Today, I finished the scarf that I was knitting for Cuddle Bear. It's the orange-navy blue colorway from Red Heart (I think they call it Team Spirit). This one is slightly longer than the other one that I made for Snuggle Bug. But, now the school color scarves for the boys are finished. I picked up two t-shirts for them earlier this week with blue tie-dye and the words 'Livonia Bulldogs' on it in orange. It was $15 dollars for the two shirts through Dollar General, easily half the price of getting the same shirts from the sports booster's flyer.
I also made a cap for the neighbor's 4 month old baby. He's like my boys, a big head for his age. She's got him wearing stuff for an 8 month old baby and has really been struggling to find him hats. So, I pulled out some of my baby yarn for the charity hats and made him one. I remember how frustrating it was to put the boys in hats when they were little. It was cute to watch her light up when I handed it to her this afternoon.
I spent my day going through the huge pile of papers on and around the desk. In the course of it all, I discovered that I have a stack of magazines about two inches thick that I need to put away. (They're my crochet magazines where I have gotten pattern ideas out of over the summer.) I also took care of paying the bills. I felt anxious doing it, but when I got done, I felt like a weight was taken off my shoulders.
The blue shawl that I am knitting for my niece Alexis is approximately half done. Not bad for working on it only a little bit over the last several months. I will confess, most of the work I had done before she asked me to make her something. I did pick up an additional ball of that colorway (Caron's Simply Soft Paints in Ocean). I presently have three balls of this colorway that I haven't been knitting off of. I am only going to need one to finish this shawl out. Then I am going to take the other two and make something for myself out of it. Because the colors in this are just too lovely to pass up.
I have made some inroads into my effort to get some spinning done over the last week. I still have a shopping bag full of the raspberry colored wool. I am trying to decide if I want to put it on a distaff again or not. I am leaning towards the distaff but trying to figure out how I am going to tie it on. Because what I did last time didn't work out that well, which was why I took it off the distaff. I have also spun about ten yards on the rainbow colored wool-alpaca-tencel blend on my little Turkish spindle. I am seriously thinking that I am going to spin the rest of the bat on one of my cobbled together Turkish spindles. It will have a different weight for it, but I will be able to make a larger ball on it. I don't think I can make the ball on this little spindle too much larger.
Also, I picked up an astronomy book yesterday. It dates to 1968 but that doesn't bother me. It will still help me get reacquainted with the night sky, with the help of Sky and Telescope magazine. I think all I will really need aside from this is a way to set myself up with good observing conditions (predominantly comfortable that will allow me to use my rinkydink Newtonian desk telescope). I kinda hope that I can get this figured out before the nights get too much longer, this way when observing time happens sort of early in the evening, I can take the boys out and show them stuff like Orion's nebula.
I also have been bashing away at CreateSpace in an attempt to resolve issues with getting book II of my series to market. You can read more about it on my other blog.
roses
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
Monday, September 19, 2016
Fiction: Fairy Tale
The ground rose steadily to the north. As the path moved from the open ground under the cover of the bare, late autumn trees, the hiker shifted the pack on their shoulders. Leaves crunched beneath their feet upon the packed gravel. The sun slowly sank in the west, bringing rich colors and a chill to the evening. A sense of urgency pushed them to press onward.
Clouds were gathering and the air held the threat of cold rain. Still, the hiker did not pause to build a shelter. They merely flipped the hood of their coat up over their head and moved faster. When the first fat drops of water fell from the sky, the traveler was growing near the summit of the hill. Rain had turned into a steady pelting of icy cold water, mixing into something like sleet. A clearing was on the north side of the hill, just a few hundred yards below where the trees were regularly smited with with the wrath of the sky.
As the traveler moved into the clearing, they pulled a glowstick from in their right pocket. As they snapped the thing and shook it, there was a moment of worry that the chill of the evening was going to render the chemicals useless. The lurid green light that came almost immediately after they stopped shaking the sealed plastic tube should have reassured the one holding it. Instead, they remained agitated. The pack on their back felt heavy. The exhaustion from their quick march up the hill was catching up with them.
A fear pressed them onward. As they came to the end of the path, they found the standing stones. It was nothing like the fabled henge off in an English field. It was barely a ring, to be honest. Jagged stones of granite stood up like they had been cast to the ground by some giant. By the light of day, they seemed some queer combination of orange and pink with dark veins of feldspar through them. In the queer half light of the glowstick, they looked to be the color of the hiker's flesh, if not more lurid- in short, like the flesh of the zombies from the cheap paperback that was buried in the bottom of the heavy pack.
They stopped at the edge of the circle. Carefully, the swung the pack off their shoulder and set it on the ground outside of the circle. Holding the glowstick in their teeth, they opened the pack and began to dig through its contents. With a shaky hand, they pulled out a leather sack that bulged awkwardly but in an organic fashion. Soon a second sack was found. It was longer than the first and seemed heavier. The items in the sack clattered slightly as the hiker was setting them down.
The hiker's face paled at the noise. They looked from the bags they had carried up the hill to the ring they were beside with a fearful expression. With a swallow, they pushed the lump of terror back down their throat before pulling out a canteen and a crushed loaf of bread. The glowstick faded as they dropped the flap over the opening of the sack. They took the glowstick out of their teeth and held it awkwardly in their right hand, shaking it in a quick desperate motion.
The glowstick went dark the moment the tip of an end crossed over the perimeter of the circle. Alone in the darkness, caught in a rainstorm that was closer to hail than sleet, the hiker gave an unconscious whimper of fear. Within the circle, a light seemed to rise. It was like a faint mist, a trick of the eye against the dark. Slowly, the light grew brighter. The hiker tore their eyes away from the light and cast the loaf of bread into the circle. The cord of the canteen tangled on their wrist as it swung away from them.
The canteen abruptly stopped midswing, as though someone had taken hold of it. The hiker looked over. A man stood across the grassy demarcation of the circle's edge. The canteen had swung half into the circle and the man had taken hold of it. He looked at the hiker and then down at the two bags laying at their feet. "You return what is ours?" the man asked.
The hiker nodded, awkwardly attempting to untangle their wrist from the canteen's strap. The man pulled on the canteen, dragging the tangled wrist closer to the edge of the circle. "And the price?" he said. A chill washed down the hiker's spine that had nothing to do with the weather.
"I have nothing to give, my Lord," the hiker wailed, "I have given you all that I have."
The man in the circle tipped his head slightly to the left and regarded his unwitting prisoner. The traveler stooped and picked up the sacks at their feet. They held them out to the man, unable to still the anxious tremors that made the things within give a quiet noise, as though dry, fragile things were jostled together. "Take them," the hiker said. Hysteria had entered into their voice. The man before the frightened traveler smiled.
The tips of the fingers of the hand holding the bags had crossed over the grassy line marking the end of the path. When the man in the circle closed their own large hand over the wrist attached to that hand, the possessor's eyes went wide. A scream echoed in the dark as all light vanished and the hiker lurched forward.
Three days later, a search party found the pack and the glowstick laying at the trailhead. Within the ring of stones, a notable number of mushrooms were present. One of the members of the party from out of town commented on this. The head of the search team, an older man, said that it was due to the previous rain. They then went back down the trail, fanning the search to go through the cold wood.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Wrote this whilst listening to:
Trollabundin from Eivor
I can feel it humming from The Flashbulb
Clouds were gathering and the air held the threat of cold rain. Still, the hiker did not pause to build a shelter. They merely flipped the hood of their coat up over their head and moved faster. When the first fat drops of water fell from the sky, the traveler was growing near the summit of the hill. Rain had turned into a steady pelting of icy cold water, mixing into something like sleet. A clearing was on the north side of the hill, just a few hundred yards below where the trees were regularly smited with with the wrath of the sky.
As the traveler moved into the clearing, they pulled a glowstick from in their right pocket. As they snapped the thing and shook it, there was a moment of worry that the chill of the evening was going to render the chemicals useless. The lurid green light that came almost immediately after they stopped shaking the sealed plastic tube should have reassured the one holding it. Instead, they remained agitated. The pack on their back felt heavy. The exhaustion from their quick march up the hill was catching up with them.
A fear pressed them onward. As they came to the end of the path, they found the standing stones. It was nothing like the fabled henge off in an English field. It was barely a ring, to be honest. Jagged stones of granite stood up like they had been cast to the ground by some giant. By the light of day, they seemed some queer combination of orange and pink with dark veins of feldspar through them. In the queer half light of the glowstick, they looked to be the color of the hiker's flesh, if not more lurid- in short, like the flesh of the zombies from the cheap paperback that was buried in the bottom of the heavy pack.
They stopped at the edge of the circle. Carefully, the swung the pack off their shoulder and set it on the ground outside of the circle. Holding the glowstick in their teeth, they opened the pack and began to dig through its contents. With a shaky hand, they pulled out a leather sack that bulged awkwardly but in an organic fashion. Soon a second sack was found. It was longer than the first and seemed heavier. The items in the sack clattered slightly as the hiker was setting them down.
The hiker's face paled at the noise. They looked from the bags they had carried up the hill to the ring they were beside with a fearful expression. With a swallow, they pushed the lump of terror back down their throat before pulling out a canteen and a crushed loaf of bread. The glowstick faded as they dropped the flap over the opening of the sack. They took the glowstick out of their teeth and held it awkwardly in their right hand, shaking it in a quick desperate motion.
