Screw Valentine's Day.

 Everything in the stores are pink and red. Hearts all over the place. Oversized plushies and boxes of chocolate damn near spilling into the aisles. It makes me grumpy. So much emphasis is put on romantic love that all other forms of love are pushed aside. It only matters if you have a Hallmark Movie moment. Fuck that noise.

I'm too busy to do that shit. My husband is too busy to do that shit. We don't do well with the social pressure to put on neurotypical/socially conventional displays of affection at the drop of the hat. We never have. As a result, we kinda have a hatred for Valentine's day and just about everything it stands for. The commercialization of love is disgusting and repellant. I'm sorry, but my relationship is unique and your cookie cutter mold of how we should express ourselves and what we're supposed to give as gifts to each other (on demand) isn't going to fit. It's just awful and it is horrid to see this pressure put on young people.

My kids struggle with the concept of Valentine's day and romance. There's a lot of subtext there that they can't read. As a result, when they try to fit in, it fails because they read the script literally. And when they choose to ignore it they're considered to be aloof and not interested in socialization. My 15 yo would like a girlfriend. Partly, it's because of the desire to fit in with his peers. Partly, it is because he sees the relationship that my husband and I have and he wants to build something like that for himself.

I'd prefer that he look for a partner that he can have weird in-jokes with and count on to be there for him when things get challenging. I think that would be healthier for him than hopping into a relationship so that he fits in better with what he sees his peers have going on. I did that and it had horrific results. I don't want him to experience the pain and manipulation that goes with an abusive partner who snaps you up because your lonely and desperate to fit in to the social mold of high school.

I worry that will happen to the kids because they read everything literally. So, when that person says 'I love you.' they are going to think it's genuine when it's actually a line of bullshit to strengthen the social bond that the abusive person is building between them before the honeymoon period ends and bad things happen. So many people think Valentine's day is harmless and romantic. It's not, but nobody wants to shatter that illusion.

Hi again, it's been a while.

 My health has been a problem since I had Covid back last year. I am exhausted all the time, regardless of how much sleep I get. I lose half a day to naps just about everyday. It makes me mad. I have things I want to do. I have chores that I am struggling to stay on top of (like dishes) because my stamina is garbage since I had Covid. It's lead to bouts of despair and bouts of high fury. I am not well and no matter how much I rest I remain unwell.

I talked with my psychiatrist about the possibilities of this being side effects from my medications. We reviewed the medications list and their side effects. The conclusion was this is not a side effect of any of my medications.

He mentioned 'Long Covid' and suggested that I talk to my general practitioner about it. I have been running a low grade fever since October. I have this exhaustion that I can't shake. There's increased brain fog, to the point that I am spelling common words wrong and proof reading everything to make sure that it is correct. Brain fog that has me forgetting appointments and to use my glucose meter on a regular basis. I have been struggling to use my planner to compensate for this but it's not working very well.

My anxiety has been creeping upward as this state of affairs continues. I worry about driving and getting lost. I worry about forgetting appointments that are important for the kids. It's been just hellacious to be like this. I feel like I'm utterly unreliable between my anxiety, the exhaustion issues, and the brain fog.

On top of that, we've got a downstairs neighbor who likes to stand out in front of our apartment and talk smack about me to pretty much anyone who'll listen. I have nothing to do with her. I've been polite, almost formal in my dealings where I have no choice but be in her presence. I am furious. I can't do anything about this. I can only hope that the new neighbors next door lets the evidence of my deeds speak for me. One of these days, I may just open up the door while she is going on her spiel about how I am lazy, filthy, and untrustworthy and tell her to shut up because she has no clue what she's talking about.

Fiber Fluff: I think this sweater is going to make me crazy.

 Dear Reader,

I'm working on a sweater for Cuddle Bear that is a pattern that dates back to WWI. Doing the pattern exactly as it is written, it looks like it's going to fit him for two seasons. He's super excited about this and doesn't care if he gets it a bit late. Given how slow progress is going on it, it may be January when he gets it. I don't know. I have tried dedicating two hours everyday to working on it. But garter stitch is painfully boring. I'm debating finding audio books that I can listen to as I work. Maybe it will relieve the boredom.

Snuggle Bug asked for a pair of slippers. I'm struggling to find the notebook that I wrote the pattern down in. The project room is kinda something of a disaster because I haven't got in there to organize and clean things. And that disaster has spread to part of the living room because I have books I'm working on that I need my notes to complete. It's just a mess because I was not well for multiple months and never got to this.

Now we're getting to the time where I'm getting nervous. Functionally two months to go. I just might be screwed, y'all.

