Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers
cydniey

Dear Diary, The Weekend!!!

Dear Diary,


neck_uMy birthday was great! First time in years. All but one of my gift packages was stolen, I’m not getting my tablet yet, but I had a wonderful day! I made myself gourmet three-cheese mac and cheese herbs and cut up grilled hot dogs in. So good. Then Kelli sent me a package with much fun stuff and a small cake with a birthday candle taped to the wrapper. So I got the cake out and put the candle in and lit it and took a picture and then made a wish, blew out the candle and devoured the cake. My official birthday cake comes tomorrow. Apparently Doc won’t settle for a grocery store cake. This is his one birthday task, he’s going to do it right. He’s going to a proper bakery. Then everyone on Facebook wished me a happy birthday all day long, so that was really cool.


I opened a Facebook page for PRH yesterday. I’m going to post pictures of the process of making stuff, and neck_sinformation about it, and punk rock trivia. Then I will ask punk rock trivia questions on the shop site, and the correct answer will be a coupon code for a discount. That way I can keep a sale going most of the time without a special reason.


I have gone full-on artist on the CD Mix Kit tins. I’ve actually broken out the acrylics and brushes and I’m going to paint a few of them. I will sell them as functional art. A new thing. Well, new to me. I have art with a purpose with the Period Pride line of jewelry. Now I have art with a function. The shop is braking all sorts of new ground for me. I’ve found my inner marketer.


I got reported for spamming on Facebook and my account restricted. And I haven’t even promoted the shop in the neck_rlast two days. So I don’t know what the deal is. I have been posting a lot of pictures and videos and updates, but if someone is annoyed with it, they could just not follow me, not even unfriend me, if they didn’t want to. Why report me? So strange. I checked my pages, and none of them have been hacked or anything, there’s no spam on any of them. I don’t know.


I’m over the “Moon” thing. I just don’t get people, but whatever. I will just stay away from them. I have one other plan to reach out locally to the poetry organization here in Vegas, to see if there is anyone on this side of the valley who is willing to take me to an open mic or two. That’s about as far as I’m reaching. If I make friends with the poets, all the better. But I’m keeping to myself for a while. I will get a great article out of this, that I am going to pitch to Huffington Post Voices and see if I can’t get paid to write about this whole fiasco. I have to work up the pitch this weekend. I’ve read several articles on how to write a pitch, and it’s no problem. Just like writing a press release. Put the important information up front, and then fill in a little detail. Short and sweet. Paint a quick and vivid picture and suck the editors in. I’ve got this.


Speaking of this weekend. I have a job this weekend. Yes, a real job, with compensation. It wasn’t cash cd_sun_a1compensation, but it was still good, two free horror/bizarro ebooks. And I just write a couple of hundred word reviews of them on a few sites, and I’m done. So, Doc is not getting the computer this weekend. I need it to read the PDF files. The author hasn’t converted them to epub yet, so I can’t put them on the Kindle. That’s another thing, the author has a female twitter author profile, but is, in reality, a man. What is wrong with people? Why can’t they just be who they are? Maybe she’s trans. I don’t know. At least make yourself an email alias.


I don’t think it’s the deception that makes me as ragerific as the lack of commitment to the lie they, themselves created. If you’re going to do it, do it. Don’t fuck around where you can get caught at any moment by the stupidest thing. If you’re going to claim to be queer, then act queer. At least comb your hair and put on a clean shirt. If you’re going to say you’re a different sex, get yourself a matching email account. It isn’t hard. People who don’t cover themselves, while continuing to lie, are just going to have to lie more to explain their stupid mistakes. It isn’t the initial deception I mind so much as the way it so often spins into really stupid and intelligence insulting lies. It gets harder and harder not to laugh in the person’s face, or throw them out of your house. I know because I’ve had it happen to me a LOT.


I am a trusting person by nature. I want people to like me, and am willing to ignore red flags (because, after all, I have plenty of my own), and oddities, and inconsistencies to make them like me. Especially if I like them. So, really, brace_l2because of the way I was raised, or because of my illness, or whatever, it is pretty easy to fool me. I want to believe the lie. But when people can’t be bothered to even fool me, well, that’s just fucking lazy. This, by the way, is the completely true and justifiable reason why Doc is so protective of me when it comes to other people. Some who get to know me, well, most, truth be told, eventually manipulate me to do what they want, against my own well being. And I always get sucked in. I never fucking learn. So Doc has to watch very carefully and make sure people aren’t getting too close and aren’t knowing too much about me.


That’s why I need a Smail. Someone to watch over me while Doc is not home. When we look for roommates, we look for someone who could be a Smail, but it never works out. They want me to be something I am not. They cannot deal with the contradictions of my weaknesses and strengths. It will have to be someone who is friend, then Smail, then roommate. We’ll find the right person. Or Kelli will come back. One or the other will happen. In the meantime, Doc will continue to take unpaid Family Leave time to take care of me on bad days. He got approved for an extra 60+ hours of it this year because of the crises at the start of the year with the visit away, and the breakdowns, and the med changes, and his dad dying and him leaving me for the first time since we got together 20 years ago. That’s how we deal now. That’s why his income isn’t steady, and we are always coming up short for money. Because we budget what he should be making, and then he wakes up and finds me with a knife in the morning and the day is shot for him. And I don’t always post it when I am having a bad day, because they are really bad, and they are embarrassingly often, for how medicated I am.


That’s why sometimes I say I need to be locked up or go to a group home seemingly out of nowhere. The psychosis hits really fast, and without warning. I can be having a great day, and have a bad hallucination and it triggers an episode. This is also why Doc worries about me sleeping. Because I won’t, given my way. It just bothers me to lay down. That’s why I resist my bed. The couch isn’t such a commitment. And if I’m up, alone, with bad TV and maybe not enough quiet, night time stuff to do, I not only smoke all of my allotted weed too quickly, I get into trouble. So, when I’m not sleeping, not only is it not good for me because it triggers the episodes itself after a while; but Doc never knows what kind of mess he is going to wake up to.


If I’m posting a lot of pictures on the web, I’m doing pretty good. That is a strong indicator of my mood. I will stop writing captions if my mood turns, and eventually stop taking pictures altogether. I can’t work my phone when I’m “in a state”. So no picture taking.


I spend a lot of time in a psychotic or semi-psychotic state. Mostly it just comes out as me being weird. But if you look past the weird and follow the strings of my seeming nonsequitors, you’ll see they lead to a deep pit of complete insanity. That’s why it bothers Doc when I’m silly. Too many times, he has had to sit here and listen to me follow the strings and take him to that pit to look in. And he does not like the view at all. So even mild silliness triggers memories of the pit in him and makes him nervous, especially in public.


I really can’t imagine what it must be like to be him. To have married a confident chef/artist/writer and gotten a schizophrenic, mentally disabled child has to be indescribable. His sister at least gave him some sympathy when he finally, aster 20 years, explained the situation in full to her. It’s the most he’s gotten. Most people hear I am sick and tell him immediately to dump me by the side of the road and drive off fast. But no real empathy. I can’t give him true empathy because I can’t even begin to imagine his life. This is not what he planned. He wanted to be an Officer Soldier and world traveler.


Wow, this got long while I wasn’t looking. The paint should be dry now, time to go put more on.

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