The glowstick went dark the moment the tip of an end crossed over the perimeter of the circle. Alone in the darkness, caught in a rainstorm that was closer to hail than sleet, the hiker gave an unconscious whimper of fear. Within the circle, a light seemed to rise. It was like a faint mist, a trick of the eye against the dark. Slowly, the light grew brighter. The hiker tore their eyes away from the light and cast the loaf of bread into the circle. The cord of the canteen tangled on their wrist as it swung away from them.
The canteen abruptly stopped midswing, as though someone had taken hold of it. The hiker looked over. A man stood across the grassy demarcation of the circle's edge. The canteen had swung half into the circle and the man had taken hold of it. He looked at the hiker and then down at the two bags laying at their feet. "You return what is ours?" the man asked.
The hiker nodded, awkwardly attempting to untangle their wrist from the canteen's strap. The man pulled on the canteen, dragging the tangled wrist closer to the edge of the circle. "And the price?" he said. A chill washed down the hiker's spine that had nothing to do with the weather.
"I have nothing to give, my Lord," the hiker wailed, "I have given you all that I have."
The man in the circle tipped his head slightly to the left and regarded his unwitting prisoner. The traveler stooped and picked up the sacks at their feet. They held them out to the man, unable to still the anxious tremors that made the things within give a quiet noise, as though dry, fragile things were jostled together. "Take them," the hiker said. Hysteria had entered into their voice. The man before the frightened traveler smiled.
The tips of the fingers of the hand holding the bags had crossed over the grassy line marking the end of the path. When the man in the circle closed their own large hand over the wrist attached to that hand, the possessor's eyes went wide. A scream echoed in the dark as all light vanished and the hiker lurched forward.
Three days later, a search party found the pack and the glowstick laying at the trailhead. Within the ring of stones, a notable number of mushrooms were present. One of the members of the party from out of town commented on this. The head of the search team, an older man, said that it was due to the previous rain. They then went back down the trail, fanning the search to go through the cold wood.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Wrote this whilst listening to:
Trollabundin from Eivor
I can feel it humming from The Flashbulb
Sunday, September 18, 2016
Realization.
Tomorrow I see my psychiatric nurse at the clinic. It just now struck me that I am tending towards a mixed episode. I am finding myself spoiling for a fight right now. I have a bad feeling that I may go into this session looking for a fight. I really don't want to do that. Because I'm worried that she is going to fuck with my file.
The whole business with the clinic has me feeling very unsafe. Which only adds to this urge to get into a fight.
The whole business with the clinic has me feeling very unsafe. Which only adds to this urge to get into a fight.
Saturday, September 17, 2016
Insects.
We're reaching that point in the year where insects start coming inside. Perhaps it is just me, but this seems rather early for that to be happening. I am trying not to start worrying about winter. At the same time, I find myself questioning how cold this winter will be and how much precipitation we are going to get.
Honestly, I deeply hope that we get enough that the water table comes back up to where it is supposed to be. Some people would be upset with the rain we're having tonight. I am glad for it. We really need it.
Honestly, I deeply hope that we get enough that the water table comes back up to where it is supposed to be. Some people would be upset with the rain we're having tonight. I am glad for it. We really need it.
Wednesday, September 14, 2016
What have I done?
I feel guilty for spending my day shuffling papers and looking at stuff on the internet. I feel like I should have been sorting, folding, and putting away these piles of laundry. I feel like I should have been 'working' rather than 'goofing off.' Self care is so hard for me to do. Because the self care that requires me to respect my limitations is the hardest thing for me. And it is what I have been needing to do the most of late.
I still have sore feet. I spent a lot of time over the last week on them and my shoes are not so great. As a result, they hurt. My knees are uncomfortable, but the weather is shifting and I have arthritis so that is no big surprise. And all of that standing probably didn't do my knees any favors.
I did a bunch of 'official business' stuff today. I filled out the contract and mailed out the down payment and trial period rental fees for Cuddle-Bear's trumpet. I made a few phone calls to take care of some scheduling problems. I did some stuff budgeting. I got some of the massive pile of papers taken care of.
I cleaned out the freezer burned food from the freezer. I think I have taken care of everything that was in the refrigerator that needed to go. I even made sure I ate something healthy for lunch. I also put some of the clean kitchen stuff away. I still have quite a bit more to take care of, and a few loads to wash yet.
My brain still says that I haven't done enough. I have a document file sitting open that I have done nothing more than glance at a few times today. I'm tired, even though I slept all night. I'm crampy and uncomfortable due to my menses but I managed not to destroy clothing, so I guess it isn't all that bad. I wish that I didn't feel like everything I do is insufficient. I wish that I didn't feel like I am a failure because I'm not doing something like a business on the side or out working while the kids are at school. I wish I actually felt something like hope, or at least not so damn convinced that everything I do is worthless because I am the one doing it and (according to my illness) I am easily replaceable.
I'm tired of being sick like this. I looked at some old blog entries, back before the bipolar diagnosis happened. I feel like that person is in me and I'm just being lazy, which I why I am not as productive, active, or social.
I hate this.
I still have sore feet. I spent a lot of time over the last week on them and my shoes are not so great. As a result, they hurt. My knees are uncomfortable, but the weather is shifting and I have arthritis so that is no big surprise. And all of that standing probably didn't do my knees any favors.
I did a bunch of 'official business' stuff today. I filled out the contract and mailed out the down payment and trial period rental fees for Cuddle-Bear's trumpet. I made a few phone calls to take care of some scheduling problems. I did some stuff budgeting. I got some of the massive pile of papers taken care of.
I cleaned out the freezer burned food from the freezer. I think I have taken care of everything that was in the refrigerator that needed to go. I even made sure I ate something healthy for lunch. I also put some of the clean kitchen stuff away. I still have quite a bit more to take care of, and a few loads to wash yet.
My brain still says that I haven't done enough. I have a document file sitting open that I have done nothing more than glance at a few times today. I'm tired, even though I slept all night. I'm crampy and uncomfortable due to my menses but I managed not to destroy clothing, so I guess it isn't all that bad. I wish that I didn't feel like everything I do is insufficient. I wish that I didn't feel like I am a failure because I'm not doing something like a business on the side or out working while the kids are at school. I wish I actually felt something like hope, or at least not so damn convinced that everything I do is worthless because I am the one doing it and (according to my illness) I am easily replaceable.
I'm tired of being sick like this. I looked at some old blog entries, back before the bipolar diagnosis happened. I feel like that person is in me and I'm just being lazy, which I why I am not as productive, active, or social.
I hate this.
Wednesday, September 07, 2016
Blood in the Water.
If you have been following the news, maybe you have heard or seen something about the business going on in North Dakota. There is a company that wants to build an oil pipeline through tribal lands and under at least one major river. The pipeline is touted by supporters as a safe way to transport light, sweet crude oil from ...
No. I had this plan to write up a post that gave details about this thing and explain both sides. Honestly, however, it wasn't what I wanted to say here.
People assume that this business about the pipeline is an isolated incident. There are a rather large group of people who are saying horrible things about the native peoples who are coming together to resist this. The insults range from 'buffalo jockey' to even more offensive things that I will not sully my blog with. The argument that this pipeline is a non-issue is equally offensive.
This is not just about the pipeline.
This is about cultural genocide that has been ongoing for generations. The native peoples of North America lost approximately 90% of their pre-colonial era population due to this business. They have been denied the right to live upon their lands, corralled into reservations that are too small to sustain them and kept in a state that could be described as ghettos, if anyone was bold enough to look at it directly. There was generations of children forcibly removed from their homes and 'reeducated' in schools where they were punished for speaking their native languages, engaging in their native cultural practices, and forced to take up the culture of their oppressors under the threat of physical, psychological, and legal punishment. And the people who put these poor kidnapped children through this barbarism have been upheld as taking care of the 'white man's burden' as though they were somehow helping these people.
This is about how the concept of 'manifest destiny' and how Christians have more rights to the land then the people who lived there for countless generations before do. This is as much of a battle as Wounded Knee and Little Bighorn. This is not just a case of private citizens having their rights plowed under. It is far more egregious than that. It is a continued effort to take the native peoples and marginalize them until they functionally are erased from the map. Who needs small pox blankets for germ warfare when you can poison their water supply with impunity?
Some people have said that violence against the people at Standing Rock is the answer. Unfortunately, they perpetuate the idea that the villains are the native peoples and their supporters. They are the victims here. Not the company that can afford to have a bit of spray paint washed off their bulldozers. Not the local law enforcement who confiscated the drinking water for the encampment under false pretenses with out any recrimination for doing so.
The native peoples are sovereign nations. They have been abused. They have been maligned and denigrated. And they are not going to remain silent anymore. All of you hoity toity people who want to claim that you are believers in Christ's lesson, you better put your money where your mouth is. Step up and help these people. Christ taught that you were to care for the people who were under subjugation and love them as if they were your Lord. Start walking your faith. Maybe you can make some inroads on paying off the blood debt you owe them for your part in their oppression.
For my part, as an Earth-loving heathen, I'm going to pray. As I am sure many of you will. I am also going to be writing letters to my government representatives. I'm going to be making a point of disseminating information for how to resist this kind of garbage that the people at Standing Rock have been suffering. And I am going to do what little I can for the betterment of the people where I am.
