Thursday, 10 November 2016

My Chair

This mornings' chilly sunrise found me snuggled into my favorite chair. I bought it with my own money when I was 12 years old, and haggled the thrift shop owner from $50 down to 35. It was my first piece of furniture and has been one of the few constant things since then. It's an unremarkable rocking chair; leather cushion seat cracked with age, It's Oak arms scored with the scratches and dents from careless play and a dozen moves. Its springs creak and groan in protest, but never fail to rock my mind to a quieter state. I've been taking my meds, getting sleep, reducing stress, but my mind has been racing. The thoughts fly by too fast for me to grasp. I snagged a few here and there when I'm struck by the beauty of a moment, but before I can write it down or audio record it to remember it, they slip away as though they've never been there; mirror holes in my mind where a memory should be. This comes at a time when my post concussion syndrome symptoms have come back with a vengeance. The bruised and battered brain matter inside my head has been creative despite headaches, dizziness, and nausea; the smell of something burning has been accompanied by a constant ringing and buzzing in my ears. At times it gets so loud it hurts and I cannot focus passed it on conversations. I have particular interest has been the new symptom of visual anomalies; which I guess is just a way of avoiding the word hallucinations. My mother has tried to explain it away; "honey maybe it was a buzzard in the road, or a leaf."
appreciate it, but, no, I know a Gang Gang Cockatoo hopping like a bunny rabbit in the middle of a rural Road at midnight when I see one. That's not an easy thing to confess to hallucinations. Though they may not say it, many people already think of one differently when they are open about having a mental health issue. As far as they're concerned when one starts seeing things that aren't there, it's a loony bin time. Most wouldn't bother to consider that I've sustained quite a bit of head trauma over the years. The back of my head was slammed on the bedpost during an assault when I was 12. At 16 my face and four head smashed into the windshield and searing wheel of my car when I wrecked it. That was my first documented concussion, As well as PTSD diagnosis. There was the fall from a horse when I cracked my head on the jump itself; the same horse knocked me out later. Last year while trying to help a loved one whose face was being smashed into the concrete repeatedly during a beating, I was attacked from behind with beer bottle and fists and beaten in the back of the until unconscious. Taking the time now to think back on those things from the safety of my chair, I guess maybe the surprise should not be that I'm having any symptoms, but that I didn't have them earlier. I finally opened up to my therapist and psychiatrist about it, and both of her to me to see my doctor for head scans again. I will. In the meantime, at least I can try to keep a sense of humor about it. I asked the therapist if the copper two and other images were random brain pictures, I didn't think so. He believes my brain was making a bad joke about the lack of physical intimacy in my Rasta Man's two month absence. Perhaps brain says that we could use a cock or two. Ha ha ha, brain. Very funny. Sometimes funny is all we got. When life is throwing shit at you and your brain is turning to mush, sometimes all we can do is sit back in our comfy chairs and laugh at dirty jokes are brain makes up. Oh and there's painting lots of painting. Painting has been my solace during the time that words have left me.

Monday, 3 October 2016

Samhain treasures

There's nothing like surprise Halloween mail to perk one's day up, let me tell you! I thought today would just plot along like any Monday, but the mail gods had other plans. All the way from Canada a good sized package waited for me. I open it carefully as instructed and Halloween came early. I was squeaking and bouncing like one of Anubis toys as I unwrapped treasure after treasure. The biggest I saved for last, though. I held my breath as I pull back the paper on the most perfect little wine loving crow painting an original by Stacy Magic Love Crow. I am ecstatic. I love Stacy's work. Her crows convey so much emotion and energy. Thank you so much, Stacy. Your package got me back into gear for the fall season. I'd gotten a bit melancholy, not getting much done creatively, but this gave me a shot in the arm. I got my own gift in the mail for the person I was assigned for the fall/craft gift swap hosted by the lovely Katerina of miss Misanthropia. This has been so much fun. Here's a little sneak peek at what I sent out for my recipient. Here's to hoping they like cats and wine. Thank you Katerina for hosting this party I've had a blast.