Re: that emotional train wreck - still haven't figured out where to bury survivors.

 It hit me that I've been stalled in all of my public writing projects because my father-in-law acted like my father one day when we were visiting. I had a emotional flashback regarding his dismissing my writing as a mere hobby and talking over me. I was silent then but now ... Well, I keep thinking about that joke 'What's red and bad for your teeth? A brick.' and introducing the old man to a fundamental piece of building equipment in use since antiquity. That, however, must remain an idle fancy for the sake of peace and keeping frith. He may be a bad host, but I will be an exemplary guest.

So, the emotional flashback to my parents mocking my goals in life hits me. Around the same time, the neighbor ramps up his violence and the other neighbors who are constantly having screaming fights are back in action. This sets off a few months of bad cptsd episodes. Ones where I basically find a place I can hide but still watch what's going on with an escape route. And as I hide, I sit there feeling numb and shaking. Then, when the kids get home from school, dissociation switches on and I'm cheerful enough that even they are a little suspicious something's not quite right. By the time the end of the day comes, I am too exhausted to really do anything.

First, came the five day migraine. After it had passed, I discovered I had zero fucks to give about anyone except my immediate family. It was like my brain reset somehow through all that pain. It prompted me to talk to my doctor finally about my migraines because they were becoming more frequent due to the weather being stupid. (My migraine trigger is changes in the weather.) So, he put me on a generic form of Imitrex and my life's been significantly easier on the migraine front. After it seemed like that problem had been put to bed, something else pops up.

I freaking had Covid-19. Beloved and I are pretty sure it was the Omicron variant because the kids bounced back in a few days and had little more than cold symptoms. Beloved got the sniffles and was taking care of me. Because it happened like every  time I get sick - flat on my back and sick as a dog for weeks while the rest of the family bounces back real quick. I was talking with Beloved about this and we agreed it has only gotten to be more of a pain in the neck since I got diagnosed with diabetes.

So, about week 2.5 into my being sick with Covid, my blood sugar starts fluctuating wildly and the lows are really scary low (at one point I had a 56 when 55 is the point you need hospital assistance). I was worried that Covid was attacking my pancreas. I had seen medical studies talking about how hypoglycemia is an overlooked symptom of Covid because it wasn't well known. To say the least that scared me. I got into contact with my doctor described the pain I was having in my abdomen and the crazy blood sugar drops at random. So, he ordered some tests and told me to come in if the abdominal pain continued. (The tests were put on hold because I wasn't over Covid yet.)

About five days later, I'm in the office and he checked me over. I was just over Covid at that time. He postulated that the problem wasn't Covid itself but the fact that due to Covid's fuckery I hadn't moved my bowels in a week and a half. So, he directed me to keep taking the fiber that I was doing already and get a laxative. I was a little suspicious that the laxative wasn't going to help with  my abdominal pain. But, after a few days, it eased up a lot. As for the blood sugar matter, he halved my dose of Glymiperide because apparently Glymiperide can cause people to have randomly low blood sugars. When I was off it, my blood glucose numbers were higher but they weren't dropping into the scary zone. He put me back on it at the half dosage and things were looking more normal.

Then on the Saturday after I saw the doctor, I went to the lab and got my battery of tests done. I was waiting to do one last test when a massive dizzy spell that nearly knocked me on my butt happened. I was gently guided to a chair and they asked if they could help. I said that I thought it was because of my diabetes (because I had been fasting for some of the tests) and they gave me a juice box of apple juice. I confess, as much as I wanted to grumble about diabetes, I couldn't help being happy because I was able to have my favorite type of juice for the first time in years.

Just this Sunday passed, the doctor called me. At first I didn't answer the call because I forgot I had his cell number. The second time he called, I answered it and he had some good news for me. My pancreas, liver, and everything else associated with the production of insulin tested at normal levels. That was a huge relief. It was also a surprise because I thought I was going to have to wait for Wednesday and my appointment to learn what the results of the test were.

There was also some bad news, that was relatively minor. At some point over the time I was sick, I developed a uti. I kinda wondered how it happened but the doctor discussed antibiotics with me and figured out one that will kick it out of my system. I'll be getting that soon. I just hope that they're not horse pills or like the antiviral pills for Covid (4 pills to swallow 2x a day and they tasted gross). But between mental illness problems and fucking Covid, I haven't been blogging or writing anywhere but in my daily journal. And a section of it was a recording of my symptoms.