Because, like the people at Standing Rock, this land is in my bones. The water is in my blood. It is sacred. I will not be quiet as the sacred is profaned. I will not stand idle as people who are my kin in spirit and through various aspects of my multi-cultural lineage are abused.
And, as one of the men at Standing Rock noted, the last time the native people's came together like this, they stood against their oppressors. They won that battle handily. The battle may not be fought with rifles and arrows. But, they will win this one as well. I assure you. The very land favors them. And their kinsmen come from all points.
No. I had this plan to write up a post that gave details about this thing and explain both sides. Honestly, however, it wasn't what I wanted to say here.
People assume that this business about the pipeline is an isolated incident. There are a rather large group of people who are saying horrible things about the native peoples who are coming together to resist this. The insults range from 'buffalo jockey' to even more offensive things that I will not sully my blog with. The argument that this pipeline is a non-issue is equally offensive.
This is not just about the pipeline.
This is about cultural genocide that has been ongoing for generations. The native peoples of North America lost approximately 90% of their pre-colonial era population due to this business. They have been denied the right to live upon their lands, corralled into reservations that are too small to sustain them and kept in a state that could be described as ghettos, if anyone was bold enough to look at it directly. There was generations of children forcibly removed from their homes and 'reeducated' in schools where they were punished for speaking their native languages, engaging in their native cultural practices, and forced to take up the culture of their oppressors under the threat of physical, psychological, and legal punishment. And the people who put these poor kidnapped children through this barbarism have been upheld as taking care of the 'white man's burden' as though they were somehow helping these people.
This is about how the concept of 'manifest destiny' and how Christians have more rights to the land then the people who lived there for countless generations before do. This is as much of a battle as Wounded Knee and Little Bighorn. This is not just a case of private citizens having their rights plowed under. It is far more egregious than that. It is a continued effort to take the native peoples and marginalize them until they functionally are erased from the map. Who needs small pox blankets for germ warfare when you can poison their water supply with impunity?
Some people have said that violence against the people at Standing Rock is the answer. Unfortunately, they perpetuate the idea that the villains are the native peoples and their supporters. They are the victims here. Not the company that can afford to have a bit of spray paint washed off their bulldozers. Not the local law enforcement who confiscated the drinking water for the encampment under false pretenses with out any recrimination for doing so.
The native peoples are sovereign nations. They have been abused. They have been maligned and denigrated. And they are not going to remain silent anymore. All of you hoity toity people who want to claim that you are believers in Christ's lesson, you better put your money where your mouth is. Step up and help these people. Christ taught that you were to care for the people who were under subjugation and love them as if they were your Lord. Start walking your faith. Maybe you can make some inroads on paying off the blood debt you owe them for your part in their oppression.
For my part, as an Earth-loving heathen, I'm going to pray. As I am sure many of you will. I am also going to be writing letters to my government representatives. I'm going to be making a point of disseminating information for how to resist this kind of garbage that the people at Standing Rock have been suffering. And I am going to do what little I can for the betterment of the people where I am.
Because, like the people at Standing Rock, this land is in my bones. The water is in my blood. It is sacred. I will not be quiet as the sacred is profaned. I will not stand idle as people who are my kin in spirit and through various aspects of my multi-cultural lineage are abused.
And, as one of the men at Standing Rock noted, the last time the native people's came together like this, they stood against their oppressors. They won that battle handily. The battle may not be fought with rifles and arrows. But, they will win this one as well. I assure you. The very land favors them. And their kinsmen come from all points.
Tuesday, September 06, 2016
Fiction: Storming the Gates of Hell
He hit the ground and the world went dark. Eerie silence filled his ears. A curious sense of lightness filled him and he couldn't feel his body. He was fairly sure that he was dead. He found himself standing on a road.
A pile of weapons laid in the road. It was a staggering array. Ever the warrior, he knew the tools of his trade from most every era. He also knew that his most effective tool was himself. Thus, he left the guns, bombs, knives, and spears lay on the ground on that blood red path.
He walked down the road and saw a fork in it. One went to a path that angled upwards. The other moved over uneven ground, ever farther downward at an increasingly steep rate. He could hear cries of anguish at a distance from that downhill path. Offended wasn't exactly the right word, but he couldn't define his wrath at the people who had come from the rough world in deeper agony in death.
Thus, he turned his face towards the left hand path. The road was difficult. He was darkly amused by the perversity of this fact after all the years of his father telling him that the road to Hell was broad, smooth, and well trodden. He came around an outcropping of tumbled stone to find himself facing a massive wall.
An iron gate stood across the road. It did not stand open, as his father insisted it would when he came to it. He didn't care. He walked up to the gate and a figure emerged from the gatehouse. A human like form walked towards him. They towered over him, easily eight feet tall, if not nine. "Your place is not here, puny creature," the gatekeeper said.
The man looked up at the gatekeeper. He made a point of adjusting his footing to a more solid stance. "Move me," the man answered. The gatekeeper reached for him. The man grasped the gatekeeper's wrist and, with a grunt, threw the gatekeeper to the ground. The gatekeeper's eyes flickered with some emotion. The man didn't care if it was anger, humor, or annoyance. The gatekeeper rose to their feet and reached for the man again.
Again, the man grappled the gatekeeper and threw them down. The gatekeeper's mouth opened wide, revealing needle-like teeth as it made a sound that could be a laugh, if rending metal was laughter. The gatekeeper moved to knock the man off his feet and the man took hold of their arm. The man twisted it back into a hard lock, forcing the gatekeeper down to their knees.
The gatekeeper gave a cry that made the man's eyes water and his head feel like it was filled with a thousand angry wasps. Still, the man twisted the lock harder. The gatekeeper's cry grew louder, making the man's teeth ache. The man put the full force of his strength into twisting the gatekeeper's arm out of its socket. As he did so, figures came to the gate and watched.
The gatekeeper swore in some language the man did not know, one that was perhaps long forgotten or perhaps yet to be born. And then the gatekeeper's voice turned into a hoarse, raw scream of agony. The gatekeeper's shoulder deformed as the arm popped out of the socket and continued to move in unnatural ways. The gatekeeper wrenched itself away from him, wailing. As it did so, a noise like cords snapping came.
It was now that the man lifted his right foot. He put his boot hard on the gatekeeper's side and pushed. The gatekeeper's screams of pain did not manage to cover the awful, wet tearing noise as the arm separated from its shoulder. The gatekeeper crawled away from the man with a look of terror. Most men fell before them effortlessly. But this man not only withstood the gatekeeper's assaults but thrown them aside. And now, he had managed something not accomplished in over a millennia.
Somewhere within the damned halls of the citadel, Grendel shuddered. The wound of his right side began to weep fresh gore as pain wracked him. His mother looked over at the injury in horror. Another had come. Another had bested one of their number. She silently hoped that the gory icicle that had torn her life from her breast was not reforged, unsure where she may be banished to if she was slain again in this cold place.
The man standing at the gate raised the gatekeeper's bloody arm over his head. "Release the nonbelievers, the innocent, and unbaptized," he bellowed to the throng looking at him, "I will leave you in peace. Fail and I will release them." At his cries, many of the shades looked between themselves in confusion and awe. A disturbance came at the back of the crowd.
Grendel and his mother walked at the heels of their liege lord. The throng parted. Some moved away with reverence for the one who passed among them. Others did so with dread. Still, they stepped aside and according the man with slender build, dark hair, and fey beauty the honors due to him as ruler of that realm. When he came to the gate, he looked at the man who had come.
It was as though looking in a mirror. The warrior who upheld the arm he tore off of the gatekeeper aloft as a trophy and a warning looked identical to the one who ruled the cold halls. The prince of the domain turned. He said quietly, "Open the gate. Let him pass."
As the great iron gate opened, the arm burst into flame and became a torch. The victims of technical damnation timidly stepped towards their liberation. As they did so, Lucifer walked into Hell, bearing the illumination that was stolen away from them so long ago and the prince who had preceded him faded away like a shadow before that light.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Musical inspiration from Au4: Just Hang on Beautiful One (off of the album And Down Goes the Sky)
Yep, there is a homage to Beowulf. It's all I can come up with right now. Long, tiring day.
A pile of weapons laid in the road. It was a staggering array. Ever the warrior, he knew the tools of his trade from most every era. He also knew that his most effective tool was himself. Thus, he left the guns, bombs, knives, and spears lay on the ground on that blood red path.
He walked down the road and saw a fork in it. One went to a path that angled upwards. The other moved over uneven ground, ever farther downward at an increasingly steep rate. He could hear cries of anguish at a distance from that downhill path. Offended wasn't exactly the right word, but he couldn't define his wrath at the people who had come from the rough world in deeper agony in death.
Thus, he turned his face towards the left hand path. The road was difficult. He was darkly amused by the perversity of this fact after all the years of his father telling him that the road to Hell was broad, smooth, and well trodden. He came around an outcropping of tumbled stone to find himself facing a massive wall.
An iron gate stood across the road. It did not stand open, as his father insisted it would when he came to it. He didn't care. He walked up to the gate and a figure emerged from the gatehouse. A human like form walked towards him. They towered over him, easily eight feet tall, if not nine. "Your place is not here, puny creature," the gatekeeper said.
