair is just what I need for spring. Maybe it will make people think I'm European and won't expect me to talk. As long as I don't have to open my mouth in front of people close up, everything will be fine.