It is my hope to get all of this stuff that's been blocking me sorted out. Now, the screaming neighbors have been evicted, so that makes one less trigger to deal with. Since the police had a conversation with the other neighbors, things have been a lot calmer and less violent. I'm on tenterhooks to some extent because I know how the abuse cycle works. I keep telling myself that the guy isn't going to come after me and if he did, cast iron frying pan to the face will drop him like a rock. It's not working super great to convince me that I'm safe, but I'm trying.

Screw Covid with a rusty chainsaw, sideways.

 I haven't felt well enough to write on any platform except quick notes in my daily journal tracking my symptoms since about the middle of last month. My youngest son got sick with Covid during what I think was the second week of school. Within 72 hours, my eldest son and I had it too. Beloved came down with it a few days later. (His case was super mild and all he got was the sniffles.) The boys had mostly cold symptoms and a lot of gas.

I need to back this truck up a bit and start over. Snuggle Bug went to school on a Tuesday and in the time it took for him to get there (wearing a mask for safety, like we've been doing the whole time) and get through two classes, he caught Covid. He was sent to the nurse for flu like symptoms and he was there feeling awful. We got a phone call to pick him up and Beloved got out of work for a little while to pick him up from school. Snuggle Bug was not his usual chatty self. He was running a low grade fever and we did a Covid test. He tested positive pretty much immediately. 

I called our family doctor and asked how we should proceed. He said that as a family we should quarantine for the rest of the week and when Snuggle Bug was recovered he can go back to school wearing a mask for 5 days, with us keeping an eye on him for the resurgence of symptoms. Three days later, the boys have mild cold symptoms and a lot of gassiness. Between the two of them, they finished off the two boxes of gas-x that we had in the cupboard over the course of that week. I had half the laundry list of symptoms but tested negative. 

I quickly reached a point where I was nearly delusional from fever, dizzy, and barely able to keep track of a conversation. I was exhausted and constantly running to the bathroom for my butt to explode for the first few days. Then the diarrehea stopped and I had wicked gas pains.  The dizziness and the inability to think clearly became more intense as did the other flu like symptoms. I was sleeping sitting upright for a week and I hated it because no matter what I did I was coughing and hacking like hell. Towards the end of the second week, the area around my pancreas began to ache. At first I passed it off as just muscular pain from all the coughing.

I was dumb. The ache grew more intense and hasn't gone away. As of last Saturday night, my blood sugar has been dropping into the mid-60s to upper 50s. I knew anything below 70 was bad. A little research and I realized with horror just how bad it was. 55 is the number where you need an injection of glucagon. I have none in the apartment. Yesterday was bad with my blood sugar repeatedly plunging. I've called my doctor's office and I am waiting to hear back from them what I should do. To get through the night, I ate a full meal right before I went to bed. The scary part of this is I am not having the symptoms of hypoglycemia when it happens. I just get a hunch to check my sugar and go 'oh fuck!' when it is low. 

Honestly, I am scared because I have never had blood sugar this low. I still feel pretty rotten. The cold symptoms are clearing up. The fever hasn't broken yet. I am still having dizzy spells. And my guts aren't right. I'm really hoping that my doctor has a good idea on what we can do to stabilize my blood sugar. Eating multiple full meals through the day instead of 3 with 2 snacks is not the way to do it, but it is the best we've been able to come up with. And all of this is happening as I am doing extremely low impact activities.

Please forgive the emotional train wreck, we're still trying to figure out where to bury the survivors.

 Dear Reader,

My posts have been intermittent, horrifying at times, and generally full of angst. It's been this way for a while.

Today, I finally figured out why. When my grandparents died is 2013 and 2015, I went into an emotional tailspin that I haven't quite managed to pull out of. I simply haven't had the opportunity to properly grieve their deaths and it's been playing havoc with a number of things, like my writing.

At their funerals, I managed a quick glance in the casket but wasn't given the time to say my goodbyes because I basically was the emotional support person for a number of other relatives. 

At some point over the next month or so, Beloved and I are going to go visit their grave sites so I can have that closure. I can't go back to the farm because of family politics. I'm not welcome there anymore. I think my grandparents were the only ones who truly were happy I was around when I was there. I'm too much of a misfit for the rest of the WASP family, like my aunt (who I am still in contact with).  So, the only way I am going to get closure is to go to the other end of the state and have my breakdown.

Migraines, more CPTSD adventures, and exhaustion, oh my!

 Dear Reader,

Apparently my last post got put behind a warning because community guidelines says it is sensitive material aka material that would distress some readers. I'm kinda going 'How about how distressed I've been and this is my outlet?' But the overlords have made their decision so I will not question it further and invoke their ire.

