Friday, April 7, 2017

I can't think of a title


Sorry for the long silence, I just haven't really had anything to talk about. The med situation hasn't changed. My doc (who still can't remember how to pronounce my name after a year and a half of seeing me every month) dismissed any possible notions of antidepressants causing writers' block, and then suggested INCREASING my dosage. 

I've shopped around for other psychiatrists, but there aren't that many nearby covered by my insurance, and I would have to wait another month and a half anyway because I can't afford the co-pay to see another doctor so soon. Also my doc will not question me when I want more xanax, a trait that is getting increasingly difficult to find in doctors.

When I went to see the psychiatrist this past week, there were only two chairs left in the waiting room, so I chose the one that was not beside the smelly dude who looked visibly insane. Ten seconds later, when I actually started listening to the conversation of the five men next to me, I questioned my decision. They were in a deep discussion about their encounters with aliens, how many time they'd been abducted, and apparently one of them had aliens living in a cave in his backyard. That one then started complaining how long it was taking to complete the process to receive his handgun license.


I have managed to write a few more pages of the YA book I've been working on for the last few years, and the book itself is nearly finished. This is due solely to continued harassment from Guitar Teacher demanding that I finish it so he can read it.

There is no emoji to describe my current mood, so I made one.



In other news.........

Last Saturday, I managed to catch Eleven and drive her to her temporary foster home, at a friend-of-a-friend's house. Because Eleven is pregnant and I don't want a load of kittens running around the village potentially getting run over or freezing to death next winter.

Eleven was none too happy about this. That was possibly the most stressful car ride of my life.

I miss my Eleven. :**(



But I am trying to keep reminding myself that this is for the best. She will eventually warm up to her foster mother, her kittens will go to good homes, and Eleven will get her shots, get de-wormed, get spayed, and eventually come home to me, probably inside.*



Now listen to this hilarious video. All the way to the end. 


































*Which will be another fun-filled few weeks of getting Harleyquinn and the Simple Cat to get along with her.

-__-

Thursday, March 16, 2017

Have you ever wondered why so many crazy people refuse to take their medication?


I have arrived at a dilemma faced by countless writers and artists before me.

I think my medication is causing the writers block.

It set in for the long haul around the same time I started taking antidepressants. And the writing died entirely when they upped my dose. I've also lost the desire to go out and take photos. Now I'm having a harder and harder time coming up with new ideas to illustrate as well.

Never in my life was there a time when I did not have stories bouncing around in my head 24/7. I'm not sure when they stopped, but they have most definitely stopped. Nothing. I used to wonder what normal people thought about all day if their heads weren't constantly occupied with coming up with new fiction stories. Now I want to know how normal people survive this deafening silence.

So what to do? Stop the meds and risk sinking back into suicidal depression and anorexia? I've still got one foot in that particular grave, so I'm kind of nervous as to what will happen if I go off the antidepressants.

At the same time, life is empty and pointless without all the art I used to love creating. Sure the illustrations have sustained me a little, but it's not the same as when I was writing. I feel like a hollow shell of a person. Should I sacrifice a mentally unstable life for a totally lifeless medicated one?


I just don't know. Thoughts? Suggestions? Here's some ridiculous mushrooms:


Monday, February 27, 2017

The stove is a bit like a servant. You need to whack it a few times to get it to work.


Happy Monday, friends.



To start the week off, I thought I'd offer y'all some free advice.

There are five essential tools that everyone should keep in their home. You do not need a big fancy toolkit, but you should always have the following on hand:


Any and all household issues can be fixed with one or all of those items. I promise. Even large appliances can last up to 2 years past what probably should have been their demise if you know what you're doing with duct tape.

This weekend, I fixed the draft stopper on my front door, as it had partially fallen off. I also managed, during that time, to superglue the door shut and to superglue myself to the floor.


It is unwise to attempt home improvements when drunk.


The cat formerly known as Not-Ivy* and now named Eleven has gotten very affectionate.


and last week she brought me a dead mouse
I'm thinking about bringing her in if she gets a little more tame. Right now though she's still pretty wild--I can only touch her if I'm sitting down and only after she has established that I will remain sitting. We haven't seen Kiikiii-8 (the orange and white kitten) in about a month now. I'm praying someone took him in. He's much more tame than the other strays, and he's also super cute.


Some of my art work now hangs in the Sugar Shack in Warwick, NY. My family tells me I underpriced everything.... Hopefully I make some extra money. I've been arting tiny kingdoms and mushroom cottages like crazy.




In other news, as of yesterday--and much to my shock and disbelief--I have been elected to the church council. The council is made up of 6 people, each serving 3 year terms, and is basically the board of directors for anything and everything related to the church (services, Sunday school, the band, all the different ministries, activities, etc. etc.). I'm hoping this is my chance to completely overhaul (and possibly even take over) Youth Group.


I made a very large mistake this morning in opening the scratch and sniff sticker that came with my electric bill.