The man looked up at the gatekeeper. He made a point of adjusting his footing to a more solid stance. "Move me," the man answered. The gatekeeper reached for him. The man grasped the gatekeeper's wrist and, with a grunt, threw the gatekeeper to the ground. The gatekeeper's eyes flickered with some emotion. The man didn't care if it was anger, humor, or annoyance. The gatekeeper rose to their feet and reached for the man again.
Again, the man grappled the gatekeeper and threw them down. The gatekeeper's mouth opened wide, revealing needle-like teeth as it made a sound that could be a laugh, if rending metal was laughter. The gatekeeper moved to knock the man off his feet and the man took hold of their arm. The man twisted it back into a hard lock, forcing the gatekeeper down to their knees.
The gatekeeper gave a cry that made the man's eyes water and his head feel like it was filled with a thousand angry wasps. Still, the man twisted the lock harder. The gatekeeper's cry grew louder, making the man's teeth ache. The man put the full force of his strength into twisting the gatekeeper's arm out of its socket. As he did so, figures came to the gate and watched.
The gatekeeper swore in some language the man did not know, one that was perhaps long forgotten or perhaps yet to be born. And then the gatekeeper's voice turned into a hoarse, raw scream of agony. The gatekeeper's shoulder deformed as the arm popped out of the socket and continued to move in unnatural ways. The gatekeeper wrenched itself away from him, wailing. As it did so, a noise like cords snapping came.
It was now that the man lifted his right foot. He put his boot hard on the gatekeeper's side and pushed. The gatekeeper's screams of pain did not manage to cover the awful, wet tearing noise as the arm separated from its shoulder. The gatekeeper crawled away from the man with a look of terror. Most men fell before them effortlessly. But this man not only withstood the gatekeeper's assaults but thrown them aside. And now, he had managed something not accomplished in over a millennia.
Somewhere within the damned halls of the citadel, Grendel shuddered. The wound of his right side began to weep fresh gore as pain wracked him. His mother looked over at the injury in horror. Another had come. Another had bested one of their number. She silently hoped that the gory icicle that had torn her life from her breast was not reforged, unsure where she may be banished to if she was slain again in this cold place.
The man standing at the gate raised the gatekeeper's bloody arm over his head. "Release the nonbelievers, the innocent, and unbaptized," he bellowed to the throng looking at him, "I will leave you in peace. Fail and I will release them." At his cries, many of the shades looked between themselves in confusion and awe. A disturbance came at the back of the crowd.
Grendel and his mother walked at the heels of their liege lord. The throng parted. Some moved away with reverence for the one who passed among them. Others did so with dread. Still, they stepped aside and according the man with slender build, dark hair, and fey beauty the honors due to him as ruler of that realm. When he came to the gate, he looked at the man who had come.
It was as though looking in a mirror. The warrior who upheld the arm he tore off of the gatekeeper aloft as a trophy and a warning looked identical to the one who ruled the cold halls. The prince of the domain turned. He said quietly, "Open the gate. Let him pass."
As the great iron gate opened, the arm burst into flame and became a torch. The victims of technical damnation timidly stepped towards their liberation. As they did so, Lucifer walked into Hell, bearing the illumination that was stolen away from them so long ago and the prince who had preceded him faded away like a shadow before that light.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Musical inspiration from Au4: Just Hang on Beautiful One (off of the album And Down Goes the Sky)
Yep, there is a homage to Beowulf. It's all I can come up with right now. Long, tiring day.
Thursday, September 01, 2016
Flash Fiction: untitled
"Oh ye of so little faith," the voice said with a tone of disappointment.
She closed her eyes and struggled to breathe. Her head throbbed and had a measure of dizziness. She was fairly sure that the blow had given her a mild concussion. Waves of nausea came and went as the fighter worked to gather her strength. Her body hurt so much that it seemed to be nothing but a mass of pain.
Laying on the concrete, the fighter was tempted to just let herself sink into unconsciousness. Her opponent drew back a foot to kick her again. Acting on instinct, she rolled away as the foot came towards her head. She pushed up onto her hands and knees. The man before her moved to punch her in the head again.
She twisted, grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling him off his feet with the sudden force of her motion. As he hit the ground, she wrapped her legs around his chest. Her fists fell on his head with enough force to make the big man cry out in pain. He tried to knock her off of him but she continued to hold on and strike at his face. Somehow, he managed to maneuver himself so that she was pressed down to the ground beneath him.
His large hands gripped her around the throat. Her right hand struck his throat. As she closed her fist, her nails bit into his flesh and her fingers wrapped partially around his coratid artery. His eyes went wide a heartbeat before she pulled with all the strength she could muster. He almost screamed as she ripped his throat open. He collapsed as she pushed him aside, his hands flailing to stem the spray of bright red blood.
She made her way to her feet. Though she swayed, she began to walk towards the ladder out of the pit. Above her, stunned silence reigned. The voice that spoke to her on the edge of unconsciousness seemed to echo in the silence. "Stand," it said, though no one else could hear it. She stumbled and the world swam before her. Still, she pushed herself forward. She reached the ladder and gripped it hard with her blood slicked hand. People above her moved away from the ladder as the master of ceremonies walked to it.
He looked down at her. He was the image of genteel sophistication. His dove grey suit was spotless. An ice blue eye peered down at her, its mate lost in some conflict that the man never spoke of. His expression was one of approval. "Bring her up," he said to no one in particular before turning and walking away. Her knees were growing weak as her vision began to go grey. A person began climbing down. She watched them. Hands slipped under her arms and bore her up as the extent of her injuries caught up with her.
"You're the first one to survive," the person supporting her said as another lowered a backboard.
"I don't die," she said as unconsciousness claimed her.
~*~*~*~*~*~
I don't feel pleased with this. But whatever, I wrote something.
She closed her eyes and struggled to breathe. Her head throbbed and had a measure of dizziness. She was fairly sure that the blow had given her a mild concussion. Waves of nausea came and went as the fighter worked to gather her strength. Her body hurt so much that it seemed to be nothing but a mass of pain.
Laying on the concrete, the fighter was tempted to just let herself sink into unconsciousness. Her opponent drew back a foot to kick her again. Acting on instinct, she rolled away as the foot came towards her head. She pushed up onto her hands and knees. The man before her moved to punch her in the head again.
She twisted, grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling him off his feet with the sudden force of her motion. As he hit the ground, she wrapped her legs around his chest. Her fists fell on his head with enough force to make the big man cry out in pain. He tried to knock her off of him but she continued to hold on and strike at his face. Somehow, he managed to maneuver himself so that she was pressed down to the ground beneath him.
His large hands gripped her around the throat. Her right hand struck his throat. As she closed her fist, her nails bit into his flesh and her fingers wrapped partially around his coratid artery. His eyes went wide a heartbeat before she pulled with all the strength she could muster. He almost screamed as she ripped his throat open. He collapsed as she pushed him aside, his hands flailing to stem the spray of bright red blood.
She made her way to her feet. Though she swayed, she began to walk towards the ladder out of the pit. Above her, stunned silence reigned. The voice that spoke to her on the edge of unconsciousness seemed to echo in the silence. "Stand," it said, though no one else could hear it. She stumbled and the world swam before her. Still, she pushed herself forward. She reached the ladder and gripped it hard with her blood slicked hand. People above her moved away from the ladder as the master of ceremonies walked to it.
He looked down at her. He was the image of genteel sophistication. His dove grey suit was spotless. An ice blue eye peered down at her, its mate lost in some conflict that the man never spoke of. His expression was one of approval. "Bring her up," he said to no one in particular before turning and walking away. Her knees were growing weak as her vision began to go grey. A person began climbing down. She watched them. Hands slipped under her arms and bore her up as the extent of her injuries caught up with her.
"You're the first one to survive," the person supporting her said as another lowered a backboard.
"I don't die," she said as unconsciousness claimed her.
~*~*~*~*~*~
I don't feel pleased with this. But whatever, I wrote something.
Monday, August 29, 2016
Monday, just one more grueling day.
On the kids's side of things, today was just tiring. They were somewhat fussy about their meals, but they don't exactly enjoy fresh veggies. Cuddle Bear decided that the only way he was going to eat raw carrots was if they were dipped in barbecue sauce. I decided I didn't care and gave him some. Snuggle Bug ate all of my grapes. I'm a bit disappointed, but at least he decided he was going to eat something healthy.
Tomorrow, I suspect they are going to be cranky about cereal for breakfast again. I just don't know how to make donuts. If I did, I would make them for the kids. It seems to be their absolute favorite thing to eat for breakfast. I am considering buying a baking tray that looks like it makes min-bunt cakes and whipping up a bunch of them and calling it good enough.
We have loads of laundry that need put away. I look at it and feel bad about it all. Which then turns into my desperately trying to ignore them until the end of the day where I can't avoid them any more. It is a vicious cycle that eventually turns to piles of clean vs dirty laundry about the apartment. It's about as pleasant as my mood roller coaster.
My mood is still down. I'm still super anxious about everything. I'm on the hunt for a new psychiatrist and probably a new therapist. The combination of 'just think happy thoughts' and 'it's not as bad as you're saying it is.' attitudes I'm getting from the clinic has me feeling even worse. I am trying to get over this fear that a new psychiatrist would decide that I am too much of a problem client and try to shuffle me out the door on a boatload more medications rather than help me.