With the up and down weather we've been having over the last month or so, I've been having migraines. Big surprise, because it's known that when the weather shifts I get them. It was when I had one for 5 days that I finally called my doctor and asked for prescription medication. He put me on a generic version of Imitrex and, my goodness, when the next migraine hit, I took it and was not in pain after waiting 20 minutes. It lasted all day. The next day, I could still feel the migraine but it felt less severe so I took Excedrin Migraine and felt well enough to go on with my day.

The stuff that I talked about in my last post is still ongoing. Through the course of the month, I was barely able to function because of flashbacks and my going numb. Then a wellness check got called in for their apartment and things have calmed down to a significant degree. A few days after that happened, came the 5 day migraine. I was in agony and the Excedrin was barely touching it. When it finally finished, something strange came out of it.

I'm not afraid anymore. I give zero fucks about 90% of the neighbors again. Yes, I'd like to see them alive and well, but beyond that I just don't care. When the neighbors had an argument, I just put on my headphones and listened to music.

Adjusting to the Imitrex is hard. It has me experiencing the mild dizziness and drowsiness side effects. It's annoying. My psydoc and the pharmacist warned me that this was going to happen. I foolishly thought it'd be like the side effects of Benadryl. Nope, I felt like I was on a slow moving tilt-a-whirl and was taking naps every hour. So, I'm still out of commission when a migraine hits. I had this hope that it would make the pain go away and I could just go about  my day slightly dizzy and just yawning. I was wrong. They were absolutely right when they said I shouldn't drive until I know how it effects me. Holy cow, I now know that driving on the migraine medication is a bad idea. It doesn't help that its side effects are enhanced by the side effects of the other medication I take. It sometimes feels like I can't win for losing.

Oh, for you who are keeping score about the thinning hair stuff, here's an update. I stopped using that expensive shampoo and conditioner that was supposed to cure it because it made my head itch and feel like it was lit on fire. Apparently my scalp is sensitive like the rest of my skin. (Beloved is trying it out and it seems to be helping him and he's not having that itching and burning sensation that I was.) I look like I'm going to have a high forehead if this goes the way it appears to be. Fashionable in the 11th century but not quite so much in this one. And the grey, holy cow, it's really showing up. I know partly because my sides and back are buzzed but wow. If you haven't seen my pics on instagram, my hair is no longer long enough that I have to worry about sitting on it. I have a partial pixie cut on top and an undercut. Through the summer, I had the undercut at a 1 but I think the winter it's going to be at a 2.

The funny thing is my hair cut confuses and makes my father in law uncomfortable because it's very masc coded in his opinion. And with my style change from flowy dresses to black clothes and more pants than skirts, he's just squinting at me suspiciously at random. It's been funny.

Dear gods, make it stop.

 Back at the beginning of the month, new neighbors moved into the apartment next door. Usually this is not exceptionally news worthy. These folks, however, are a problem and I can't do a damn thing about it. The young husband is abusive to his wife. Exceptionally so. The walls of the apartments are paper thin and I can hear everything. Sometimes, the fights go outside and I can see him doing things like shaking her around like a rag doll while screaming at her.

As a result of this, my c-ptsd is in full blown action. I'm having emotional flashbacks, I've had a few visual flashbacks. I'm getting confused about *when* I am in my life. I alternate between terrified, numb, deeply hurt, and saddened. Mostly, I've been numb and confused about what on earth I am supposed to be doing.

Down beneath all that is simmering rage. But, I recognize that I'm not twenty anymore and I can't tool this guy up with a louisville slugger as I could back in the day. Add to this he has a gun. He dry fired it in the entryway last week. Then, last Saturday, he fired it off the back deck. He got very lucky that he didn't hit any of the houses across the way or injure some one. And the neighbors just assume the noise is from the gun club across the street.

My brain hasn't been working quite right. I've had three migraines over the last two weeks, each lasting three days approximately. I'm sure some of it is stress from all of this. I'm equally sure that the up and down weather we've been having hasn't done me any favors. But the end result is I tend to sit and stare into space or wander around the apartment not sure what to do, half sick with terror, and perseverating on taking a baseball bat and having a conversation with the guy in Morse code.

I was going to write a story but life happened.

 So, here's how my week has been. Stressful and filled with terror that I'm going to do everything wrong/terror that someone is going to come in to the apartment and assault my kids and I'll freeze and be unable to help them/flashbacks to my shitty childhood.

I really wanted to write to fiction for you guys. You've all been wonderfully patient. It's really hard to write when you are struggling to distinguish flashbacks from reality and having a near constant panic attack. What set this off, you ask? Well the walls in these apartments are really thin and I overheard the neighbor beating his wife, who was running through the apartment slamming doors. It triggered me in a big way.

