May 24th, 2016

2013, cyd, new

Dear Diary, Don't Feel Like It

Dear Diary,

I feel like doing nothing. So I’m going to write. I’m not particularly inspired. I’m sober. Doc has been dicking around with me with my “green meds” and so I’m out tonight. So I’m not really together enough to be ambitious. I get up to do something, and my head starts spinning, and my heart racing and I get overwhelmed and forget what I was going to do. This is something I am used to. Without the meds, it happens. When the THC wears off, which happens rather fast with me, I metabolize the stuff like, wow, I’m just useless. I can’t think, I can’t move, I can’t get my shit organized.

I took some Xanax to chill out without the greens, but I think I took too much. I took 2mg. Which is my usual dose, but I haven’t taken that much at once for a while. I’m feeling a bit goofy, which isn’t helping with the concentration.

And suddenly, the light is gone. I got the new “stage” set up for photos of my stuff. I think I mentioned that Etsy only “features” things that are photographed on primarily white areas. And I want my items featured. So I took the two big sheets of frosted glass, taped a white towel to the back of one, and use it as a backdrop, and the other sheet went flat onto the table, frosted side up, with the table showing subtly through. I arranged it with strung beads draped on the backdrop, three colored boxes in purple, blue and red, and one gargoyle sucking her thumb on top of one of the boxes. Not everything will be in every shot, but the items are there to be used. The necklace display stand is still black, not a lot I can do about that, it’s padded velvet, so I don’t really want to cover it with some kind of paper collage. I made two conical bracelet displays, one in black, one in white. That way I have a choice of which goes best with which piece.

And that is probably the only thing I’m going to accomplish today, That and cleaning off the table I set it up on. The dining room table, the one I asked him to clean off 6 months ago today. And have been gently reminding him since (must be gentle, the ego is so fragile). It didn’t get done, I needed the table more for my thing than for his junk, so I cleaned it off. And condensed the junk to one small pile of business cards. Then he came and spread it all out all over my stage before he left for work. I try not to carry a knife, for just such tines.

We had a big talk about responsibility. And how I was taking some, if not all, and he was taking none. And I was/am tired of it. The table was just an extension of that. Taking the garbage out and replacing the recycling bag were another part of it. I suppose he wants me to take out the recycling, since he’s left an overflowing bag in the corner of the kitchen for a week and hasn’t said anything to me about it. When I went out to take the garbage out and put it in a can, both were filled with grass clippings. Grass clippings he said he was no longer going to collect and spread all over our yard, fucking it up for no logical or reality based reason. So I had no choice but to toss the garbage bag on the driveway, white-trashing up the place nicely. He didn’t even care. He is so in his own world. And he won’t go see a doctor.

So, another weekend, another fight. He’s fucking around with me and was drunk enough the other night to admit it before I caught it, got really pissed, and he walked it back. Fucker. I was pretty mad.

The weekend is now over and I have another useless promise that he will go to work every day this week, keeping me from going insane, and also getting paid, because he fucked up the finances AGAIN this month, and I can’t do anything to bail us out. We may have to pay several hundred dollars in late fees on rent. Lucky we have always been early on rent, so they won’t kick us out, they will just charge us out the nose until we can pay. This gets back to my weird thing with money. Everyone around me is always worried about it. It is all Doc thinks about. Nothing I do has any value to him because there is no cash attached to it. Money is the only thing that will make him relax. The only thing that will make him happy. That isn’t to say that he will do anything for it. He won’t even go to work. So I don’t see why it all falls on me to work 16 hour days making things for the shop, when they can’t be expected to sell yet, since there is no money, it’s no good to him, The time I spend “working” is just wasted time to him.

On the other side of things, other people seem to be proud of my accomplishments lately. So, I’m getting validation somewhere. That’s something.