I have not been having good days regarding self image, unsurprisingly. I realized this evening, however, I need to start wearing my new heels if I am going to have them broken in enough so that I'm not walking around on blistered feet at K&R's wedding. I'm still quietly going "OH GODS WHAT DO I WEAR!?!" never mind the fact that Beloved helped me narrow things down to two possible options.
I am really getting tired of this social phobia telling me that whatever I pick is going to be the wrong thing.
Tomorrow, I suspect they are going to be cranky about cereal for breakfast again. I just don't know how to make donuts. If I did, I would make them for the kids. It seems to be their absolute favorite thing to eat for breakfast. I am considering buying a baking tray that looks like it makes min-bunt cakes and whipping up a bunch of them and calling it good enough.
We have loads of laundry that need put away. I look at it and feel bad about it all. Which then turns into my desperately trying to ignore them until the end of the day where I can't avoid them any more. It is a vicious cycle that eventually turns to piles of clean vs dirty laundry about the apartment. It's about as pleasant as my mood roller coaster.
My mood is still down. I'm still super anxious about everything. I'm on the hunt for a new psychiatrist and probably a new therapist. The combination of 'just think happy thoughts' and 'it's not as bad as you're saying it is.' attitudes I'm getting from the clinic has me feeling even worse. I am trying to get over this fear that a new psychiatrist would decide that I am too much of a problem client and try to shuffle me out the door on a boatload more medications rather than help me.
I have not been having good days regarding self image, unsurprisingly. I realized this evening, however, I need to start wearing my new heels if I am going to have them broken in enough so that I'm not walking around on blistered feet at K&R's wedding. I'm still quietly going "OH GODS WHAT DO I WEAR!?!" never mind the fact that Beloved helped me narrow things down to two possible options.
I am really getting tired of this social phobia telling me that whatever I pick is going to be the wrong thing.
Thursday, August 25, 2016
Burning out.
Today was a long and exhausting day. I spent 90% of it cleaning and directing the kids in cleaning. After all of this work, the toys are now sorted out. The books are all organized on their shelves. The toybox is full and sitting in its proper location. The extra blankets are stowed in the kids' chests. We got a lot of stuff done. Looking around the room, though, it doesn't feel like we did. Thinks were relatively picked up this morning.
I tripped over a few toys as I was walking across the room and saw a bin full of just random stuff. I got angry. Then I started cleaning. The kids were confused when I dumped out the toybox. They were even more confused when I insisted that they couldn't just throw anything in there. It was a painful process to sort all of their toys. They didn't like it. I didn't like it. But it was something that hadn't been done in over two years. When things started to shape up as how they were going to get put away, it got easier.
I'm glad that I saved those stupid McDonald's halloween buckets. I used four of them. Two to hold dinosaurs and random animals. One to hold knock off transformer toys (which were in happy meals originally) and one to hold all of the action figures they've got. We have three gallon sized bins full of toy cars and an additional fleet stowed neatly beneath a shelf and a table, mostly. I have recycled a large box that held pullups to hold large dinosaur toys and large action figures. I also recycled a slightly smaller box to hold stuffed animals.
The big innovation was taking the box that Cuddle Bear's toy weed wacker came in and turning it into a shelf on the wall. Instead of holding the weed wacker, it is full of small stuffed animals. The whole affair is light enough that it can stay up with three anchor points. The other innovation came from taking a box that the electric grill came in and cutting it up to make a 'tool box' out of it. Between the two tool boxes they had to begin with and this third one, they have 90% of their toy hand tools put away underneath their toy workbench. Sitting on top of it is the rubber work belt that came with it (with tools in their respective places) and a handful of others with it.
I have folded up the extra blankets that the kids kept shoving around on their beds and put them in the base of their chests from Grandpa M. When they went to bed, they didn't notice the blankets missing. Maybe we can manage to get to the beginning of cool weather before they come back out. I don't know. It did make for them to have an easier time making their beds. (This is a new thing. The kids mess up the sheets on their beds and, in the past, we fixed them. Now they are taking responsibility for it. The results thus far have been mixed. Hopefully putting the blankets away, this will make for more positive results.)
Their brand-name Transformers toys are sitting on top of their bookcase. The extra large ones are in back against the wall. The smaller ones are towards the front, where they are easier to access. Snuggle Bug broke Cuddle Bear's new one this afternoon, so I took away his more complicated version of Bumblebee. We'll see if he bears this in mind when he is sharing with his brother. If he breaks his brother's brand new transformer again, I believe that I will have to put them up for a bit. As it stands, we are missing one somewhere. In all of our cleaning, we have not found it. I suspect it is under the couch, which we did not touch today.
I didn't get the kitchen clean. I ran out of energy for that. I didn't get any laundry put away. And I have a pile of mail that I really need to go through but I am apprehensive about it all. I look back over the day today and I realize that in some respects today's big business of going through the toys was a form of procrastination. Because why procrastinate in a small way when you can go huge, right? Thus, tomorrow morning, I think I will do a 'bad mommy' thing and let the kids watch cartoons as I go through the mail, balance the checkbook, pay bills, and make official phone calls.
I'm super anxious about looking for a new psychiatrist. I'm afraid that they're going to look at my file from where I have been getting services and take the abject nonsense that these people have written as gospel and ignore what I have to say about it all. Money anxiety is taking a backseat to this.
I tripped over a few toys as I was walking across the room and saw a bin full of just random stuff. I got angry. Then I started cleaning. The kids were confused when I dumped out the toybox. They were even more confused when I insisted that they couldn't just throw anything in there. It was a painful process to sort all of their toys. They didn't like it. I didn't like it. But it was something that hadn't been done in over two years. When things started to shape up as how they were going to get put away, it got easier.
I'm glad that I saved those stupid McDonald's halloween buckets. I used four of them. Two to hold dinosaurs and random animals. One to hold knock off transformer toys (which were in happy meals originally) and one to hold all of the action figures they've got. We have three gallon sized bins full of toy cars and an additional fleet stowed neatly beneath a shelf and a table, mostly. I have recycled a large box that held pullups to hold large dinosaur toys and large action figures. I also recycled a slightly smaller box to hold stuffed animals.
The big innovation was taking the box that Cuddle Bear's toy weed wacker came in and turning it into a shelf on the wall. Instead of holding the weed wacker, it is full of small stuffed animals. The whole affair is light enough that it can stay up with three anchor points. The other innovation came from taking a box that the electric grill came in and cutting it up to make a 'tool box' out of it. Between the two tool boxes they had to begin with and this third one, they have 90% of their toy hand tools put away underneath their toy workbench. Sitting on top of it is the rubber work belt that came with it (with tools in their respective places) and a handful of others with it.
I have folded up the extra blankets that the kids kept shoving around on their beds and put them in the base of their chests from Grandpa M. When they went to bed, they didn't notice the blankets missing. Maybe we can manage to get to the beginning of cool weather before they come back out. I don't know. It did make for them to have an easier time making their beds. (This is a new thing. The kids mess up the sheets on their beds and, in the past, we fixed them. Now they are taking responsibility for it. The results thus far have been mixed. Hopefully putting the blankets away, this will make for more positive results.)
Their brand-name Transformers toys are sitting on top of their bookcase. The extra large ones are in back against the wall. The smaller ones are towards the front, where they are easier to access. Snuggle Bug broke Cuddle Bear's new one this afternoon, so I took away his more complicated version of Bumblebee. We'll see if he bears this in mind when he is sharing with his brother. If he breaks his brother's brand new transformer again, I believe that I will have to put them up for a bit. As it stands, we are missing one somewhere. In all of our cleaning, we have not found it. I suspect it is under the couch, which we did not touch today.
I didn't get the kitchen clean. I ran out of energy for that. I didn't get any laundry put away. And I have a pile of mail that I really need to go through but I am apprehensive about it all. I look back over the day today and I realize that in some respects today's big business of going through the toys was a form of procrastination. Because why procrastinate in a small way when you can go huge, right? Thus, tomorrow morning, I think I will do a 'bad mommy' thing and let the kids watch cartoons as I go through the mail, balance the checkbook, pay bills, and make official phone calls.
I'm super anxious about looking for a new psychiatrist. I'm afraid that they're going to look at my file from where I have been getting services and take the abject nonsense that these people have written as gospel and ignore what I have to say about it all. Money anxiety is taking a backseat to this.
Friday, August 19, 2016
Fuck Bipolar
I haven't been well. My silence over the last little while may have lead some of you who know me intimately to suspect this. I am ... angry. This is on top of the lingering depression problem. It has not been too the extent that I believe it is necessary for me to go into the hospital. It has, however, been enough that it makes getting my household duties done difficult. It has made getting out of the apartment and being in the community difficult. All the little things that my therapist says I should be going out and doing right now, I am really struggling to do it.
I have had this happen before. I mentioned it to my psych nurse way back in Spring. I think I posted something about how well that went. My kids were on spring break. She thought that putting me on another SSRI was a great idea. I went from depressed to suicidal in the span of about 3 days and then I was in the hospital for about a week while they fixed my medications. At that time, one of the psychiatrists that was treating me asked me how long I had been on the combination of Seroquel and Geodon. I explained I had been taking it for about 7 years. Cue him being offended and all around not happy. He was particularly not happy with the fact that my dosage was so high.