I fucking hate ptsd. Check again next Friday, I may have something for you, provided my brain calms down.

Tour de Fail

 I was going to participate in Tour De Fleece as I do most years. There has been so much going on here and my brain has been wonky because of it, the most I have spun is 9 yards. It's barely spit in the bucket. I'm disappointed but it's not like I can go back and time and get more spinning done.

I somehow screwed up the preemie sweater and am going to have to rip half of it out because I keep losing stitches on the odd rows. The first half came out fine but that bit where I had to bind of for the front neckline and then pick up stitches for the back line I managed to lose ten stitches. And it continues with that side despite my best efforts. To say the least, I am mightily frustrated.

I started actually knitting a preemie hat. I forgot how much of a pain DPNs are. Sure, you look cool after you get past the wrestling a porcupine stage, but they're still a headache. I'm finding myself reminded why I crochet these things.

I have started on Cuddle Bear's Yule gift. I'm making him a WWI pattered sweater from the Red Cross. Because I couldn't find out what the Red Cross standard for needles were or the yarn that would have been used in the project I had to improvise a bit. It's going to be tan, as he requested. I've already made mistakes in the ribbing. I figure if I keep making the same mistakes for all 4 inches, no body will  notice.

Snuggle Bug has requested a new pair of slippers which will work up fast. I have no clue what to give Beloved. I'm sure I'll figure something out.

Things I hate No. 652: Cleaning up after the neighbors.

 The entryway of the building is a mess. We have our stuff tucked tidily away to one side, practically stacked all on top of each other. Then there's the neighbor who moved in about two months ago (I think, my sleep deprived ass can't tell time quite properly right now despite my first full night of sleep in months.) who has crap all over the place in the entryway. The steps are a covered in dirt and some of it is ground into the paint from way back when the landlord we currently have acquired the building and decided that the entryway needed painting. (Little over a year. Looks like crap because there's the equivalent of muddy prints everywhere.)

The landlord wants the entryway to be tidy. I attempted but gave up because I couldn't keep up with the mess of the last group of people who were living in the other apartments. Just a ton of foot traffic and it was exhausting to try to stay on top of. Miss Thing (because she thinks she's the shit) volunteered to do it. She cleaned half the entryway, the bottom half. Once. Now, Miss Thing is an older woman who talks out both sides of her mouth and is worse at executive function than I am on my really bad days.

I try to be patient with her but I kinda want to punch her in the face when she talks because that's just how great her personality meshes with mine. And who it is that has nicknacks all over the place but Miss Thing. She doesn't dust shit. She doesn't really do anything but bitch and moan or try to con you into doing things for her. But when the landlord is around, she makes a display of herself being 'useful'. I think the landlord is catching on that Miss Thang is as useful as a box of hair and listens like a bag of hammers.

So, where does this put me? Well, I am back at trying to keep the entryway tidy. I'm going to make a point of talking to the landlord when I next see him as to this and explain that I am disabled. The entryway, if I am going to maintain it, is going to cost me spoons that I could have been using on other things. I will work out a cleaning schedule. I will come to some kind of conclusion with him on compensation for the work. Because I am not going to do drudge work for free. I have a hard enough time keeping up my own apartment with two teenagers.

Why am I doing this? About a week ago, the landlord softball pitched a rent hike to me. If other people can lie about doing stuff around this place for a theoretical decrease in rent, I can actually do shit and our rent can stay relatively stable. I may not be able to work a full time job anymore, but basically cleaning one more room once a week is not beyond my reach. Hell, on a good week, I could to it three times. But, I'm going to explain to him that you can't mop ground dirt out of paint and the fix is to sand it all and repaint. Beloved's of the mind he can work on that to help move this entire thing forward and between him and I it'll be done properly.

I can see it now, the crime scene tape that I bought him as a gag gets used to warn people to keep off of the wet painted side of the steps. Come to think of it, it would be kinda funny to be honest. But, I am not going to enjoy this process. Other renters have just thrown trash on the floor and into the garden. They've flicked cigarette butts into the garden or ground them out on the outside steps and left them there. It's been a mess. If we have to clean up after these motherfuckers, it's going to get done right and we're probably going to have some creative solutions to problems like the cigarette butts and trash.

Working on a migraine, yay. /sarcasm

 Today has been beastly hot. It is currently 90 deg F in the apartment with all the windows open and the fans running full blast. It would have been worse if I hadn't opened things up. The high temp has me feeling awful and exhausted. It didn't help that my sleep last night was rotten thanks to this cursed heat and humidity combination. I got more done yesterday than I did today. I folded a ton of laundry. (I still have more to fold but no energy to do it.) 