Oh man, I’m starting to be a true downer, I’m not lifting myself out of this well. What do I do? Sleep? Will I feel more guilty sleeping and not doing anything, or staying awake and not doing anything? If I stay awake, at least I can say I tried. I’ll stay awake.

I’ve done something bad. I didn’t start out to do something bad, I rarely do. But it got bad. And now I fear I’ve made a mess. See . . . an old friend of my dad’s that I’m friends with on FB posted a meme with some false equivalencies about people “identifying” as one gender or another. I called him out, politely, by pointing out that it was a bad argument, and I’m sure he had better. He had better. He notched up the obnoxious religious bigot act for his reply to me about the “.03% making the other 99.7% cater to their whims”. And I lost it. First of all, the stats, which i didn’t even address, are laughable. The man is outnumbered and he doesn’t even know it. As for the rest of it, here is my reply:

“As part of the “.03%”, I do not ask that anyone cater to me. I simply ask for safe spaces to relieve myself. I will accept that you think it is a choice, maybe I chose to identify as asexual because of the molestation I survived at the hands of my father and your son. That could very well be. I don’t debate your belief that “alternative lifestyles” are choices, not something you are born with. But I’m not trying to take anyone’s rights away, shove my “agenda” down anyone’s throat, or push my beliefs on anyone else. I am just trying to live, and get and hold jobs and opportunities and not be judged by my “boyishness”. There is a lot of judging and not a whole lot of Christlike love going on around this issue. It makes me sad. I count on voices like yours to spread the Word, and to make sense, not pass along some incendiary drivel meant to inflame and frighten people. That’s a very Trumpian thing to do. Sorry, Brother Jensen, I mean no disrespect. I just don’t see the reason for the animosity. I thought Jesus taught to love ALL.”

So, yeah, I just opened a big old can of worms. See, I don’t know if my mom ever told him or his wife what his son did. My mom was of the opinion that the boy could never do that. She completely dismissed me as lying to get attention. So, I don’t think she mentioned it to his parents. Hopefully, he will just let that line go, take what I have to say, and just be quiet for a while. Or just be true to himself, the man I knew as a kid. The man that would have protected me from his son if he knew what was up.

I got the glass vials I ordered online. I think I’ll make a pair of bi-pride glitter earrings with them. They are too small to accommodate what I wanted to put in one of them. So I will send Doc back to Jo-ann with the thing I want to put in the vial, and have him find one that it will fit through the opening of. Definitely not money wasted, I just get to do something other than what I intended to do. And I’ll have something new for the shop. I really don’t need another necklace right now. I’m pretty hooked on my skulls.

I also got the silver lame coat for the barbie art photos. It was made for a Ken doll, so it will be all big on the barbie, and I can roll the sleeves up a bit. It will look cool. I need to get inspiration on how to make/what to make tags out of. They will have instructions. Brief, six words or less. I was thinking like toe tags, but I may put the dolls in heels, so that won’t work. So I thought about each doll having a beaded necklace with the tags hanging from it. Or a couple of necklaces, it depends on how many tags I come up with. I have two so far. It would be neat if I could make them out of polymer clay. Maybe I should try that. I want something more tangible than paper. I was thinking little pieces of metal with the instructions stamped in, but that would require an actual investment of money to get the supplies and materials for. And I wouldn’t know where to get them. I’m sure I could Google it, but there is a reason why I don’t. I’m still waiting (5 years now) to work with metal clay. Clay that turns to sterling silver when fired. In whatever shape I want. See, another investment, though that would be super cool. I could do the tags in different metals and hang them from the necklaces. Wow. Another $200 I need to come up with. For $1000, I could buy everything I want and need. I need to win the lottery for $1000. That’s all I need.

Can you imagine how the creativity of the shop’s designs would improve if I had three pure metals to work with? With the molds and cutters and extruder that I have, the possibilities are endless. And I could do real, metal Mokume Gane. That would rock my world. I could do my own jewelry and supply raw items like beads to others for sale. Which is something I wanted to do anyway. I plan on making a collection of polymer clay beads, and paper beads, and sell them as components instead of finished pieces.