Next thing I know, I was taken off of a LOT of medication. I felt a bit better. A little time goes by and the mild sense of dysphoria grew more intense. I say something to my psych nurse. She tells me that my moods are not really fluctuating, it was just life happening. She tells me that my problem is the stress that comes from being with the kids when they are on break is causing my depressive symptoms. After a few months of this nonsense, she says 'well, let's increase your seroquel.' I voiced my concerns about this because upping my dosage of antipsychotics really didn't do anything to stabilize my mood, unless you counted mild zombification as stabilized.
At which point, she says that I'm being overly anxious and triples my prescription for Ativan. This all happens Monday this week. I start taking the 300mg Seroquel and problems become apparent. My coordination is off hard core. I was stumbling like I was intoxicated. When I got out of bed, I nearly brained myself on the door jamb which is a few feet away from the foot of the bed. It was awful. I couldn't walk across the room with out tripping (and this was with out kids toys in the way). I was exhausted and I had a massive headache. But, the part that really disturbed me is my vision changed. My close range vision is blurry now. My moderate distant range vision is what my close range vision was before (I have a mild astigmatism in my left eye so things are a bit fuzzy). And, things have a bit of a halo about them.
Cue a panicked call to my pharmacist who says that is all an indication that I am on too much and I should call my dr stat. Call the psych nurse and I don't get an answer back until the end of the day, despite the fact that all three of the messages I left clearly conveyed my distress over the situation. She says that we're going to press on with the increase in the antipsychotic, stating it will be a 50mg increase before a 100mg increase. (Originally, I was on 200 mg of Seroquel. Which I got put on when it became apparent that the Geodon was losing effectiveness as a mood stabilizer. And I was put on that when the Seroquel in the past was losing effectiveness as a mood stabilizer. And before that, I was on both meds ... and the drama and bullshit just goes back to when I began dealing with these people.)
So, Beloved and I discussed it. I was upset and afraid. We decided that I was going to go back to the 200mg dosage. The mind fog lifted to a significant extent, the coordination issues cleared up, but the vision issues remained. I tried again today to get ahold of my psych nurse. No one called me back from her office. So, I called my general practitioner. I gave the nurse I spoke to a quick rundown of the situation so I will be going in on Monday to figure out what the fuck we're going to do.
In the mean time, I'm going to feel like shit, be frustrated because I can't see properly, and want to crawl into a hole and hide from everything.
Fuck this bipolar business with a rusty chainsaw.
I have had this happen before. I mentioned it to my psych nurse way back in Spring. I think I posted something about how well that went. My kids were on spring break. She thought that putting me on another SSRI was a great idea. I went from depressed to suicidal in the span of about 3 days and then I was in the hospital for about a week while they fixed my medications. At that time, one of the psychiatrists that was treating me asked me how long I had been on the combination of Seroquel and Geodon. I explained I had been taking it for about 7 years. Cue him being offended and all around not happy. He was particularly not happy with the fact that my dosage was so high.
Next thing I know, I was taken off of a LOT of medication. I felt a bit better. A little time goes by and the mild sense of dysphoria grew more intense. I say something to my psych nurse. She tells me that my moods are not really fluctuating, it was just life happening. She tells me that my problem is the stress that comes from being with the kids when they are on break is causing my depressive symptoms. After a few months of this nonsense, she says 'well, let's increase your seroquel.' I voiced my concerns about this because upping my dosage of antipsychotics really didn't do anything to stabilize my mood, unless you counted mild zombification as stabilized.
At which point, she says that I'm being overly anxious and triples my prescription for Ativan. This all happens Monday this week. I start taking the 300mg Seroquel and problems become apparent. My coordination is off hard core. I was stumbling like I was intoxicated. When I got out of bed, I nearly brained myself on the door jamb which is a few feet away from the foot of the bed. It was awful. I couldn't walk across the room with out tripping (and this was with out kids toys in the way). I was exhausted and I had a massive headache. But, the part that really disturbed me is my vision changed. My close range vision is blurry now. My moderate distant range vision is what my close range vision was before (I have a mild astigmatism in my left eye so things are a bit fuzzy). And, things have a bit of a halo about them.
Cue a panicked call to my pharmacist who says that is all an indication that I am on too much and I should call my dr stat. Call the psych nurse and I don't get an answer back until the end of the day, despite the fact that all three of the messages I left clearly conveyed my distress over the situation. She says that we're going to press on with the increase in the antipsychotic, stating it will be a 50mg increase before a 100mg increase. (Originally, I was on 200 mg of Seroquel. Which I got put on when it became apparent that the Geodon was losing effectiveness as a mood stabilizer. And I was put on that when the Seroquel in the past was losing effectiveness as a mood stabilizer. And before that, I was on both meds ... and the drama and bullshit just goes back to when I began dealing with these people.)
So, Beloved and I discussed it. I was upset and afraid. We decided that I was going to go back to the 200mg dosage. The mind fog lifted to a significant extent, the coordination issues cleared up, but the vision issues remained. I tried again today to get ahold of my psych nurse. No one called me back from her office. So, I called my general practitioner. I gave the nurse I spoke to a quick rundown of the situation so I will be going in on Monday to figure out what the fuck we're going to do.
In the mean time, I'm going to feel like shit, be frustrated because I can't see properly, and want to crawl into a hole and hide from everything.
Fuck this bipolar business with a rusty chainsaw.
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
August. Woo.
The dry weather has been pretty hard on my plants. but, you can see that I did get a little bit out of my garden. On the left is a chocolate mint, in the center is an orange mint, and on the right is a sweet mint. And at the extreme right is Billy (aka Snuggle Bug) showing off his new trucks.
We have begun the process of acquiring school supplies. I am graciously sharing two of the super cute pencil erasers that I found out at the store. Going by the school's lists, we're all set for the first day. The boys each have new backpacks. because the bottom seams were looking worn. I discovered that I had a stock pile of supplies left over from last year when I was cleaning. So, I brought them over for Gin's girls to have.
I'm WAAAAY behind on my knitting stuff for the holidays. I am, however, pretty much set on what we're doing for the wedding present to Katie and Roger. I'm partially finished with the gift I am making for J&J's wedding anniversary. And, in the midst of all of this, I'm left struggling to think of something that would be a good present for Beloved.
I'm WAAAAY behind on my knitting stuff for the holidays. I am, however, pretty much set on what we're doing for the wedding present to Katie and Roger. I'm partially finished with the gift I am making for J&J's wedding anniversary. And, in the midst of all of this, I'm left struggling to think of something that would be a good present for Beloved.
Sunday, July 17, 2016
Why emotionally blackmail someone over stuff?
I confess, I have a few guilty pleasures in my blog reading. There is a mommy blogger who tends to have recipes that are usually pretty awesome and I find some humor in her chattering about life at large. While I do my best to avoid the mommy brigade, there are a few that I read because their writing style entertains me and I usually find them a point of light on a dark day. So, I was disappointed when I saw her triumphant post about how she finally managed to get her spouse to throw away his childhood baseball card collection after harassing him over it for 19 years.
I get that she wants her house to have as little waste as possible. I get that she wants to have as few nicknacks to clean up as possible. I even can appreciate the frustration of someone in your family collecting things that you don't understand the appeal for and get irritated upon the sight of them. All of these sentiments I can empathize with and appreciate. At some point in time, I have had them myself or been the object of this sort of feeling.
Those feelings don't give me free reign to pick at my spouse over the hobbies he has. They don't give me the right to tell him 'you're a grown up now, get rid of this childish stuff.' That is simply beyond the pale. I don't dictate who my husband is (aka how 'childish' or 'adult' he is) and I don't get to tell him that his hobbies are bad if they're not harming anyone or causing us problems in our ability to take care of our children, home, responsibilities, or marriage. A few binders full of cards is not a problem.
I'm sorry, but if you are going to take the position that the equivalent of a photo album is enough of a problem in your household that you have to harass your spouse about getting rid of them for an extended length of time, you've got a big problem and it isn't that photo album. Telling someone that they're immature or that they're childish because of what they enjoy is harmful to them. You are telling them that there is something WRONG with them because they're doing something that makes them happy and YOU are uncomfortable with it because it doesn't meet YOUR expectations of what and adult is supposed to be like. You are the problem here.
Because you don't get to tell your spouse WHO THEY ARE. Full stop. You are attempting to dictate elements of their personality and psyche on the basis of arbitrary bullshit and your level of discomfort with the way they fit into your arbitrary bullshit generator. If your uncomfortable with your spouse's hobby but it isn't doing you any harm beyond making you mildly uncomfortable with how you perceive their maturity level, you need to fix your issue. A pack of cards does not dictate the maturity level of the person possessing them. Additionally, a pack of cards does not dictate a damn thing about the state of your home other than the fact that you or someone in your home owns a pack of fucking cards.
The world is full of ugly, horrific things. If your spouse finds joy in little things and it is not causing problems in their ability to meet their responsibilities, provide emotional support, or otherwise be a partner in your relationship, then you need to suck it up and deal with the fact that they are going to find joy in things that are not going to appeal to you. You don't get to dictate what is 'grown up' and attempting to do so is going to cause emotional damage to your spouse and undermine their sense of self esteem.