Now the office reeks of gas and my boss keeps thinking there's a gas leak.



Now listen to this important message from Left Lane Cruiser:









































*She followed me around the whole time I was looking for Ivy outside and she looks just like Ivy, only not fat.

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

I have a present for you; it's very sharp.


 Why is it that some of simplest and easiest things cause some of us such frustration that we will avoid doing them at all costs? A combination of laziness and boredom is my best guess. Simple tasks such as

Laundry.

Doing laundry is not difficult. It's not even that time consuming if you think about it. Even if you have to go a laundromat to wash your clothes (so long as you're not in a sketchy location), it takes all of 30 seconds to throw your clothes in the washer and then you've got like half an hour before you have to come back and put the stuff in the dryer. I will say that not having my own washer and dryer is annoying, but I am permitted to use the washer and dryer in both my parents' homes whenever I need to, so it's hardly a hassle.

I spend more time thinking about doing laundry and planning to do laundry than it probably takes to do the actual laundry.


I will avoid doing laundry until I am literally down to the very last pair of emergency underwear.* Which is totally stupid, because by then I have such a ridiculous mountain of dirty clothes piled up it takes me like 4 loads to get all of it washed and dried. Which means I'm stuck at Dad's house all day on a weekend, or stuck going back and forth from work to Mum's house for three days in a row (currently on day 3 at Mum's--first load folded, second load needs folding, third load to go in the dryer during my lunch break). And that's just the clothes. There is still a pile of sheets and towels sitting on my bedroom floor that has been there since I came back from Indiana.

Even more than doing laundry, I hate

Getting the Car Serviced.

This is even easier than laundry because all I have to do is drop Gyr off at the mechanic and pick him up a few hours later. Gyr should have an oil change every 5,000 miles, but he actually get serviced about every 6,000 miles because I spend that last 1,000 miles thinking about scheduling the car for service, being anxious about it, and not actually doing it.

Since I travel over 120 miles a day for work, this little mental mania has become something of a constant in my life. As has

Going to the Bank.

I have managed--as far as my personal finances are concerned--to ensure that I never need to set foot in a bank again. Unfortunately, I have to go to the bank for work to deposit checks.

I don't know why I hate going to the bank so much. I really don't. But every time I see Boss man emerging from his office with checks and deposit slips in his hand, my heart sinks and my lunch break is ruined. Because I have to spend all of two minutes in the bank. I think this is solely the result of laziness, because Bank of America got rid of all their drive-thrus and I definitely started hating the bank more after that.....



One of our client's is currently sitting in Bossman's office complaining because we only got him $650,000.00 for his car accident. Like really, dude? On my current income (after taxes), it would take me about 20 YEARS to amass $650,000.00.





 How are the rest of y'all doing? 
































*the Christmas thong, because of course you needed to know that




Tuesday, January 31, 2017

A Tale of Two Horses

Once upon a time, my late evil-stepfather owned a huge piece of property ("The Farm") out in the boonies of Tioga County, Pennsylvania. From about age 14 - 19, I spent many a long weekend up there with Mumsy, Lil Sis, Stepdad and his evil spawn, his and Mumsy's friends, and whatever one of my friends or cousins was lucky enough to be able to tag along. We rode around on the four-wheelers with total disregard for our own safety, played with rifles and shotguns, drank a lot, hung out in the hot tub in the middle of winter, ran from mountain lions (yes, they do exist in Pennsylvania and I do not care what the *experts* say to the contrary), and generally ran amok.

Before smart people stopped making Stepdad's business decisions for him, he had rather a lot of money and liked spending it on extremely frivolous things. Some time before we started visiting The Farm regularly, he decided to purchase two retired race horses.

For those of you unfamiliar with horsemanship, there is a very very large difference between the horses trained for showjumping and putting up with rich children, and racehorses. Also, much like pigs released into the wild, some horses left unridden and free to wander a lot of land without human interaction for a long period of time can go from tame to feral rather quickly.

So Stepdad--who knew absolutely nothing about horses--purchased two retired racehorses and basically left them to wander The Farm as they pleased. For like two years. They had access to the barn for food and water and shelter when they wanted it, but no one really went near them except for the blacksmith who came every few months and groundskeeper who made sure they had fresh food and water in the barn.

Upon arriving at The Farm the first time, Mich was told that the horses were unrideable, and that under absolutely no circumstances was I permitted to even attempt to ride them.

Naturally, Mich was determined to ride them.

Mumsy, however, was by then very wise to my inclinations with regard to wild horses, and so I did not get an opportunity to try riding the racehorses for quite some time. Until one day, when Mumsy and Stepdad and their friends decided to have lunch with some other friends in a town forty minutes away.

