I only took one Seroquel last night, instead of two, because I had to be up early and I went to bed really late. And then I forgot to take my day meds. I should be a mess, but I'm doing really well. I did a lot today. Both around the house and on the computer. I mainly did promotion today. It is slowly working. I've come up with a winning set of hashtags and use them liberally.
Someone from some social network set up to discuss current events and politics has apparently been following my comments on Huffington Post, and wrote to me about them. How insightful, I would be perfect for their community, would I like to join? I swear, if I join another social networking site I'm likely to implode. I joined minds.com the other day because Anonymous backs it. All of your messages are encrypted, no targeted advertising, no search engines. Open source so it can only grow and improve. You earn points to promote your posts by interacting with the posts of other people, sharing, liking, what have you. So it actively encourages users to interact with each other. And did I mention that everything is encrypted? You can even have an anonymous account. No personal information that you don't want to give out. I think that was my last one for a while. They had a place where you could put all the links to your other social networks and I was appalled to see that I had accounts with all but one of them. Considering how anti-social I am.
There is a blog on my Patreon site. I will post on it when I do something artsy. Once I get patrons, some art blog entries will go only to them, but for now it's all open and hanging out. I'm trying to show that I am productive and worth an investment of a few dollars. Get in on the ground floor, I could go viral at any moment. An artist, writer, performer who takes her art and words directly from a debilitating mental illness and puts it on display for the world to look at and assess. With plenty of snark. Huffington Post doesn't know what it is missing. Or maybe Slate. Or Salon, they are a bit "click-baity", but I'll take it.
With what Amanda Palmer makes per thing (on Patreon, you have the choice of being paid per thing, or per month), enough for me to get teeth implants and pay my student loans off. I'm not aiming for that. I'd just like to have the money for materials and presents for my patrons. Most importantly, I want a fan base. I want to speak to people. I want to hear what they are going through and how they cope. I want to know what music they listen to. What poets. What news do they watch, do they watch news? One of the rewards for the $10 per month pledge is a phone call with me. I won't do Skype because, teeth. But a phone call is a big sacrifice and it took me a long time to decide to make that a premium.
Argh, I can't believe the drone died on me, that fucks my plans for the rest of the night. Pull cam footage off and make a video, then scan at least one diary. Maybe I can hook one of my monitors up to it. I'll look into that when I get up tomorrow. Doc is asleep now and it would make too much noise to mess with now.
I did everything around the house but dishes. And it's too late for that because sleeping Doc. I just made myself a new pot of coffee and refreshed my giant bottle of iced water and repacked my bowl. I'm ready to go another couple of hours, at least. And I only got two and a half hours of sleep last night. Sleep is the enemy. But I can't go along with the flow of productive insomnia anymore because of the Seroquel schedule. I can mess with it on Thursday nights. Those are my "party" nights. Doc is at work all night, and I don't have to be awake at any certain time the next day to get him up or anything, so I can take my Seroquel at dawn or shortly after and have the night to work. Late night, early mornings, I do my best work.
Time to go out into the hair dryer that is the desert at night with the hot breezes off the Mexican desert, what is it, the Sonoran desert? Like sitting under one of those head engulfing hair dryer machines when you were a kid and it would swallow the whole of your tiny body, surrounding it with a hot breeze that you couldn't wait to escape and return to the canned air conditioning and perm smell of the salon. But big. All consuming. We have an 8,000 sq. ft. lot. The house is only half of it. So that makes a big back yard for the winds to swirl and play inside the confines of the cinder block walls surrounding three sides of the yard. It blows my hair in every direction at once. It drives me nuts. I could never be on the open desert with my hair down, even if it was straightened. I don't like it in my face unless I am deliberately hiding behind it (stranger danger). I could never be a sexed up action star, I would never fight a foe with my damn hair in my face.