Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers
cydniey

It Would Seem to be Saturday.

And in a few hours, Doc has to run to the post office because I am a flake. I sold an ebay thing, no biggie, just some old Happy Meal Toys, but Payapl never notified me of payment. And I didn’t check. My bad. So I need to send out the items Priority tomorrow. Luckily, I sold, today, a really nice bracelet that I have been eagerly awaiting finding a good home. And it was expensive due to craftwork, not materials. So there’s some extra cash. As a freelance artist/writer, I’m used to my time being pretty much worthless. It all evens out. So, I’ll get that out tomorrow, the ebay orders.


Doc was out today. All day. And I was in no shape to stand up. I kind of sat on the couch staring into space for a few hours with my guts in a knot. The rest of me was completely relaxed, it was so close to zen. Nothing immediate was expected of me, I had no schedule to adhere to, it was a Friday. And I just meditated on the past two-five weeks of varying levels of psychosis and what I was going to do to avoid it for a while, and made the decision that we are not keeping the psychosis at home anymore. When that happens, off to the hospital. Doc, through no fault of his own, is not equipped emotionally to ride out the whole wave. I need professionals. It’s been brave of him to try the last two years, but it is taking a horrible toll on him. So, I thought about that a lot and came to terms with it.


I put Chewy’s hipster sweater on Major. It took me an hour to get a hold of him to get it off of him. His big belly stuck out of it and it was too small across his back, which made him walk funny. No, he was not happy, or cute. Not even enduring. Nope. Sweater fail. If it had been a Xmas sweater instead of a hipster sweater, Major just can’t carry off hipster, he’s not rail thin and doesn’t wear a hat.


In a rare act, I’m listening to music. I haven’t been since my new headphones died on one side. Maybe that has something to do with my state of mind . . . . If I were 15 I would write this entire entry in song lyrics that only mean something to me. I could still do that. I can find something in almost any song to identify with. God, I am so open.


Time to go bug Doc. We’re trying to stay friendly. You know, to keep from being holiday statistics.

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