I decided to go through with the surrender of fabulousdisaster.com for only one reason that I can articulate: I have spent 16 years trying to build myself up under the weight of a label. Sure, I came up with the label, but it is still a label. In the last 6 months, I have done more to fulfill my goals and dreams, under my own name, than I ever did under the Fabulous Disaster banner. In this time of change, I have decided it would be best to let this weight go. Own myself, stand up under my own name, not use a clever verbal shield.
In the interest of this, tonight, before I go into the hospital for a couple of weeks, I bought cydniey.com. And I have made very specific notes (I don't want to forget while I'm in the hospital, either due to medication, or potential zapping), regarding how it is to be designed and what Wordpress plugins are to be used with it. I have learned much from the mistakes of the current design of fabulousdiaster.com, and planning up front is crucial.
I can't take my notebook into the hospital with me. I can take a blank, solid bound journal, but will only be able to use dull golf pencils to write. So I will do that, and keep making more notes of stuff to do when I am back online again. I should have it up and running by the end of July.
Also coming in July, PunkRockHandicrafts.com. I'm done fucking about with that. I've made a substantial sale on Etsy, so things have begun. Time to set up the real site.
And, yes, I will be continuing with Punk Rat Life. I will work on the Kickstarter campaign graphics tonight, and maybe, get it started over the course of the morning.
Zenweb.net, I will keep, as it has been my email addy for 15 years, and god knows what I would have to go through to try to change that on all of the different sites I've registered on. No thank you. I will, at some ponnt I'm sure, be hit with some kind of inspiration about what to actually do with that site, besides use it as a referrer to other sites.
And that is where I am at, business/web-wise.
I just harvested my first full-grown Tahoe strain. It is sticky, the haris are plentiful and . . . pink? Pale to hot pink, kind of odd, but . . . It tastes like it is supposed to, not like burning hay, and the budlets are very sticky. I think my special treatment of this particular plant has paid off. And now I have a plan of action for future plants. I'm happy to report that all of the research I did paid off. Every decision I made seemed to benefit things. I'm glad I finally took over this process. I'm the one in the house with the free time to do it right, it was unfair of me to expect him to do it all. I'm glad I started helping and eventually adopted the project.
We're having issues with scheduling the actual check-in to the hospital. They ask that we do an initial phone assessment before coming in. Doc doesn't want to do it. Moving on. This weekend is the Electric Daisy Carnival. If you're unfamiliar, it is a three night, 500,000 person strong rave and general free for all, held on the massive tarmac of the motor speedway. It is going to be 115 degrees all weekend. These kids are going to be dehydrated, over-stimulated, drugged and heat shocked. It's a frantic weekend for Montevista. The police bring them in faster than they can be processed. And in the middle of this, I want to try to get a bed and some rest. I don't think that is going to be possible. We are looking at Monday now. No more people coming in, and the three-day holds will be running out on the first ones to break down, so beds will be opening up.
And there is the chance that with the timing, and with my hair (I'm thinking of re-applying some purple for Cabaret on Saturday), the older, nastier folks will just assume I'm a raver and leave me alone. That and the near catatonia I plan to be in should keep me relatively unmolested.
But if I see that guy who used to run the rehab, I'm going to punch him in the throat and willingly take the shot of thorazine I'll get as punishment. It will be worth it. He made me feel absolutely worthless and not good enough to be helped seriously when I was in there. And he wasn't like that with everyone, or anyone else, even. He was an ass to me in every interaction, for no reason. And under the cover of madness, if the opportunity presents itself, I will, at the very least, take the chance to tell him just what a worthless, meaningless existence he leads, and suggest that he just have a drink. Loudly. In front of as many of his co-workers as possible. I don't care if any patients are around, but a few co-workers would be nice. Not everyone can like this douche, it can't just be me that he was a shit to. I'm not that special. And that will be my fun thing in the hospital. Other than that I will behave.
I have my clothes gathered, waiting to be packed. Clothes for the heat of the unshaded patios for smoking; clothes for the chill of the a/c when not smoking. Clothes for recreational therapy. They have a couple of heavy bags, and treadmills that I can use daily. I have to gather my coloring books and some crayons, and a couple of vintage sci-fi books to read. And one of my hard-bound journals. I think I have an empty one I can take. That will cover my entertainment. They have three channels, and no news is allowed. So TV is out the window, it's all soap operas and Dr. Phil all day. Like that doesn't just make you crazier. I'm taking my flat iron, praying that they will let me use it every couple of days so I can keep my hair washed. I'm also taking my own towel and washrag. I'm not fucking around with their shit, not this time. I have to use their mouthwash and soap and shampoo, but I don't have to dry myself with a papery towel the size of a doormat. And I think that's got it covered. I don't need much, I can't take much. It should all fit in one bag. Maybe a backpack and the laptop bag. I can keep my phone, and insurance info and med info and coloring books in it so they will be easy to get to.
See? I can think clearly. At times. I have brilliant flashes of lucidity where all the rest just seems ridiculous and unreal. But it is so real. Just ask Doc. Every conversation is a mine field because he doesn't know what is going to set me off, and worse, I don't know either. But when these moments come, I run with them. I just hope I can stay clear for Cabaret. If I ended up going, and not remembering it because I was in a fugue state, I'd be sad. Even Doc is getting excited about it, and Doc doesn't get excited about ANYthing.
You know, I think I'm going to lay down for a bit now. It's been a few hours since I tried to sleep. And I have to try. They are going to confine my to my room for hours at night in the hospital. I can wander up and down the hall, but I won't be allowed to smoke or be in the day room. I have to try to get used to that now, and get some sleep while it is dark because they will be expecting me to stay up all day, as well. My whole schedule is backwards to theirs. I don't play nice with others. Especially day-dwellers.