Being part of a family means committing forgery for the ones you love.

 Emails and facebook messages with regard to my wellbeing are starting to pile up, so I figured I'd try to post something....

I had a nice week away in the beginning of the month staying with Tempest, who is beyond lovely. We did one of those Escape the Room things (twice--success in the art gallery heist, near success at the bank robbery), and wore period costumes on both Halloween and two days later for trivia night at the local brewery.

We ended up skipping trivia and playing Nintendo instead. We all mostly failed at Super Mario on NES, and then we broke Mortal Kombat on the Sega Genesis. 

I made friends with Tempest's cat, Pippin.

 I love him. He cuddled with me nearly every night I was there. (Presumably because the Simple Cat has trained me to keep up the petting and scratching even after I've fallen asleep.)

We also did lots of walking at various parks, as I successfully got Tempest into geocaching. I got super excited at one park when we saw a red squirrel,

  

and then we found a praying mantis.

 I moved him from the danger of the parking lot to the safety of the trees. Hopefully he did not wander back into the parking lot.

I made some clay thingies

Simple Cat/Ivy and Harley

self portrait

but they are nowhere hear as amazing as Tempest's creations.

I returned from my road trip on Saturday, Vienn Peridot in tow. Peri made friends with both cats immediately. I was amazed, as Simple Cat NEVER comes out of hiding when new people come over. Ivy loved Peri, and she spent most of Monday evening and Tuesday looking for her after she left.

I took Peri to Smokey's for dinner for her birthday. On Sunday we wandered the farmer's market with Lil Bro2 (and of course visited the Pesto Man), went to A.C. Moore and Michaels to spend far too much money on art supplies,* and then headed over to Dadum's for dinner, as Stepmom had cooked a nice chicken and rice dish in honor of the foreign visitor. After dinner, we all watched Babe and I totally forgot that Elrond did the voice of the sheepdog.

The following Tuesday night, we as a nation somehow elected Donald Trump as the next president. I did not get to vote, as Bossman made me stay at the office until after 6.00 PM, and then I had to go get groceries and petrol and visit the bank, and after sitting in like 2 hours of traffic on the way home, I was so aggravated and tired I really didn't feel like waiting around in the cold when it was so late I might not even have made it to the front of the line at the voting place (which would have been another 45 minutes in the car from my house).

Honestly though I had no idea who I planned on voting for. I had actually considered just flipping a coin because I don't even give a f**k anymore. I've had enough of the lesser-of-two-evils elections. I've lost all patience with the circus that is the United States government.

Last Friday, I made an appearance at my friend's daughter's 13th birthday party. Emma (the daughter) is a treasure., and possibly the only real fan of my books. I made her a art for her birfday.

I think it might be the best mushroom cottage yet.

I also hauled ass outta there after only an hour because small house filled with a large group of squealing shrieking 12 and 13 year old girls = HARD NO.

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

The week-long road trip was a wonderful distraction, but once I settled back into normal life, all the ick came right back. Emotional turmoil, extreme depression, general despair and hopelessness. The Doc has upped my meds, but I know that more antidepressants and mood stabilizers and sedatives will not fix the real problem. I do not know how to fix the real problem, so I've fallen back on unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I do not eat anything more than the cream in my coffee and a spoonful of peanut butter or a leftover piece of chicken, except for when I have to eat in front of people. This has actually been a pattern for some time, though I have not blogged about it because I had done so well with recovery and to slip back into the eating disorder seems like such a colossal failure I couldn't bring myself to admit it.

It came to a head a few days ago, when one of my friends posted an old photo on facebook, and then sent me a recent one of us hanging out.

I hate photos of me. I hate my reflection. I tend to avoid mirrors except when doing my makeup, so seeing photos of me is generally never a pleasant experience, but I can ignore them, brush it off, and move on.

Except the other day, when I saw M's recent photo of us, I kind of lost it. I feel huge. Unbearably huge.

Last night, I had an extremely vivid dream in which I got struck by lightning and died. It wasn't a quick death, but I was unbothered by the pain and the shock and instead my thoughts were more like FINALLY. When I woke up, I was so disappointed it took me like ten minutes to drag myself out of bed.

It's like Hyperbole and a Half put it in her post about depression--I don't necessarily want to kill myself, I just don't want to be alive anymore. If I didn't have the cats, things might be different, but for the moment I cannot bring myself to abandon them.

*Everyone is getting art for Christmas now because I'm poor.

giorni dispari

Ruby's recent posts have had me thinking a lot about my horseback riding days. Today, I found out that one of my favourite horses from my riding school--Queenie--has ridden on to the great pasture in the sky. She was quite old, 30-something, but the news still made me sad.

Queenie was an average-size horse, all chestnut brown. She was the most uncomfortable horse I have ever ridden, but she was also lovely as far as temperament. Most of the time, I felt like all I had to do was think about what I wanted her to do next and she did it perfectly.

I miss riding, but unfortunately it is an extremely expensive hobby. I started riding at age 2 with Anorexic Auntie, and started lessons at age 3. Once upon a time, I had wild aspirations of riding for Ireland in the Olympics (I really wanted the green riding jacket), but that died away as I headed into my teens and got bored of riding round in circles jumping over sticks. I really wanted to ride into battle, or failing that, learn how to joust.

Horses are the most likely reason for the vertigo, according to my old doctor. Riding that much for that many years, you lose count of how many times you fall off or get thrown off. I had one horse (ironically, named Mephistopheles) who threw me into a triple bar and then five minutes later hurled me off his back with such force that I was knocked out cold upon landing. This is the reason we make sure to wear the funny-looking helmets. This is also the reason Mumsy would not stay and watch my lessons.

By the end of high school I had given up lessons and instead rode for free, exercising the privately-owned horses whose owners didn't have time to ride every day. The retired racehorses were the best. They were completely mental and wouldn't listen to any commands at all, but boy could they move.

We used to have two retired racehorses at my late stepfather's farm. "Un-rideable," I was told. (Guess who frequently got in trouble for riding them?)

I have a soft spot for wild/insane horses. Perhaps because I understand their frustration.

Locked in a cage and left with a mind that remembers a time when they would have run free in open wilderness--a thing they never actually experienced and never will.

So here's to Queenie, who finally gets to run free.