Sunday, 25 September 2016

The Morning After

What a difference a day makes. Yesterday morning I woke to a warm, snoring dreadlocked Rasta man wrapped around me, and my furry god curled up at our feet. I felt warm and sexy and sensuous.
This morning I woke to a cold bed. Not even a dog to warm me. 
I've had my sexy Rasta man here with me for a week again, this time after a six week separation. I dropped him off at Ronald Reagan National Airport . After a quick kiss for me and head pat for the dog, he was gone again. The dog, (formerly known as"furry god" ) has decided he is gone because of me and ignores me except to ask to go outside. He wouldn't even sleep on the bed like he usually does.
But I won't let it get me down! Nope. This is the perfect morning for some self pampering with no self-shaming. I laid in bed watching 1 & 2 star Netflix movies (one of my stranger proclivities) until 11am this morning (got up to take the dog out at six as usual though). After that I felt ambitious, so I ran a hot bubble bath, lit a fat orange candle (pumpkin spice scented, of course), and soaked for an hour. Now I write this with a softly snoring dog who has conceded to sleep in the same room as me curled near the door. 

A pretty white cloud of steam rises from a chipped blue and white tea cup holding hot mulled wine/chai tea with a splash of dark spiced rum. The lights in my little painting studio are low, and my creative flow is back. I got stopped up there for a while. Couldn't paint, couldn't write. Ideas for posts and paintings came and went but I just couldn't get them out. I think the mojo is back, though. 
I've got a commission for a mural that I'm crazy excited to start, and Outlander themed glasses I'm still working on, not to mention a couple Autumn/Halloween Swaps online. I'm letting my mind run around in jagged circles and loops as it pleases instead of forcing it to focus like it has to all the time. Some times a little of the crazy just wants loose for a while. I hope this lovely Autumn day finds you all happy and content. I am going to enjoy the cool breeze that's putting on a show of swirling leaves outside my window, smell of Szechuan porch chops  simmering in the slow cooker, sip my rum-laced wine, and paint until my fingers fall off.

Sunday, 4 September 2016

Pumpkin Spice Season

There is a delightful chill in the air this morning that reminds me Fall is almost here. The leaves on a few trees behind my house have already turned red, blazing the way for Pumpkin Spice season.
Yesterday I got started on my decorating, going with a rustic combination theme of harvest time and ancestor veneration. I haven't gotten my wall hangings yet, but I will soon.

All that decorating got my creative juices flowing, and this year for today, the 14th anniversary of my dads passing through the veil, I put together this wall hanging. As you may have guessed or I may have said before, Dad was a painter. He did mostly residential wall or house painting, but also some faux marble and wood painting. He could also paint in oils beautifully. I saw a painting he did when he was younger and had time, and it made me sad that providing for us kids had stolen all his time from him for creating beautiful things. Ah, well, no changing it now. Now all I can do is be glad of the memories; playing mad dog, a rough housing game where he chased us around snarling and gnashing his teeth and when he caught us mauled us with tickles. Then there was movie night; we'd pick a movie to watch, turn it on, and then he'd turn the sound off and we all had to provide the sound and dialogue. I am so grateful to him for always fostering my creativity and pushing us kids to embrace our artistic side. Today I'll honor his memory with a glass of Rosé, Lasagna, and warm spicy scented candles and incense. Today I'll paint with gratitude in my heart for the gift he passed to me. I'll breathe the cool mountain air and rejoice in the love for the mountains I have because of where he and mom raised us.

Thank you, Daddy, and I hope you are resting well on the other side.

Sunday, 21 August 2016

The Right Stuff...