Did you know that you can follow me on Twitter, Tumblr, Vine and/or Instagram? My account names are “cydniey”. I will, of course, follow you back. I stay active on all of them. Though I need to make a vine tomorrow of the flowering bush in the wind. I also have four Facebook accounts that you may friend/like: Punk Rock Handicrafts (this is the page that will have the answers to the discount code questions embedded in a post somewhere), Fabulous Disaster (updates on the site, and my attitudes towards things related to the site), Circus Catimus (the menagerie known as the Agents of Meowssad – merchandise coming soon!), and my personal account, Cydniey Buffers, (which is open to the public). And I hashtag the shit out of everything to maximize my exposure on all platforms. But I don’t spam. The personal Facebook account is glitchy because it automatically gets posts from other platforms and will sometimes post copies of things, other times not. But the rest of them I personally handle and post original content to. Except photos, which are shared between Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, and Facebook. Confused yet? Try setting it up. And controlling other people’s bugs. It may sound like everything posts to everything else, but it doesn’t and the Facebook pages really need some likes so they get more traffic. I earn traffic by gaining likes. I’m reaching about 1/4 of my audiences now. That is wretched.

I know these are long. I think I have nothing to say and then I go on for hours, and honestly I have no idea what I have written here. I will have to read it tomorrow. I remember sniping at Brother Jensen. I recall accounting that. But the rest? Nope. Oop, just found a poem I apparently wrote in my sleep last night. It’s about . . . skimming . . . suicide . . . it starts with a Schroedinger’s Cat metaphor. Okay. Cool. New content for Master Stories.  Maybe a new video possibility for youtube.

I have to remix the rest of my poems and make 24 second clips of each of them for posting on Clammr. I can upload everything at once and schedule the release dates/times of them. That will also get my work included in potential playlist candidates. I got the thing as Playlist Curtator/Editor for I don’t know if I mentioned that. I also got the undisputed right to call myself the “first poet on Clammr”. One of the merits on which I got the position. I told them I was looking forward to working more with the people I’d been with since their beginning on the web. I think that got me in. And no one has said a word about the “first poet” thing. Which I am 99.99% sure that I was. For all I know I’m still the only poet on there. Which, if true, I will have to do something about that. They’ve even retweeted me when I claimed it as my own label. So I’m pretty happy about that. I did the right thing and got in on the ground floor of this enterprise when they first invited me. And Doc was skeptical. There was no money or advertising in it, and since it was a start-up, it didn’t mean very much exposure. But then it was named one of 2015’s ten best new apps at the Apple Store, or whatever the app place is called.

Enough. I think I may sleep. If I stay up, I’ll break out the headphones and remix me some poetry (interesting snippet about the word “poet” over at the Fabulous Disaster Facebook page). If not, I’ll do it when I wake up and I’m hyper critical while I wait for “golden hour” to take pictures of merchandise. I have to retake every photo. Ooog.

2013, cyd, new

Dear Diary, It Can Wait

Dear Diary,

I will soon lose my ability to write to Doc’s return home, so I should do it now. I can make 24 second sound clips when he gets home with my headphones on.

Even when we don’t fight, he says we fought. Out of nowhere he asked me why I was such a bitch last night. I have wracked my brain all day and I cannot think of a harsh thing that was said between us last night. I’m, once again, so confused.

He gets more wretched by the day. I have done everything I can to help. That by no means indicates that I am going to give up what I am doing to try to help. On the contrary, something has got to break through. Some act of kindness or allowing of his mood to ride out without reacting to him emotionally instead of reasonably. Something will get through to him and he will realize he is not alone.

