November 26th, 2015

2013, cyd, new

Stats

I’m learning a lot about the traffic to my site and on my site. There is none. In the last three days, I have been the only human on it. The rest of the traffic, that my web host is reporting, is bot traffic. THERE ARE NO HUMANS ON MY SITE. 16 years on the web, and there is NO traffic. I desperately need to do something about this.


If you search “art brut poetry” in Google, I show up on page 2. But who the fuck searches for that, aside from me?


I put up one of those annoying-as-all-hell pop-up exit windows that asks for your email. It even acknowledges that it is annoying. But even if the form isn’t filled out, I still get the notification that a human was on my site.


I am dismayed. This means that NONE of my social networking bullshit self-promotion has worked. Or maybe I just had a crap site presented. I will do other rounds of self-promotion for the site, once it is on its feet. But I have no faith in it. And I’m starting to think that the “internet marketers”, whose advice I am reading, are lying through their teeth about their success in order to hock their wares. Actually, no, I’m not starting to think that, I am well on my way to being convinced. They are all a bunch of my Dads. Frustrated middle-aged white men who couldn’t make the Republican Dream work for them, and now hock snake oil in the form of Internet Secrets of Marketing to unsuspecting rubes. At least I didn’t pay for any of it, well, didn’t pay any more than my information.


And just in case that one tracking program is wrong, I have redundancies. According to them, it isn’t wrong. I am the only one being entertained by all the shit I’m doing on my site. Well, fuck it, I’m having fun, and if I cut back on one of my meds just a bit, I can convince myself that people are actually coming to my site.


Speaking of meds! I have collected some articles and study results re: using stimulants to treat schizophrenia’s cognitive symptoms. I’ve noticed that when I take Sudafed (which, let’s face it, it’s speed with cold medication), my cognitive functioning is better in some areas. Decision making improves, situational assessment improves greatly, etc. So I spent yesterday afternoon, after I finished studying, looking for studies done on stimulants and cognitive symptoms. And eureka! They have found a link. A relatively mild stimulant, Modafinil, is being studied extensively on it’s effect on cognitive symptoms. To date, the ONLY possible, even talked about, drug treatment for these crippling symptoms. Until now, it’s been memory games (Lumosity, I’m supposed to be spending time on Lumosity, I prefer to study my own way, the games on Lumosity confuse me and make me angry), and talk therapy (Nope. Not taking a bus ride once a week to talk to a stranger, catching him/her up on my history for months before we can even begin to work). So when I go see Doctor B, I will present him with the printed out studies to check out and see if I can try this stuff.


See, my positive symptoms are mostly under control. I was having some auditory hallucinations yesterday, but I think that was just stress over the holiday, because it didn’t start until after Doc told me that I wasn’t getting Thanksgiving dinner, after I had planned it out so simply, and so far ahead. I was bummed and stressed. And the hallucinations. Mostly of Doc talking to me.


Then he called home. He didn’t open his birthday card this year. He didn’t open his birthday card last year. From his family. He just can’t even. He has his reasons. But they are bad. And they bite him in the ass. He made “The Holiday Call” last night. And things were not good. There had been a death in the family. There will soon be another. And while the first hurt only one, the other will devastate the whole. So we’re done splurging on Xmas, as of now. All money will be going to getting him home as soon after the first of the year as possible. He gets all of his vacation and discretionary time at the first of the year. He will continue to work the 2 hours overtime every morning. And stash the money away, and we’ll save for a car when he gets back. I just want to get him home in time. And I don’t know how much time he’s got. He’s racing cancer. Fuck cancer. Fuck cancer right up the ass. It has no right to mess with this man, with this hero. It is like, the only thing that could possibly take him out, he is such a Superhero. I don’t care what Doc says, I’m sending him the photo book I made him for Xmas. I made it for him last year, but Doc was weird about me giving it to him. It’s all photos taken by the cats. I figured he would like it for the reconnaissance mission aspect of it. He’s an Army man.


Wow, that turned into a bummer. I’m not going to say any more about all that. It’s Doc’s family. And though he signed on for my 24/7 web display, his family did not, and if his sister ran across this, she would not take it the right way. She doesn’t take me the right way. I’m her baby brother’s wife. No woman would ever be good enough. As it should be.


Chewy is huggy tonight. Cool. He’s been aloof for a couple of days. I’ve missed him. There was even a time I was crying the other day and he wouldn’t come to me. Very strange. We’ve trained him to come to me when I cry, without being prompted. So, I guess he was mad at me about something. I must have given Felix a bigger piece of cheese or something.