I feel good, friends. Finally. I feel good.
It was rough after the fight my sis and I had, but after a few weeks, she needed help with my adorable twin nieces, so we came to bit of a truce.
Now I see my nieces 40 hours a week, and can help my mom with things around the house. (She broke her shoulder when Anubis pulled her down during a walk a couple months back.) I work three days a week at a farm that is home to three Arabians, a donkey and pony, chickens, ducks, and two senior dogs. I love my work, and spending time with my nieces.
I've had several side jobs come in dog sitting for people, and will be farm sitting in a month or so.
I'm painting when I find time, and I have to find time because I've gotten several challenging orders. 
One client ordered a set of glasses based on the Outlander books/series by Diana Gabaldon . As research for this project I spend a lot of time looking at well-muscled men in kilts online, since it's set primarily in the Scottish highlands. For research.
I'm also taking part in Ms. Misantropia's Autumn Gift Swap. Research for my contribution for this has me lighting pumpkin spice candles and longing for hot cider, but also painting. 
I feel motivated. 
I have more weight on me than I ever have in my life, thanks the side effects of medications, but I feel confident. Those medications have accomplished the impossible. I feel happy. Even though my man is far from my side, and I have family issues; money is tight, and the world gone crazy, I'm happy.
I think we've found the right combination of meds to control the Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, Panic Disorder and Anxiety Disorder. In my dark days I didn't believe it was possible. 
I haven't been very good or attentive friend to anyone while I've been getting myself sorted out, but I thank you all for being so supportive and encouraging to me.
Big hugs all around.

Tuesday, 12 July 2016

Daddy said there'd be days like this...

The day had been almost perfect. Sunshine, warm weather, clear skies and a drive through the mountains. Just a few little spats back and forth about seatbelt wearing and open container laws. Then there was the peeing on the side of the road and indecent exposure laws. But it was a beautiful day of swimming in a mountain lake with cherub-like twin girls and a handful of boys and the women who love them. The driver had a sip or two of the other's wine during their visit, but stuck with water. That's why she had volunteered her car, so the children would be safe. She knew this bunch, and they thought nothing of driving around, beer or wine in hand while children sit in the back seat. It sickened her and angered her that people like this get pregnant when they think about sex, but not her... she sent that thought away down the path it had snuck up. Down that path lies madness.
So they ended the beautiful day by deciding to cook out at one of the mother's house and let the kids play. The driver held a plastic drink jar of wine shed been handed and stiffly held it watching the two year olds toddle up and down steep stairs with a drop off of rocks on the side. She got attitude from their mother every time she voiced her worry. The children were hurting a cat, their mother guzzled more wine, sucked on her cigarette and told the driver to loosen up its just a cat. But the cat will defend itself, and then when your child gets scratched for hurting it, you'll blame the cat, just like Moms dog. The mother rolled her eyes and flicked the cigarette ashes onto the green grass. Finally after more of the same for another hour, the driver went and sat in the car hoping the mother would get the message that it was time to go. A friend of theirs was passed out drunk on the couch while kids toys dotted the floor around her. She'd driven herself there. It boggled the mind that this was normal behavior for this group of people.
But they kept telling her she was the one who needed to loosen up. Well, maybe she would try. She walked up to the mother of the twins and mentioned leaving and needing to get back and take care of her dog. The mom whose house they were at Sat red cheeked on the grass with a beer in her hand. She said she was gonna put her kid in the car seat and take him for a drive to put him to sleep.
The other mother sat beside her with another cigarette in hand holding one of her little ones, nodding. "Yeah, sometimes  no matter how much benadryl you give'em, you still gotta take them for a drive. The driver's stomach lurched and she thought she be sick. She looked at the mother's, "Seriously? Y'all been drinking all day. She's holding a beer in her hand while talking about driving with her kid in a few minutes. That seems ok to y'all?" The driver was laughed at, ridiculed, and let know she needed to loosen up. Then the mother of the twins said she was going to take her twins carseats out of the driver's car and put them in the car of the still drinking mom. The driver couldn't believe it, even drunk she thought that this woman had better judgement. She was always lecturing others on making good choices and forcing her opinions down their ears. The driver looked at her and started shaking inside with anger that her nieces and nephew safety meant so little to their own mother. "Are you fucking serious right now? Do you see the choice you're making? You're taking the children's car seats out of the sober persons car and putting them in the drunk person car. I don't need to loosen up; you need to be more responsible. This is shitty parenting." Needless to say it got uglier and she was informed her overreacting was due to her mental illness and she was the one with the problem and it went on. Sadly it ended with those beautiful little girls and their brother left at the house with a bunch of drunks. Their aunt, the driver, could do nothing. She went back to collect her dog from her mom's house and broke down telling her Mom. Her mom called the father of the little boy and let him know, the mother was on That Path again. The driver got many ugly texts cursing her and ridiculing her mental illness that she was being treated for. She was tired and ended it with raw truth, hoping it would snap the selfish bitch into reality. "Your 12 year old that no longer lives with you got molested by your boyfriend even though we all tried to warn you because you cared more about getting your drink on and partying than standing up to what was obvious to everyone around you. You're fucking this up and if you lose those twins because of your selfishness than maybe it's for the best. Maybe then someone can have them who is going to treat them right, not drag them around and have them sleep on blankets on the floor so they can get a piece of dick or sit around drinking with friends all night. Right now you're being a really bad mom. If you drive with those kids in the car, and I find out, I will turn you in." It ended badly, as these things do, and the driver learned why so few bother to stand up to narcissistic people. She would do it again, though. It's what was right. Sadly, the narcissist will likely move out of their moms house and take the kids out of everyones lives so she can carry on with her lifestyle and "not be judged."