I'll rephrase that into something a little more concise.
Your bullshit behavior over a pack of cards is emotional abuse. You are telling them that they're not good enough as who they are. You don't get to do that. You are not the gatekeeper of what is an acceptable adult. You are not the gatekeeper of who is an acceptable person.
The only person you get to make those kinds of decisions for are yourself.
And if you can't handle someone getting some happiness out of a pack of cards that has some warm, fuzzy emotional memories attached to them, then you need to acquire some emotional and psychological fortitude because this kind of crap is what dooms long term relationships.
So, yeah, after 19 years you managed to brow beat your husband into getting rid of his momentos from his happier childhood days. Good job. Next, are you going to start telling your kids to throw away their favorite belongings because you've decided they're too old to do what makes THEM happy too?
I get that she wants her house to have as little waste as possible. I get that she wants to have as few nicknacks to clean up as possible. I even can appreciate the frustration of someone in your family collecting things that you don't understand the appeal for and get irritated upon the sight of them. All of these sentiments I can empathize with and appreciate. At some point in time, I have had them myself or been the object of this sort of feeling.
Those feelings don't give me free reign to pick at my spouse over the hobbies he has. They don't give me the right to tell him 'you're a grown up now, get rid of this childish stuff.' That is simply beyond the pale. I don't dictate who my husband is (aka how 'childish' or 'adult' he is) and I don't get to tell him that his hobbies are bad if they're not harming anyone or causing us problems in our ability to take care of our children, home, responsibilities, or marriage. A few binders full of cards is not a problem.
I'm sorry, but if you are going to take the position that the equivalent of a photo album is enough of a problem in your household that you have to harass your spouse about getting rid of them for an extended length of time, you've got a big problem and it isn't that photo album. Telling someone that they're immature or that they're childish because of what they enjoy is harmful to them. You are telling them that there is something WRONG with them because they're doing something that makes them happy and YOU are uncomfortable with it because it doesn't meet YOUR expectations of what and adult is supposed to be like. You are the problem here.
Because you don't get to tell your spouse WHO THEY ARE. Full stop. You are attempting to dictate elements of their personality and psyche on the basis of arbitrary bullshit and your level of discomfort with the way they fit into your arbitrary bullshit generator. If your uncomfortable with your spouse's hobby but it isn't doing you any harm beyond making you mildly uncomfortable with how you perceive their maturity level, you need to fix your issue. A pack of cards does not dictate the maturity level of the person possessing them. Additionally, a pack of cards does not dictate a damn thing about the state of your home other than the fact that you or someone in your home owns a pack of fucking cards.
The world is full of ugly, horrific things. If your spouse finds joy in little things and it is not causing problems in their ability to meet their responsibilities, provide emotional support, or otherwise be a partner in your relationship, then you need to suck it up and deal with the fact that they are going to find joy in things that are not going to appeal to you. You don't get to dictate what is 'grown up' and attempting to do so is going to cause emotional damage to your spouse and undermine their sense of self esteem.
I'll rephrase that into something a little more concise.
Your bullshit behavior over a pack of cards is emotional abuse. You are telling them that they're not good enough as who they are. You don't get to do that. You are not the gatekeeper of what is an acceptable adult. You are not the gatekeeper of who is an acceptable person.
The only person you get to make those kinds of decisions for are yourself.
And if you can't handle someone getting some happiness out of a pack of cards that has some warm, fuzzy emotional memories attached to them, then you need to acquire some emotional and psychological fortitude because this kind of crap is what dooms long term relationships.
So, yeah, after 19 years you managed to brow beat your husband into getting rid of his momentos from his happier childhood days. Good job. Next, are you going to start telling your kids to throw away their favorite belongings because you've decided they're too old to do what makes THEM happy too?
Wednesday, July 13, 2016
Long day is Long.
This heat and humidity is making me miserable. I am tired because it is hard to sleep from it. I did a ton of laundry but I feel like I accomplished nothing. Which is perverse because I managed to keep the kids out of the really high heat, entertained, and engaged in educational activity with out spending a whole lot of money. (That's a hard thing to do it seems judging from what I see lots of other folks posting about their summer.)
I narrowly dodged the migraine that was threatening this afternoon. Beloved was awesome and he watched the kids while I took a cool shower. Between that, a dose of aleve, and a hefty amount of coffee, I just had a bad headache for a few hours. I wish it was that easy to avoid migraines other times. I didn't do any walking outside today really because it was so horribly hot. (My friends from the tropics, the desert, and pretty much anywhere else that has temperatures of 90+, I recognize I am a lightweight compared to y'all.)
My mood has been going back and forth between cranky and upset. I think part of the problem is just the physical discomfort of all this heat. I am pretty sure that I would also be a bit less upset with things if I wasn't premenstrual. I am still having some difficulty sleeping and not having intrusive thoughts pertaining to the murders that happened last week. It has brought up a mess of unresolved stuff pertaining to things like when my uncle was murdered as well.
It's just been rough.
I narrowly dodged the migraine that was threatening this afternoon. Beloved was awesome and he watched the kids while I took a cool shower. Between that, a dose of aleve, and a hefty amount of coffee, I just had a bad headache for a few hours. I wish it was that easy to avoid migraines other times. I didn't do any walking outside today really because it was so horribly hot. (My friends from the tropics, the desert, and pretty much anywhere else that has temperatures of 90+, I recognize I am a lightweight compared to y'all.)
My mood has been going back and forth between cranky and upset. I think part of the problem is just the physical discomfort of all this heat. I am pretty sure that I would also be a bit less upset with things if I wasn't premenstrual. I am still having some difficulty sleeping and not having intrusive thoughts pertaining to the murders that happened last week. It has brought up a mess of unresolved stuff pertaining to things like when my uncle was murdered as well.
It's just been rough.
Saturday, July 09, 2016
Did some crafting.
Today was tiring. I went out to my sister in law's bridal shower. It was ok. I had a nice time cuddling a little baby and chatting with two other young mothers. I was pleased to see that my present was well received. It was a bride's emergency kit with pretty much everything needed in case of a wardrobe malfunction. I also gave her a fancy white lace parasol. And a sampler.
I have spent my evening looking at mindless things on the internet. I did a little playing around with jewelry supplies and made the necklace I'm holding above. It is a gold filigree cage holding two pearls and a raw bit of garnet on a gold chain. I'm hoping that I won't have problems with having a bad reaction to the necklace or the pendant. It is gold plated onto copper. I have some issues with plated metals.
The sampler above was the highlight, in my opinion. For some reason, everyone was surprised by the lace parasol that I found for her. (The pic was from when I finished the thing.) It was really quick to work up. I am presently working on another embroidered item. I have a little surprise that I'm making for my mother-in-law. Because the mother of the bride should have something special as well.
Thursday, July 07, 2016
As Seen on Facebook
ok i am going to make some people angry. i will be honest, i don't give a damn if it does right now either.
people should not be gunned down by law enforcement if they are not actively shooting or putting people in a state where their life and limb are in danger. stuff can be replaced, so property damage is something i give functionally no fucks about in this case. why? because you can not replace a person. when someone is dead, they're a corpse.
i know there are people who are pro-law enforcement. that's cool. law enforcement serves an important role in our society and, when functioning properly helps everyone. there are a lot of good cops out there who, i suspect, are mad as hell about the stuff that the bad cops do. i'm pretty sure that there are people who would be happy to take the ones who make the rest of them look bad out behind the woodshed for a long conversation via morse code and a bit of applied force.
my problem is not with the good cops. my problem is with the society that says that this crap of people dying in police custody is acceptable. my problem is with the society that says if you have any sort of arrest record, you deserve brutality because you must clearly be guilty and deserve all forms of systemic oppression because you were arrested at one point for something. my problem is with the society that says that if you were, gods forbid, ever imprisoned for something that you are worth less than everyone else because you must continue to pay for your crimes long after the courts say you're done. my problem is with the society that turns a blind eye to systemic oppression for minorities and are quick to label the people who are not of the 'chosen' socioeconomic and cultural markers as deserving of essentially all forms of abuse that can be heaped on them by people who are from that chosen group and their agents (including but not limited to governmental agencies that are treated as serving said chosen group).
i have an enormous problem with the fact that people in this country have forgotten about habeus corpus. i have an enormous problem with the fact that people in this country have forgotten about the presumption of innocent until proven guilty. just because you have a gun, you are not judge and jury. and you are sure as hell not executioner. the sheer number of times that these rogue elements within the agencies that are charged with keeping law and order get away with gross violations of the rights of the people they are supposed to be serving is repulsive.
the people who are saying 'stop killing us' and 'our lives matter' are not doing it to make your life inconvenient. they're not doing it to be dramatic. and they're sure as hell not doing it for funsies. they're doing it because their blood is in the streets and it has been shed by the people who are supposed to be protecting them. when law enforcement edges towards failing to not only obey the laws set upon them by their own nation but the rules of war, there is a big fucking problem.
last i checked, the rules of war said you don't get to murder people you have taken into custody. (take a second and review article 3. then ask yourself, just how well have people been doing on following that bit of late?http://hrlibrary.umn.edu/instree/y3gctpw.htm ) maybe i am a wild person with mad ideas. i know there are people who manage NOT to act in this sort of horrific fashion. maybe we should do something about these motherfuckers who are failing to recognize the most basic of human rights as covered here.
anyone who seems to think that the arrest history of the dead justifies their killing, drop me off your friends list. anyone who seems to think that the color or socioeconomic status of the dead justifies their killing, drop me off your friends list. anyone who seems to think that we should accept these people in positions of power failing to uphold the FUCKING GENEVA CONVENTION with respect to MOTHERFUCKING CIVILIANS, drop me off your friends list and go fuck yourself with a sideways cactus.