I can’t stop smoking pot. That just is what it is. What we are growing won’t be ready for a while, so we have to buy it. This wouldn’t be a problem, as I moderate my intake, but he hasn’t been going to work. And it is time for him to realize that the time has come to adult. That four bad days a week with nothing but sleep is not good. Three days of work and my check is not enough to support us. Period. And it doesn’t help that he lets me spend money and then guilts me when we run out. I told him, enough. He can have two bad days a week. More than that, he needed to figure out how to budget his time better.

And that means swallowing his pride (which I don’t understand, he’s not asking B for a favor) and going over and getting the scooter that he ultimately did not want to use while his was being fixed, but it is what is ready to be ridden, and he needs to ride it. An hour commute and four hours coming down from it each night, and three hours recovering from it in the morning are not working. And I finally told him that straight out. I’m not suggesting or hinting anymore. I am coming right out and saying things. And he doesn’t like it one bit. I can’t help that. I just can’t.

He can’t help it when I am hurt when he has to remind me to shower, or eat, or clean something over and over again. It isn’t his fault, it’s my problem that I react that way. Just like he is not comfortable with my “truths”, I can’t do anything about that. These things need to be said. Hinting and suggesting has gotten me nowehre but deeper in a hold that is really starting to resemble the one I grew up in. And I know the same is true for him regarding everything but the money. We have to get together and do something about it.

For my part, I cleaned off the dining room table for him. I knew he would be mad at first, but then would be relieved. And he was. Today, I cleaned over a year’s worth of mail out of the entry hall. And wow, do I feel better for it. I didn’t get to vacuum, but I was busy doing other shit. Like taking care of the big piles of hoarded shit he has stashed around the house.

Yesterday I found a vast stash of grocery bags. Not contained, just stuffed down between the wall and the irnoning board, for who knows how long. I can use them for cushioning for packing things, but they are useless for food now. So he saved them for nothing. Then, when I finished that, I found a stash of empty aspirin bottles. You have no idea how many aspirin bottles. They have no use. Ever. I can’t even use them for beads because they are huge unwieldly bottles with small mouths. They litereally have no reason at all to be saved. And he has them stashed all over the house. Then there are the empty cereal and cracker boxes. I got rid of those today, too. If you walked around the house, you wouldn’t see any difference, but I know the stuff has been done.

And all of the mail that I threw away? He will be pissed and stressed as hell about that, he cannot let go of sealed mail. He can’t opem it, either, but that’s another issue. So I organized everything that I got rid of into piles, put the pikes on top of one another and stacked them in an Arby’s bag. Then I took all the ads and coupons that have been sitting for 16 months when I last did this, and stacked them neatly in a large paper grocery bag. If he is really bent, there are the bags, knock yourself out.

This marriage thing is hard. We are two very emotional people. But I have a reason. He doesn’t. Not until he mans up and goes to a doctor and finds out what is wrong with him.  He should grow up and take responsibility for himself, fill the cat food container fully when he bothers to fill it, and be an adult. He made promises, committments. He needs to keep up with those. They weren’t just until he got tired. Or, if they were, divorce is an option, and the one I want, if that is the way things are going to be. You know?

Because, frankly, I am tired of complaining. More tired than you are of reading it. I changed my meds and turned my life around in under 6 months. I am in a completely different place now than I was last November. I don’t even need to read the journals to know that. Now I am a professional writer, I contribute regularly to three sites. I curate playlists for a website where I can claim I was the first at something big. I have found new success with my photography on Instagram. I am constantly adding new fans and readers. I have opened and stocked a store with hand made goods, which I actively promote. I keep countless social media accounts updated and interesting. I am more independent. I am not afraid to ask for what I want for the first time in my life. These are all good things, and I’m tired of him shitting all over them when he is awake and around.

And we’re 20 plus years into this thing, I am not about to just walk away. I am going to try to make things work. So there’s going to be some ranting. Some more. I’m sure. I have to get it out, and this is my diary, after all, there’s really no where else to put it. And something has got to work soon, because if he is still like this when Kelli finally comes out, she is going to slap his ass around for a while. And she will do it, too.