I don't know, maybe the driver should've left it alone...

Sunday, 12 June 2016

Not So Bad

It wasn't bad, as miscarriages go.
Sure, there was the pain; the ripping-you-apart-twisting-hot poker-to-the-uterus pain. There was the knowledge that dripping down her legs was the hopes and dreams shed held for the dead thing inside her. Another would-be child: dead. Another child she couldn't keep alive, leaking out like any other bodily fluids.
It wasn't that bad though.
This one was so different from the last one. This one she'd felt the pains and when the blood began to flow she knew. She knew better than to hold false hope.
This time she was not huddled hemorrhaging under a tree in the sand on a remote island in the Bahamas far from any hospital.
This time she was in her mother's home, a mere hour's drive from excellent medical care. She'd felt the tearing away, the dropping feeling, the loss of Connection, and known. She took the time to almost ceremonially bathe and prepare herself. She told her mother she was going out for awhile and calmly climbed into her car. She drove and calmly switched radio stations. She drove and calmly switched lanes. A tear leaked out, and she woodenly pushed it away. Another burned it's way down her cheek. Then, because there was no one in the car, no one to hear her lose her control, then, she screamed...and screamed...and screamed. She screamed until only hoarse pathetic croaks came from her lips.
At the hospital she parked a couple hundred feet away from the doors and was greeted by staff more suited to a hotel lobby in their polite manner than an emergency room registration desk. Within a few minutes a kind and patient staff member had taken her medical history, confirmed address and payment info, and gently fasted a patient ID band around her wrist. Five minutes later she sat in a private room in an interview with her nurse, Charissa. Charissa took blood, installed an IV line and brought her a stylish gown and blankets. Within ten minutes the doctor on duty rushed into the door, and seeing her doubled up with pain asked did she want something for the pain now or after a sonogram to check for the presence of a fetus. Then he checked the blood tests results in my chart and ordered the nurse to go get a dose of Dilaudid and Zofran for the patient. He spoke to his clipboard, "this blood work says there's probably nothing in there to worry about hurting now."
When the heat of the narcotics and anti nausea med spread throughout her body a few minutes later it wasn't only physical pain they numbed. She welcomed the temporary euphoria and absence of emotions.
The rest was a haze of sonogram probing, long dimly lit hallways, and the doctor referring me to a specialist later in the week to rule out ectopic since her "uterus is empty".
So was she, she thought.
She walked back through the emergency room lobby shortly after and the registration staff waved sadly.
She sat in her car in the parking lot and sent the few texts she needed to. She and her Rasta Man hadn't told anyone but a few close family.
She drive feeling empty, angry, and cold.
So very cold.
That night she dreamt dark dreams of screams and mountains and tornadoes.
It wasn't bad this time miscarriages go.
This time there wasnt a seven hour wait soaked in her own blood in a room full of unfriendly people with even more hateful staff. Nope. Not so miscarriages go.