I couldn't last night, Doc was home. For reasons that really don't bear explaining, things are tense and I wasn't getting any work done with him here, so I went to bed around 3.
I got my stuff from Michael's today. I haven't opened the boxes yet. Nothing in them is for current projects. I was hoping to have some pine cones to paint by now, but Doc put the kibosh on that. See, I'm not buying pine cones, I am using cones harvested from our back yard and some of the neighborhood front yards. So, god only knows what critters are living in them. Pinterest gurus suggest baking them for 10-15 minutes at around 300 degrees to kill off the critters. Doc will not let me do this in the oven. He insists we do it on the grill. He knows I have a VERY irrational fear of the mini propane grill. I am convinced I am going to make the tank blow up in my face. So this is not something I ca do on my own. I need Doc for it. Doc = not getting done.
It's been a week since the request for him to go through the records he says are all his. Lucky he's not picked up the nesting bowls and loaf pan that I need to melt said records. So I'm waiting on him for both parts of that project. And if he says I have to melt the records on the grill, I'm going to stab a butch. One of the projects, you don't even melt the record, you just soften it with really hot water and mold it while it is warm and pliable. The bowls need the oven heat so that you can put oven mitts on and manipulate the plastic so you don't end up with a bowl with all spread out, warped walls that doesn't hold anything. Same with the CDs, which he insists are releasing toxic fumes into the house when I melt them in the oven. I don't quite believe him. But his work supervisor agrees with him, so, I lose.
I just dug out some yarn and fabric to use in my Smash Book. I was going to do a Stealth Stream with no advance notice, for anyone who was bored to watch. Noe it's pretty much too late.
I don't know what is up with me. The persecution thing is over. The paranoia is gone. I'm on all my meds. I'm doing fine. He's still driving me nuts. It's like he's testing me, but he isn't. He just has a whole lot going on in his head, and REALLY doesn't want to be bothered with what is in mine.
I explained the definition of "butthurt" to him last night and explained that I was suffering from it because he and Kel were giving me nothing about my art. He explained that they just don't get it. OK. So, going to the internet for validation is not only a wise decision regarding branding myself, but it's really the only way I'm going to get that validation. So, keep it up, kids, because my "friends" just don't get me. So, why are they my friends? Oh yeah, they are the only people that can stand me.
They, now that I am better medicated, are not at all shy about telling me what a nightmare I have been the last two decades. There is nothing I want to hear more than all the mistakes I made while under and over medicated, when I had no control over my behavior. Kelli's silly stories of me on Haldol have turned into bitter anecdotes. Doc just says I've evolved into his mother. No, I've evolved into MY mother. He has become his mother. And we were right, the two don't get on at all.
So I'm just going to distance myself from these two. They are both toxic to me right now. They may not always be, but right now, they bring me down. And my getting paid cash money to be an artist makes no difference to them. It makes a big difference to me. Like when one of my poems was published in a national anthology. The anthology got panned, but my poem was published. They didn't care.
I'm not mad or sad, I'm over it. They both have very good reasons. It's called their lives. They are both dealing with a lot of shit. And I'm just going to step back and let them work it out on their own because they won't take advice from me. Keep my head down and buried in the work. There is so much I want to do, there are not enough hours in the day, even when I fight my Seroquel and sleep only four hours a day. It seems like I am still wasting a goodly chunk of the other 20.
http://fabulousdisaster.com/stick/ - My contribution to the deep web (DRINK). Not indexed. Not searchable. Just there, dangling tenuously from the ragged edges of my website. When the new site goes live, the gallery will be refined, I just wanted to get the images up because I thought they were very good representations of the work I had done.
My favorite hacker-unreality show, Scorpion, is on tonight! I have to make up a drinking game for it. The CSI:Cyber game was just too easy to come up with. Scorpion at least tries to keep you on your toes. Every time Sylvester calculates an impossible math problem, DRINK. Every time Walter skulks, DRINK. Every time Paige humanity-blocks Walter, DRINK. It's a much more personal game. They do a lot more character development than CSI:Cyber. Every time Cabe hands over his badge, DRINK TWICE. Every time Happy shoots Toby down, SIP (it happens a lot, you don't want alcohol poisoning). I'll think about it more as I watch it tonight. This is just stuff off the top of my head.