I tried going on Keen but so far there's been no fish biting. I'm taking the approach that this is like fishing and eventually I'll catch something if I am patient enough. Honestly, though, it looks like Keen is just degrading. It makes me wonder why I am even attempting it right now. Not the bad policies, not the stupid political moves, or the sniping between advisors (which can get bitter in the back channel communication). No, there's just been no flow of business. I'm questioning the whole point to this exercise.

On the fiber front, I did a little spinning today. I had to wear an apron because bits of second cuts off of the roving were flying through the air. I didn't have this happen with the first ball of pencil roving. I'm hoping this is just a coincidence that I'm starting with the wrong end of the ball or something. I'm spinning grey alpaca fiber on a drop spindle that was dirt cheap and I honestly have no idea what the weight of it is. The first single is in a hank sitting on top of some magazines I plan to use in a collage at some point for art therapy day.

I have been wrestling with the badly written instructions in a Leisure Arts manual for how to do the faggot/fagot stitch. After a week of trying different things, I finally dropped the manual and started messing around with the yarn based off of what I saw in the picture. Thus, today, I have a half finished washcloth made in this stitch. It is a yarn-eater stitch and is like the bastard love child of a puff stitch and a v-stitch.

No progress has been made on my black and white sampler. It's been so hot that I just couldn't sit in the front yard and use the light bouncing off of the sidewalk to backlight my work to find the holes so I could stitch. And it looks like the one day it is going to cool off a bit, it'll be raining. So, that project is on hold.

I finished the back of the preemie sweater that I started. It is a six inch square. Now to make the front panels and the sleeves. It's a bit of a pain because I am using 'baby' yarn which is stupidly fine and an e-hook which is a bit of a strain on my eyes. I am thankful that I have my bifocals that let me read but it's a bit more challenging to do crochet on a small scale because these eyeglasses are smaller frames than my last pair. I have to find my cheap readers that work pretty good for this stuff. They're buried somewhere on the kitchen table.

A struggle.

 I am going to ramble for a bit as I try to parse out the best decision to make right now regarding Keen. They've made changes to accommodate veteran advisors. They seem to be ok from what I'm seeing in the Advisor's Forum. I've been getting messages from clients (some new) asking when I'll be back. Keen's main appeal was the flexible schedule. Then they changed metrics so that advisors who are on longer tend to get a higher number of approval points. It makes it really hard for people who have to be part time like myself.

I got real angry when they made those changes to the metrics. I was just getting back to working with Keen when things went topsy-turvy. Now, they seem to be settling out and it looks like there is some interest in my returning. I just don't know if it is a good idea. I go and try to get clients with my limited skills at self promotion and nothing comes of it. I attempt to rely on Keen's promotion program and it's been very hit or miss if I make anything on a given day. With their acquisition of the European equivalent of Keen, I don't know if I am going to have a better shot at getting clients during my limited hours.

I really enjoyed doing readings on Keen. And I'm good at it. I take some pride in my work. It pained me to walk away from Keen and threw my schedule into chaos. This didn't help my mental state. It is still challenging to try to keep a schedule because I don't have that outside influence to help give a guideline. I don't exactly have a 'real' job to enforce my schedule. I see that Keen's getting greedy regarding money. That means I am going to have to raise my rates to keep up with the increasing overhead cost of having the account on there. I don't know if that's going to scare off clients.

The biggest struggle that I am having here is should I be focusing on Keen or my writing? I am stalled on my writing because my brain isn't behaving very well. Chronic insomnia for about a year makes it really difficult to focus. A thing that could be problematic for working on Keen too. I did some bibliomancy on it. I was advised to put aside my misgivings and tangled thoughts to focus on what I love. I'm torn, because I love doing tarot readings and helping people and I love writing. It's hard to find a way to do both.

Schedules are great when they work. But they are a problem when they don't work because you're continually playing catch up. I don't know. Maybe I'll give Keen a try today and see what happens. And when I'm not doing readings work on some off-line writing. Blog posts will probably have to wait for the evening, but I still have to plan what I'm going to do for the week. Last weekend was a bad brain weekend and I didn't get any planning or writing done. I didn't really get anything done because I spent so much time panicked that I was going to do everything wrong.

Color therapy.

My Brother-in-Law gave me this book for Yule/Christmas a few years back. I have only finished one of the images in it. But I've decided that when I do my weekly half hour of art therapy, one time a month I will bust out my colored pencils and work on a page. It's going to take me a while to get through the book but it's brainless work. I suppose it lowered my stress levels some. I was a little frustrated that the half hour passed before I could finish the design element that I was working on. I had one more element to do before what I planned for the day was done.

