October 27th, 2015

2013, cyd, new

"That's not what that's meant to be used for."

I just plugged an external keyboard into the laptop so that I don't have to disconnect various cables from the beast to sit it on my lap to type this out.

Every night before Doc leaves, he does something to either hurt my feelings or make me mad. To him, it's the same irrational-ness. And I think I figured out why. I think it's because he doesn't want to leave. He doesn't want to leave the casual coziness of the house, he doesn't want to go be someone else for 10 hours. And he doesn't want to be somewhere else where he has to worry about me and be in the position to not be able to do anything about it if I get into trouble. So he just lashes out in his frustration. And I am the one it is aimed at. Every night, as he bikes away, I stand there with both middle fingers raised, the neighbors laughing. They don't see us often. Not together.

So, I think I figured that out. I thought I had it figured out before, I thought it was that I was talking to him when he first woke up. So, I stopped talking to him when he woke up a few weeks ago. But his snottiness continued. So this is what I have come up with now. I will continue to apply logic to him, because down inside, he is a logical being. That is his default setting. I know he feels like he is losing his mind. Like my crazy has worn off on him. It's so common for caregivers to go through this. He needs to get into treatment. He's suffering from PTSD and it is ugly to watch. I feel so helpless. And guilty. But I don't want to make this about me. This is about him, and getting him better. Betting him back to being able to cope.

It's why he doesn't see me getting better. He is so shell shocked, all he can see is the damage. He can't see any good. He was being positive the other day and talking about buying a house out here, which surprised me. I always thought this was a grand holiday that would end when one of his parents died and we had to move back to Philly to take care of the survivor, presumably living in the tiny house with them. And then, inheriting said tiny house. The idea of making a permanent commitment here by buying a home to life in, wow. That put me over the moon. I don't want to go back to Philly. I don't want to live under someone else's roof. Caring for an elderly parent, I have no problem with. I'll happily do that. I just REALLY don't want to move back to Philly.

I'm going to find a written tutorial for Photoshop to work on tonight. I came across a really nice pin-up photo of myself. I'm thinking of ways to cover the nipples, as they are really prominent. I think I can use a "tape" brush and the "warp" tool to make it look like I have electrical tape over the nips. I've been practicing the technique, and I'm pretty sure I'm ready to debut it. Added bonus, I'm wearing actual heals in this particular photo. Will wonders never cease? I used to wear those things at my office jobs. Ooooogy. That reminds me, I have to try on the silk lounge pants I found in my closet that I used to wear to office jobs. Those were comfortable. And if they fit, I really don't need those harem pants from Rose Wholesale.

Doc was fucking around in my email today. I know this because he deleted something out of my junk folder that I had put there for safe keeping and to remind me it was there. What a derp. How can he not know that nothing of importance happens in my email? All you'll find are invoices and package tracking info and receipts. I get no personal emails at all.

I'm almost out of green medicine and he still hasn't bloomed, or even finished cloning. That's at least 6 weeks until harvest. Then drying and curing and trimming. I don't know what the fuck he has been thinking. There is no alternative but to buy it. And that is very expensive. We can afford it right now, and keep saving money for the car, but it is an unnecessary expense, when the plants should have been cloned and bloomed two months ago. And now we have to buiy medical grade. Because I will happily smoke my own schwag, but I will not pay for it. And I will not smoke the Mexican Brown that they grow in the National Parks. Let the tweener s smoke that shit. And he has been in no hurry to acquire more from any of his sources. He hasn't even contacted any of them. I'll be out-out tomorrow. And he is already complaining about my attitude. I'm not even out yet! I've cut down to 1/10th of what I was consuming, and he could do nothing but bitch about every little thing I did, and blame it on the lack of green. So, what is the day after tomorrow supposed to be like? I won't even be able to sneeze without setting him off and hearing about what an addict I am. The next 8 weeks are going to be a barrel of monkeys. Cold, dead monkeys.

So, my Halloween will be jack-o-lantern-less. Doc won't bring a pumpkin home. He has decided all pumpkins are too big to bring home on the bike. I have been pleading with my local Facebook friends to bring me a pumpkin, have even offered to pay for time, trouble, gas, the pumpkin, crickets. Nothing. I have a glass bowl vase that I dot painted in a jack-o-lantern, but it is too fragile to put on the porch, and I can't put a candle in it. I need a real pumpkin. I even asked for a tall skinny one. I figured Doc could put it in his Time Lord rucksack (it's bigger on the inside). I have a pattern of Zero's face (from Nightmare Before Christmas) that would be perfect. I wanted to do a side view of Zero on a big fat pumpkin, but that's right out. I just don't know why Doc is being so stubborn. I guess at this point, pickings are pretty slim. I've only been asking since October first. Grrrr.

He's going Christmas decoration shopping on November 15th. Come hell or high water. Maybe before. Because he's shopping at the dollar store for them.

I also need some larger frames than the typical 4x3 or 6x5. I have sheets of artwork that as a whole, are fairly boring. But cut out a small matte and slide it over the sheet, you can find many interesting and full-of-feeling vignettes. They are so small, it is best to matte them with thick paper, like I have a ton of, board would overwhelm them. And I want to make a few and frame them and sell them in the store. I know that our dollar store has an entire aisle devoted to smallish frames, so I need Doc to go and take pictures so I can pick a few out. I can highlight them in Photoshop real quick and email the image back to him while he shops, I kind of like his smartphone for shit like this.

So far, I have two materials invoices for the current inventory of products. Together they equal about $15. That is how much of my own, stashed for years, until-I-find-a-use-for-it, stuff I have been using up in making the things I'm making. There has been an enormous amount of upcycling. So far, everything I have made has been made of something else. Every item is either re-used itself, or components of it are re-used. I should use that as a marketing point. That right there is pretty punk rock. I'm using other people's garbage to make things that other people absolutely have to have. Yeah, that's going in the marketing materials. My tagline should be "That's not what that's meant to be used for." No one steal that, okay?

Everyone around me online is having such a chaotic time right now, and I can't help any of them. All I can do is wish them the best.

I've decided to open myself back up to spirituality. Well, to the possibility of spirituality. Part of me is hoping that in the legends and mythologies of the Norse gods and goddesses, I will reconnect with the goddess powers that I once felt so strongly. One of the reasons that I let it go was that I let people tell me that I should give equal time to the gods that I gave to the goddesses. That turned me right off. Put man into a ruling position over me, and you lose me altogether. That made it easy to turn to atheism. But I listen to and read my poems about my trips with the goddess and I remember that warm feeling. I remember her holding me and comforting me, I remember that those were real and tangible feelings, and I grow tired of denying them. So maybe in the tales of Freya and her sisters in Valhalla, I will relocate that feeling of "I know you," that familiarity. Maybe I will find something to believe in the old stories. I already curse King Eric for turning the country Christian. But progress marches on. And I guess this means I have to watch the bloody Thor movies now. Piffle.

Then I could actually send prayers to people again. I wouldn't feel so foolish burning candles and incense or talking to the ghosts of my cats or baby sister, or even Papa. And I think I would be a more whole person. I think I know inside that I am, I'm just looking for the right set of myths to fit into, to feel comfortable with the metaphors of. A creation story that I can love and paint and write about, if not take verbatim as irrefutable fact. I'm not looking for facts, I'm looking for a beautifully women tapestry to wrap myself up in. There is a difference. At least to me, there is.