The moment their car drove out of sight, I sprinted for the barn. Shatoya, whose parents were staying at the farm that weekend, decided that she would also like to try riding a wild horse. We had a surprisingly easy time luring the horses out of their field and into the barn. They also stood still while we saddled and bridled them. I am pretty sure they knew exactly what they were doing and thoroughly enjoyed leading Shatoya and me into a false sense of security so they could do a better job traumatizing us later.



We did at least wear helmets. I'm not totally stupid.

I gave Shatoya a ten-second lesson on the basics of riding a horse, we mounted up, and off we went outside.

Any of y'all ever watch horse racing? Ever notice how when they're not galloping down the racetrack, each horse walks around tethered to a second horse? That's called a companion pony, or a lead pony. It's basically the racehorse's service animal to make sure it doesn't go totally freaking insane for no reason. Because racehorses are

TOTALLY

FREAKING

INSANE.

Our horses would not listen to any commands. They just wanted to alternate between leisurely exploring the fields outside their paddock, and RUNNING. I knew how to ride a horse at full gallop, but Shatoya had never so much as gone on a ponyride at a carnival. By the grace of God, she somehow managed to hold on, and actually enjoyed herself (although she told me later she was equal parts exhilarated and terrified).

So we had a grand ol' time hanging on for dear life while our horses galloped all over The Farm.

But then

Mumsy and the other adults came back.

Her reaction was more or less what I expected.



I was actually quite impressed she managed to stay in the car what with all the flailing and swearing.

It took us rather a long time to get the horses back to the barn. Shatoya ended up getting off her horse when he was standing still and leaving him to find his own way home. He wandered back to the barn eventually, and seeing him going home, my horse also decided that she'd had enough adventure for one day.

Back at the house, Mumsy shouted herself hoarse. Lil Sis threw the mother of all tantrums because why did Mich get to ride the horses and not her? Mumsy shouted some more. Shatoya's mother shouted a bit. Stepdad and Shatoya's stepdad laughed. The groundskeeper decided that Mich was some kind of witch.


A few months later in Ireland, Mich managed to ride Anorexic Auntie's wild horse (she got him as a baby, but then sort of lost interest and never trained him). This time with no saddle or bridle. I'm pretty sure the whole of County Galway heard Mumsy shouting.

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States





(Originally sent to me by Tempest, so I cannot take credit for finding this masterpiece.)

.........every time it gets to the "we're going to build a wall" part, I can't stop laughing. 

A real post soon. Maybe. I've been working on a lot of art (remember ages ago I promised some of you art? I have not forgotten. Three pieces are currently in progress).

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

SHE'S HOME

A little dusty and Harleyquinn has no idea who she is, but Ivy the Simple Cat is home. She came to my door at around midnight, while I was asleep on the floor next to it. Now she's eating, using the litter box, and cleaning herself, and I think she is uninjured. She ate all of her treats and Harley's as well.

But she's home and I'm hysterical with joy and now going to try and sleep. Thank you for all of your kind words the last few days. <3

Monday, January 9, 2017

Ivy is still missing

I think I spotted her yesterday morning under the abandoned building next door, but of course I've been second guessing myself ever since. 

My friends and siblings helped me set up one of those humane animal traps, with cat food and stinky fish to lure her out. So far I've caught the stray orange kitten. 

I thought I saw her poke her head out late last night when I went to check the trap, but I'm second guessing that, too, as two of the strays (the orange kitten and Not Ivy, who looks just like Ivy only skinny) have been hanging around because they know there is extra food there. 

Last night Landlord let me leave the front door of our building wide open, and I slept on the floor beside my door in case Ivy came inside. By "slept" I mean dozed on and off between 5.00 AM and 8.00 AM.

I've refreshed the food in the trap again, and draped my old bathrobe over it because it smells like me. I have not actually seen Ivy under the building since the first time yesterday, though there are a lot of places under there she could hide even from the flashlight. Lil Sis made posters, which I hung up in the surrounding buildings just in case anyone sees her somewhere else.

I talked to a guy from the town Fire Department and Building Department, who says he doesn't think there is any more we can do that we haven't already done. Lil Sis spoke to a vet who said the same thing. I broke into the building with Mike the Band Leader, and there really wouldn't be an easy way to rip out the floor to reach her that way, as the floor is pretty solid and filled with asbestos. Plus I think all that noise would terrify her and she might flee and then we'd be back to square one.

I cannot eat. I feel sick. I know I will not sleep again tonight if she doesn't come home. And Bossman is trying to tell me I MUST come into work tomorrow. 

I will die if Ivy does not come back. 

Sunday, January 8, 2017

the Simple Cat is missing

And I am a wreck.

I think she must have slipped out last night when I came in from having a cigarette right before bed. She is not in the apartment, or out in the hallway.

I have searched the neighbourhood. The abandoned buildings nearby. Twice.

People are coming to help, but I don't think she'll come out of hiding even for me, she's so timid. 

I put her favourite pillow and some of their cat litter outside. I plan on staying out in the freezing cold until either I find her or she comes back.