Remember, if you are seeing this on livejournal.com – it originated on fabulousdisaster.com and you should at least go look at the front page because I worked hard on it. The front page, contact page and journal are really the only things there right now, but that front page, I mean, wow, right? Is it slow? Is it bulky? Does the font load, is it hard to read? Did you get bothered by the email sign-up after signing up? Oh, what am I going to email you? I have no idea. I’ll likely send out an announcement when the site is full of content and ready for mass consumption. But you can be pretty sure that I won’t be spamming you guys. I get out all I need to say, here.




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2013, cyd, new

I Can't Work

Really, I’m trying. But my head is spinning with today’s influx of personal information. My sister-in-law died. I’m not sad. I didn’t like her very much. But I feel bad for Doc’s brother, her widower. Though he is staying in St. Croix, so it can’t be all bad for him.


See? I can’t even type about work!


Pictures, I have to sort pictures. The flatscreen is hooked up so I can sort pictures.


Oh, here’s why I am up: Doc went to work at the usual time, for the usual shift – 9pm-5:30am, which will get him home by 6:30am. Then he has a cocktail (he found the bottle of whiskey I hid from him, for him to find around the holidays) and unwinds, and goes to sleep, to wake up at noon, and go to work at 1:30pm to be there by 3:30pm (Sunday bus schedule doubles his commute), and will work until 1am. If he doesn’t do this, he gets fucked straight out of his holiday pay (UPS is a bitch), but if he does it, he gets a sweet, sweet pay day for the end of the month. Airfare money.


So, I predict, by 3am, when he gets home tomorrow night, he should be good for his “Walking Dead” audition three hours later (just kidding about the audition).


The animals already have cabin fever, it’s down around freezing out. And while they will do wind, they will not do extreme cold. Chewy sang me the story of his frozen schmekel. Vader, the song of his chilly tail. What a chorus. I wish they would rehearse if they’re going to do that. Now Chewbacca has made a pillow fort out of my pillow and blanket. When I get up, I’ll toss the red silk throw pillow on top of the pile and he will pull it down on himself and be completely covered and in doggy heaven. He is so weird.


When Doc left at 7:30 last night, I was so tired. I just went to sleep until midnight. Felix slept on my face. Since it’s essentially winter here (yeah, like we have autumn, it’s three days long, and over in October), Felix is staying in all the time, so when I nap, he’s around. Chewy is just used to jumping up on my legs because Felix is going to sleep in his usual spot now. And then Felix lays down in Chewy’s spot next to my chest, and then slowly scoots up my nose. Eventually, around the time I am deeply asleep, he covers the half of my face that is exposed and cuts my breathing off. Doc says this is usually when I start fighting Felix in my sleep, trying to push him off, and him just clinging to the couch until I rolled over to get away from his fur. Do you hear what I’m telling you? It is non-stop adventure here! I know, I’ll calm down. I took Sudafed.


I have to brush my hair. It’s been a week. I’ve been finger combing it because I left it curly. Right now, my hair is brought to you by Nancy Spungeon/Chloe Webb/Young Courtney Love. Points if you get the first reference without Google. Triple points if you get the second reference without Google. And everyone knows Courtney Love.


How funny would it have been if Frances Bean had grown up to be like Saffron from Absolutely Fabulous? I was rooting for that. I was so rooting for that. THAT would have been apt punishment for being Courtney Love. Having to raise a wallflower who ruins clothes just by wearing them. HA!


Must try to work again. This is just silly. Maybe I should go in and bake or cook something. I have all these ingredients, you see.




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2013, cyd, new

What I am Thankful For Because Thanksgiving

I have actually declared this a day of mourning on Facebook because of the weather (down around freezing tonight! I posit this is proof there is no benevolent supreme being). But I’ll do the thankful for thing because I just came up with a biggie, I mean, I just had a mad epiphany, and because I’ve never actually made a list of things I was grateful for. Typical me.


So, the epiphany first, I have to get it out, get it down . . . The Mormon Church doesn’t owe me an explanation. It doesn’t owe anyone an explanation. It’s a religion. It is a belief system, administrated by humans who believe they have supernatural powers. Before they gained this belief, they had flaws. Just because they believe they now have powers, doesn’t mean the flaws went away. In some cases, it brings the flaws to the fore, under a guise of holy imperiousness. It is what it is. Maybe there are people who faded into and out of my life that owe me or Jesus some kind of apology, but the Church is not guilty. It isn’t even really complicit. Bad people are going to do bad things, they will find an excuse. This is huge. 


Do you know what this means? I can let go of the anger and the hatred I have had for this blind institution of faith for 30 years. It wasn’t the cause. It was just the setting. I can’t blame it any more than I can blame the couch for an argument with Doc. There’s nothing there for the angst to cling to. It just slides down into a receding puddle on the floor of my brain. So, it was just people. And there’s no point in hating them. I’ll never see them. They’ll never hear my words. They’ll never care. I know this from my parents. They don’t care. It is what it is. Bad people will be bad.


