March 19th, 2016

2013, cyd, new

Dear Diary, I Need Doc's Tall

Dear Diary,

I’m too short to hang the stuff up in the studio. I will use Doc’s tall tomorrow when he gets up. I’ve decided, upon finding a bunch of blankets, that I’m going to try to make a recording studio out of my studio. Other than that, it is done! I did the rest today and sat down to work on finishing the girls’ necklaces, when I discovered that I hadn’t come up with a beading scheme. Ack! So I went in and got my notebook and sketched them out and then it was time to eat and take my meds, and I nap afterwards.

So, now I’m up. I have so much to do tonight, I don’t know where to start, I guess with the easy part, laundry. I’m still waking up. It’s been an hour, but I’m still waking up. I was listening to music on the laptop, but the speakers went wonky. The headphones still work fine. I’ll have to remember to listen to music from the other laptop with the speakers hooked up. Sometimes I miss having a desktop machine that I can dig around in. But not always.

I gave Doc the choice of taking me to see the Beauty and the Beast touring show at the Smith Center in April for my birthday, or get me a drawing tablet. They are both the same amount of money. All he has to decide is if he wants to take me to the show, which I know he won’t. So, as of now, I am getting a drawing tablet for my laptop. I doubt it will be a Wacom, unless I can reconcile having a small one. But I really like the larger one of another brand, and it comes with replaceable nibs for the stylus. I also have a couple of other styli that will make thicker and thinner lines. So that will be exciting to have. He has to go to work every day, though.

I had The Scooter Talk with him last night, and I think I got through to him to get the bike and whatever parts he can that he bought, and take a loss on the money for the second scooter and just get the stuff away from B. Then take it to the real mechanic and get it fixed in two days and stop killing himself just to get anywhere. Any thoughts he was having about just leaving the scooter there indefinitely or giving up on it, I told him to put out of his mind. Get the shit back and be done with them. They are liars and now child abusers and neglecters, and I just won’t have them holding something over our heads and draining us of cash they seem to think we have no end of.

When J called Doc in PA and he texted her that his dad died and he was in PA making the arrangements, do you know what she texted back? “Oh, never mind, then.” That’s it. No condolences, no thought for Doc, just a passive-aggressive response, like he was putting her out. Petty, selfish cunt. Not my fault she’s saddled with a kid she can’t raise and a man that was never raised and never grew up. They can just be unemployed and on the dole, no more money from us. No more nothing. I’ve had it.

I’m doing really well with this “letting go of the past” thing. When I mention a past experience germane to the conversation, I only casually mention the city I lived, not the circumstances or time or any of that shit. I keep it simple and don’t get wrapped up in it. Getting the studio rebuilt has really helped to keep me in the moment. That, and other stuff I have to do. Though, the raking of the back yard so I can plant wildflowers, Doc said he would do the raking. How cool was that? How very un-rakish.

I’m cloning for the first time tonight. I expect it will go well, Doc was worried. I’ll show him. He doesn’t know how carefully I have watched him do it. I repeated the process to him today, and he had only one correction, which I would have figured out. He’s going to be so proud of me, provided they last the first crucial 72 hours. Then I put the next batch in to bloom. I plan to keep a bloom cycle going at all times so I never am out again.

heavysigh A schizophrenic man killed and beat his room mates today here in the valley. I hate it when these things happen. I would so kill Reagan if he weren’t already dead for what he did to the mental health system in this country. I understand his reasoning, it was just wrong. There is always this nagging, “when will it be me?” Doc told me, in all seriousness that he figured instead of growing old together, I would eventually kill him. During psychotic episodes, I have pulled a knife on his twice, but I couldn’t go through with it. I would rather stab myself, even in a ragerific fugue state.