Still, I am making progress on this. I tried out coloring books aimed for younger audiences and I got bored quickly. I am giving this one an honest shot. The details in it are interesting and can lend themselves to complex color combinations. I'm not attributing therapeutic meaning to the colors that I pick. I'm simply going of of aesthetics here. It's like the coloring pages they had me do when I was in the psych ward. Brainless work that just forces you to slow down.

Before, I did the green portions. I guess that was back in April. Then I set the book down and forgot about it. Today, I did the yellow and red portions. I was planning on doing some of the inner section in red as well, but I was  having a hard time choosing from my massive colored pencil collection. (I have been hoarding colored pencils since childhood because my parents were prone to confiscating them and my artwork. So I kept them hidden away in random places. Now that I can have them out, I've got them organized, roughly, by color and I've almost 100 of them of various brands.)

I'm not hypomanic, so I don't know how well working on this coloring book when I'm in that state would do for slowing my brain down. I'm just tired and mildly anxious about Cuddle Bear getting his braces tomorrow. This was an ok distraction from that anxiety. Now, I have a ton of housework to catch up on ranging from laundry to dishes to wiping down the bathroom. All the stuff that fell by the wayside during the hypomanic episode and the depressive episode that came before it. I wish my brain worked properly. Then I'd be able to keep up with stuff.
 

Is the fish dying or not? I have no clue.

 We have a dark blue betta with fancy name (Shimmer). He's been my youngest son's Lego buddy since I brought the fish home. Snuggle Bug will make a point of showing Shimmer what he's built, how it works, and the whole deal about how it fits into the play narrative that he's working on at the time. (Right now, the play narrative is robot Pac-Man vs. possessed animatronic toys. I blame Five Nights at Freddie's for this.) Snuggle Bug is Shimmer's biggest fan and the first to point out when he starts acting weird.

Well, as the kids were at school yesterday, I noticed that Shimmer kept coming to the top of his tank and floating on his side. I cleaned the tank and dosed him with some medicine. He seemed to be a bit improved in the morning but now he's doing it again. Snuggle Bug will be pissed off if his Lego buddy doesn't make it. He was making plans to build a robot version of Shimmer this weekend.

It doesn't help that Snuggle Bug is terrified of death. And yet, what did he pick for us to read for a bed time story but the Illustrated Children's Classics version of Dracula. (He did not like Renfield and the sparrows.) I don't know if reading about the Un-Dead is going to make him less afraid of death. But I know that despite his horror at Renfield eating the sparrows and his disappointment with the death of one of the FMCs (female main characters), he still wants to finish the book and find out how they stop Dracula from doing horrible things in the end.

We've talked about death on a semi-regular basis because we've gone through about six betta fish over the last few years. (It makes me suspect that there's something not right about our water.) Snuggle Bug just is afraid that death is going to be awful, painful, and terrifying. He's not afraid that he's going to blink out of existence. He's not afraid that he's going to be punished by an angry deity. It is death itself that he is afraid of. No amount of talking that I've done on the topic has done much to reassure him.

It doesn't help when there's this shit about mass shootings in the news. The Buffalo one was upsetting for Beloved and I because we have friends who live a few blocks away from the store where it happened. The school shooting in Texas was what got Snuggle Bug worked up for a few days. As they watch the news as part of their social studies class, I have a feeling that hearing about last night's shooting in Maryland is going to have Snuggle Bug upset again. So, this business of the fish is actually a pretty big deal.

I know some people will go 'It's just a fish, get a new one.' But to the boys, this fish is a part of our family and they love it dearly. They love to watch the fish get excited and zoom around the tank before feeding time. They will 'share' new toys with the fish by putting them beside the tank for the fish to investigate. They've been doing this since they were small. The fish is a big deal for them. Just like their pet snails.

So, I hope this business of the fish swimming sideways at the top of the tank resolves itself soon. I really wouldn't want to have to explain to Snuggle Bug that his little buddy is dead. Because then Snuggle Bug will perseverate on if Shimmer suffered horribly through his death. I'm doing my best to keep the kids calm and say 'well, Shimmer is a weird fish and he does weird things sometimes.' Because, Shimmer is an odd fish that will randomly attack the tank for no reason, start zooming around the tank because he saw something green, and generally be strange in the way that only betta fish can be.

Yeah, I missed mental health month. Still important thing here.