That doesn’t mean I am bad. And I have to stop thinking of myself as that. I have to stop identifying first as “damaged” because, though I am, it is not me. Does that make sense? I feel like I’m getting kind of New Agey, Self-Help, here. I didn’t want to do that.


What I want to do is talk about what I am thankful for on this frigid freakin’ Viking weather day.


Doc – that’s a given, he is my world, such as it is

Kelli – my partner in crime, come back to us

my meds – for finally being the right ones and giving me part of my life back

the animals – for keeping me closer to sane with all of their needs and such

the roof over my head – and everything it covers, we’ve got some nice shit for broke ass people

my brain – you wouldn’t think so, but yeah, it’s where my creativity comes from, if you could see my notebooks

our Kindle – because bathtime

my freedom – yes, I am aware that I am one lucky bitch that gets to do exactly what I want most times

A Woman Named Sharon – who lets me keep a hold of a tiny bit of my childhood by being my friend on Facebook


I think that does it. I think that blankets everything, so you don’t get an exhaustive list of my art supplies or kitchen inventory. I am thankful for this house and everything/body that is in or on it right now (Vader and Teeny are up on the roof playing what sounds like freeze tag, how appropriate). Do is sleeping out here today. Because he is only sleeping until noon-ish. He leaves at 1:30, as we discussed last night. He’s coming home with company. So I have to clean the shit out of the house while he is at work. I can do that, no problem.


And I should cook something. I think I have all I need for pumpkin pie. I’ll make one of those. And some cookies. I’m down to one cookie sheet until Saturday. But I have my mixer and my sifter, and Doc picked up a basting brush and bowl scraper for me, and I have a Gorgeous! candy thermometer, so I’m pretty well set, culinarily.


Doc and I have started facing each other’s weirdnesses. Like, I make a scary noise when coughing up phlegm, and he says I manhandle the Feta, when I don’t, I just treat it like a crumbling cheese. You shouldn’t cut it, you should always crumble it. I have a secret belief that the metal of the knife messes with the flavor of the cheese, but even if that were true in the past of goat’s milk feta and pure carbon steel knives, it wouldn’t be true today. He’s just weird about it. It really bothers me that he slices feta and tries to melt it like a mild, soft cheese. He also tries to melt Parmesan, which drives me crazy. So we’re working these things out. Trying not to do them in front of each other. Letting each other know when one is petting the other’s peeve, as it were.


I hear a cat snoring. I hear Doc snoring, of course, but under that  . . . the heater is running . . . no definitely a cat-snore. Someone is under my couch, sleeping. Bagira’s on his back in the middle of the floor. Vader is sleeping along side Doc’s couch, odd. Felix is next to me on my couch, soundlessly cleaning himself. Teeny and Vader on the roof . . . Simon near the food. Major must be in my bedroom. Freddie locked in Doc’s bedroom. And that leaves Boo – Boomer, to be under the couch. I know we named her Boomer, but I have been calling her Boo, and it is kind of sticking. She doesn’t react to it, but she didn’t react to Boomer, either. She reacts to “beautiful grey girl”. Oh – wait! Freddie on the comfy chair, not locked in Doc’s room. Hmm, someone is locked in there, must be Major. He loves to sneak in, though he has no idea what to do when he gets in there. Nothing smells familiar because he doesn’t like Doc.


An hour and a half until the parade. I have crescent rolls, I have cinnamon and sugar and butter, and chocolate, I could make some breakfasty confectionery things and some sausages and some bacon. Chocolate Chip Cinnamon Rolls? Is there a reason why no one has done this before? It seems so obvious. Especially if you are a fan of Mexican cuisine. They put chocolate and cinnamon together all the time. Their hot chocolate has cinnamon in it! That’s it, I’m making chocolate chip cinnamon rolls with the crescent rolls. And bacon and sausages. Why has Cinabon not done this? I can see no down side to it at all. I haven’t even seen it attempted on Pinterest, and those women bloggers come  up with some whacked out shit. Not this. My mom was right, I was born to be a pastry chef. There’s just so much math involved. I have a pastry cookbook where every ingredient is weighed out, except of course, the liquids, they are measured. But every dry ingredient is measured out by weight. If you ever see a really fucked up recipe with strange quantities listed for the ingredients, chances are some chef translated it with some software (or by brain) from weighed measure. I used to have a program that would do that.


I need a cigarette. And I need to stop typing, it is waking Doc up.




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2013, cyd, new

Eyes Wide Open

And not that stupid Tom Cruise movie.