Tuesday, July 05, 2016
Flies?
I don't know why, but there has been an increase in the number of flies around today. I'm not sure what is going on with that. I am a bit annoyed with them, but what can you do?
I feel badly that I have done no writing today. I am feeling upset with myself on several levels. I think that the predominant problem today was the fact that I forgot my morning medications in the rush to get Beloved off to work and then get to my appointment. I then spent the rest of the day toodling around town getting things done with the boys in tow. It was a very warm day today and the heat had me a bit crabby as well.
Moodwise, I am on the lower end of normal-ish. My psych provider commented on how I am doing so much better than I was a few months ago. I suppose that is a good thing. I have been out and about. I have been doing things and being somewhat social. I presume this would indicate that I am making progress in a healthier direction. If nothing else, all the walks to the park (which averages 2 per day and a total distance of a mile) must be doing me some good. This heat has had me less than thrilled about eating much, thus my appetite has been a bit lower. Not dangerously so, though.
I'd post a picture but I feel unpresentable. My hair is somewhat mussed from driving around with car windows down. I look as overheated as I feel. It just is not something I feel looks any good. I have been having low body confidence for a few days now. Realizing that there is a fair amount of grey in my locks has me feeling upset (which is funny because as a child I desperately wanted to have grey hair like my great grandmother). I feel like I look old and shabby.
I'm trying hard to remember that many feel that my grey hair makes me look dignified. I honestly can't say I feel that way today. And I can't manage to shake the bodyshaming nonsense about how I should magically reacquire my pre-pregnancy body after I have birthed my children. It is a little thing that keeps worrying at the back of my mind. I am not having much progress in getting that out of my head. Which has me saddened and frustrated.
I feel badly that I have done no writing today. I am feeling upset with myself on several levels. I think that the predominant problem today was the fact that I forgot my morning medications in the rush to get Beloved off to work and then get to my appointment. I then spent the rest of the day toodling around town getting things done with the boys in tow. It was a very warm day today and the heat had me a bit crabby as well.
Moodwise, I am on the lower end of normal-ish. My psych provider commented on how I am doing so much better than I was a few months ago. I suppose that is a good thing. I have been out and about. I have been doing things and being somewhat social. I presume this would indicate that I am making progress in a healthier direction. If nothing else, all the walks to the park (which averages 2 per day and a total distance of a mile) must be doing me some good. This heat has had me less than thrilled about eating much, thus my appetite has been a bit lower. Not dangerously so, though.
I'd post a picture but I feel unpresentable. My hair is somewhat mussed from driving around with car windows down. I look as overheated as I feel. It just is not something I feel looks any good. I have been having low body confidence for a few days now. Realizing that there is a fair amount of grey in my locks has me feeling upset (which is funny because as a child I desperately wanted to have grey hair like my great grandmother). I feel like I look old and shabby.
I'm trying hard to remember that many feel that my grey hair makes me look dignified. I honestly can't say I feel that way today. And I can't manage to shake the bodyshaming nonsense about how I should magically reacquire my pre-pregnancy body after I have birthed my children. It is a little thing that keeps worrying at the back of my mind. I am not having much progress in getting that out of my head. Which has me saddened and frustrated.
Monday, July 04, 2016
It's the 4th of July. Meh.
The last several days have been busy. I am honestly looking forward to when summer school starts. I have been just worn out by the business of keeping up with the kids and all the stuff that goes into keeping them out of mischief over the last week and a half. I haven't a photo to share today. I honestly don't feel particularly photogenic right now.
I am behind on my writing work. I don't want to place unreasonable demands on myself but I want to have this manuscript off to the publishers in short order. I feel a great deal of pressure to do a ton of things right now and like I haven't the means to accomplish pretty much anything. I am also feeling somewhat burned out. This is not much fun. I will, however, persevere and do my best.
Aside from that, I'm so tired of the jingoism that is running rampant right now. I once felt that sort of thing. And then I realized just how much people are getting screwed over in this nation. Now I am jaded and tend to view that sort of thing as a level of immaturity. I am also sick of the bubbly 'happy 4th of July!' that I have encountered everywhere.
How can it be a happy day when we have people dying for bullshit reasons in and in the name of this country? How can it be a happy day when people are disenfranchised at functionally all levels of government and social strata? It is hard for me to have warm fuzzies about it all when there is so much that is wrong.
Also, unrelated to anything, I'm fed up with these wee tiny bugs flitting about the apartment after the sun goes down. And I feel mildly depressed with how grey my hair looks and the fact that I look all of my 37 years. I think that I have over exerted myself a bit on several levels and it is catching up with me.
And I feel like I can't go and sleep because there is so much that must be done.
I am behind on my writing work. I don't want to place unreasonable demands on myself but I want to have this manuscript off to the publishers in short order. I feel a great deal of pressure to do a ton of things right now and like I haven't the means to accomplish pretty much anything. I am also feeling somewhat burned out. This is not much fun. I will, however, persevere and do my best.
Aside from that, I'm so tired of the jingoism that is running rampant right now. I once felt that sort of thing. And then I realized just how much people are getting screwed over in this nation. Now I am jaded and tend to view that sort of thing as a level of immaturity. I am also sick of the bubbly 'happy 4th of July!' that I have encountered everywhere.
How can it be a happy day when we have people dying for bullshit reasons in and in the name of this country? How can it be a happy day when people are disenfranchised at functionally all levels of government and social strata? It is hard for me to have warm fuzzies about it all when there is so much that is wrong.
Also, unrelated to anything, I'm fed up with these wee tiny bugs flitting about the apartment after the sun goes down. And I feel mildly depressed with how grey my hair looks and the fact that I look all of my 37 years. I think that I have over exerted myself a bit on several levels and it is catching up with me.
And I feel like I can't go and sleep because there is so much that must be done.
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Long day but progress, maybe?
I don't feel up to a pic right now. Today was a long day. I spent a significant portion of my day trying to keep the kids entertained as I struggled to gather my wits. I did not sleep well last night. I kept having dreams of my computer crashing, my back up copies of my books being corrupted, and all of my notes getting destroyed. I think watching that video about how long storage stuff is supposed to last got to me. Add to this how I have been struggling to do much writing at all and it made for a bad night.
I have piles of papers everywhere. I have no less than three knitting projects going on right now. I have two spinning projects that are frustrating me to the point where I am contemplating burning the fiber so I don't have to look at it. My home is a bit of a mess at the moment. I know some of this is a natural function of the kids being on break. Some of this is also due to the fact that I spend more time trying to keep the kids out of fights and engaged in activities than I do on cleaning right now. I feel guilty about it. I have this little voice at the back of my head telling me that I should have a clean house right now, dinner on the table every night, and all of the clean laundry put away. (We're living out of laundry bags right now.)
I think I may be heading towards a downward shift in mood. I'm not sure. I feel over extended and like there is no hope of relief ahead of me. I don't know what my problem is right now. Once, I handled this stuff better. Why am I such a ball of anxiety now? Is this really the bipolar?
I have piles of papers everywhere. I have no less than three knitting projects going on right now. I have two spinning projects that are frustrating me to the point where I am contemplating burning the fiber so I don't have to look at it. My home is a bit of a mess at the moment. I know some of this is a natural function of the kids being on break. Some of this is also due to the fact that I spend more time trying to keep the kids out of fights and engaged in activities than I do on cleaning right now. I feel guilty about it. I have this little voice at the back of my head telling me that I should have a clean house right now, dinner on the table every night, and all of the clean laundry put away. (We're living out of laundry bags right now.)
I think I may be heading towards a downward shift in mood. I'm not sure. I feel over extended and like there is no hope of relief ahead of me. I don't know what my problem is right now. Once, I handled this stuff better. Why am I such a ball of anxiety now? Is this really the bipolar?
Monday, June 20, 2016
Yay, it's the Solstice!
I'm a bit overheated right now. It is 80+ in the apartment right now. It has been a good day. Beloved took the day off to spend some time with me while the kids were at school. I am a bit tired, as can probably be seen in the pic. I hope that I will sleep better than I did last night. The heat and humidity made it difficult to fall asleep last night. Still, I can say with full confidence that I had a great day today. There were some minor irritations but it didn't detract from the joy that I had in some alone time with Beloved or my amusement with the kids trying to direct traffic for the tow truck that was helping the folks across the way with their car. (It looked like the tie-rod went and the entire passenger side front steering assembly just fell off of their vehicle as they were attempting to turn into their drive way. Fortunately, no one was harmed and there was no other damage.) I also got a chuckle out of Beloved talking at a squirrel that just played creeper in the tree and stared at us for about a half hour.
All in all, today was a good day. And I have made good progress on yule gifts as well.
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