No, MY eyes. Wide open. An hour and a half ago, I was struggling to stay awake, but had to in order to get Doc up and off to work. There is so much to do, that I don’t know where to start. I guess I should start with the coffee table, then go do my art stuff . . . Doc is bringing a work friend home, so I’m cleaning like my mother is coming over. Well, not my mother, she isn’t allowed to know where I live anymore, but your mother. Someone’s mother. Like, filling up the book shelf, cleaning.


I found my table-top xmas tree, so I’m going to put that in the corner here, between the couches. It has candles and spring flowers on it right now, it could do with a tree. That’s on the list of things to do. But yeah, I have to really clean this living room. We won’t need the space, but it’s nice to have it instead of a pile of plastic shoe boxes and canvas boards and one really heavy chunk of clay.


I’m making the Xmas cards this week. I’m also starting to assemble Xmas gifts so while I am in the garage searching for Xmas decorations, I can look for shipping boxes, too. There’s no wind today, I should spray paint that chair while I have the chance.


And at some point, I have to take a shower and wash my hair. The season of leg shaving is over, thank god. I was so over that in April. But my hair, it needs some love. I’ll put the oils in it today and leave it curly again. It’s kind of funny because the blonde process took some curl out of my hair. But remember, not all of my hair is blonde. The section that was not bleached is just as curly as ever, so I have to tuck it behind my ear when I leave it curly, or it just looks silly. Little things I did not think of when I made the decision to leave part of it unbleached and make a statement. I didn’t realize my hair would have its own thing to say.


My surrogate little brother, S and his BFF, J, came by today. J was half the man he used to be. He had gastric bypass surgery and it is working for him. S looks like Rob Zombie. He let me play with his beard. They came over to say “high” to Doc and I. So I take back all the nasty things I said about his friends earlier this week. They came through, at an awkward time, as Doc was sleeping, but they came through. So, if they come back to visit, they get cookies and candy.


038I tried doing the gallery thing on my site, and I need to see it in action. I’ve only seen the back end. I haven’t seen the results of certain settings, or any settings. Even the default settings would give me a place to start. I don’t want to go through the process live, even though there’s no one here. It just makes me feel oogy. So I have to go back to the developer’s site and see if I can find some examples of it. It has almost a million active installs, so it shouldn’t be hard.


Okay, back to Pinterest for a fudge recipe and a certain chocolate cookie recipe I know I saw there. Then I am standing up and doing something. I don’t care what, something to improve the condition of this house. I think I decided where to put the cat tree (in front of the book case in the corner). I should move it and do a thorough vacuum under it. That is where the big tree is going. I told Doc I want the dining room table cleared off before I set up Xmas, which he said was no incentive, until I demonstrated my whiny voice nagging him about it. The table will be cleared this weekend.


I guess I’ll set up my bed as a staging ground. I have to dig the small ornaments out of the box of all ornaments so I can decorate the table top tree. And I don’t want all those boxes out here for a week or more. The lights are in the pantry. Don’t ask. At first, we had a lot of room in there. We had no idea we would fill it up with small appliances and food.


I know this is terribly boring, but I have no one to talk it out with, and I need to talk it out or write it out to process it and visualize it so I can do it right. I think I’ll take some Sudafed. As I mentioned, I do better on that. I wonder what Ritalin would do to me. I’ve never tried it because most forms of speed don’t affect me. And the ones that do make me ugly. I mean, junkie ugly. Coke – nothing. Meth – psychotic episode. “Black Beauties” – nothing. Speed/coke mixed – nada, Evil Man tried to get me hooked on it, but I always gave it away to a coke head that I worked with. He enjoyed the boost of the speed, it was like a little holiday for him, and Evil Man kept me well-supplied.


So that’s why I’m writing about this stupid shit. I’m trying to think it out so I do everything I intend to do. Doc isn’t home, so I can use my big mixing bowl. I melted records in it and then washed and sterilized it, but he’s still weird about it (remember what we talked about last night about each other’s weirdnesses?). But I can use that, the blue bowl set, and the metal bowl set. That’s three batches of cookies. I need to get more butter out of the fridge. And I want to make some fudge, too. And the pumpkin pie, but that is quick to whip up, and I can make fudge while it is baking. I’d also like to find the recipe for the $100 brownies. These things are so rich, they used to sell at a big, full-service department store in SFO for $100 a pan. I’ve never made them for Doc, and he loves brownies. I remember it is a really simple recipe. 2 squares baking chocolate, 2 eggs, and I think 2 cups sugar and 1 cup flour or is it 1 cup sugar and 2 cups flour? See, that’s too much flour for two eggs and a bit of vanilla. so it must be one cup of flour. I’ll just the drop the ingredients I’m sure of the measurements of into Google and see what it gives me. It was released twenty years ago, it has to be on the web by now.




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