 If you've been keeping score for as long as I've been running this blog, I have mental illness struggles. Part of it is suicidal ideation due to depressive episodes. Thanks alot bipolar, it's just a great feature. (Where's the sarcasm font again?) Today is art therapy day. I spend 30 minutes doing art and thinking about it's meaning.

The semicolon is a symbol for suicide awareness. Generally, it is found among people who have survived suicide attempts. I have struggled with depression and suicidal ideation since I was a kid. Some of it was growing up in an abusive household. Some of it is just due to my genetic lotto win of undiagnosed bipolar (which finally did get diagnosed in my 30s through a series of horrific events, but that's beside the point). 

The heart below the semicolon is for love. It is love that keeps me pushing forward and moves me to get help when I need it. The blue portion of the semicolon is a tear for all the lives lost due to complications from mental illness, such as suicide.

Important note: I am not suicidal right now. I am feeling maudlin and thoughtful. I think I'm out of the hypomanic episode. It's raining and gloomy. It tends to make my mood gloomy. That's part of where this came from. I just stared at the page with no idea what to do. Then I drew this with my oil pastels and put the book away. 

Coming down from hypomania & med changes is exhausting.

 As I've been dealing with hypomania for a spell, I've been doing a lot of stabbity. Some of it is on that sampler and some of it is on this project that I found at the bottom of a bag of yarn that I was given after Grandma K. died. She worked the handles of the fan and set it aside. I started the butterflies last week and as I was working the purple arch across the top of the fan, I found a strand of Grandma's hair tangled in it. 

I confess, I teared up a bit as I stitched it into the project. It's a small bit of Grandma that will always be with me now. She was using a round frame to stitch it but I simply didn't have the same sized frame in my collection (shocker right there, because my collection of hoops is extensive). I won the small scroll frame that fit this project perfectly in an auction at the spinner's guild.

When I wasn't doing embroidery, I was cleaning things, pacing, and just a ball of energy

I spent that energy spinning as I was pacing around the apartment. I managed to get the first single for a two ply alpaca yarn finished, wetted, thwacked, and hung. It's S-spun and is cobweb weight, for the most part. There's a few slubby sections but mistakes means it's handmade.

Still wired, but maybe there's hope.

 I'm definitely hypomanic right now. I've been up since 0320 and I feel like I can vibrate through space and time right now. I have been avoiding the internet and social media because I don't want to do something stupid that I'll have to clean up later. It's been a long week or so. The days blur together and between my sleep difficulties and my brain going 10k mp/h, I have a hard time keeping up. Somehow, I am managing to keep notes, though they're scattered through different locations. I'm going to try to channel this urge to organize and clean everything into getting my notes into order.

I have been dealing with what I call 'brain itchies' for the entire time I've been like this. It's aggravating and it is making me a bit grouchy, on top of the mood randomly going between Fighty McFightface and HappyFunBall. Things like the kids' Rubric's Cube being scrambled is irritating because I look at it and my brain screams at me all the colors should be the same on each face. I'd solve the damn thing but I don't remember how to solve a Rubric's Cube. In my rambling last night, I was talking about how I was going to buy two and work at each slowly until I master how the damn thing works and then I was going to unscramble the cubes. Beloved then showed me a video on Youtube of how these damn things can be disassembled and put back together to be cleaned. Of course, he described it as how you can explode one and my brain thought t.n.t., which made me immediately start cracking up hysterically.

I started reorganizing and cleaning the project room. I am finding all kinds of shit that I forgot existed. Like the two bins full of fiber that needs to be washed (they're sealed shut and the samples of fiber are in sealed plastic bags, so there's no smell). I found most of the floor and then covered it up again with boxes as I was going through stuff. But, I am actually putting things away in places where they can be found. 

I have been restraining the urges to organize the kitchen and our pantry-shelves (a bookshelf repurposed to hold dry goods and canned goods) by color and such. It's been a major brain itchy because I look at it and see that there is no rhyme or reason to it and I feel like I must fix it. When that feeling gets too strong, I go into the project room (which evokes it writ large because of the chaos in there) and start working. I am right now taking a break from cleaning. I'm struggling with the urge to start dragging out all of the plastics from underneath the sink and scrubbing them. It's been a day. And we're not even half done yet.

As Beloved says ' @whee '

 Finally the depressive episode is lifting. But I'm transitioning into hypomania. I kinda suspected this was going to happen since I have been waking up at o'dark thirty every morning for the last three weeks. I've promised Beloved that I will not reorganize the kitchen by color again. But, I have no idea how far up I am going to go because it's been a while since I've been hypomanic and I can't entirely predict what I'll fixate on.

In the meantime, the Spinning Guild meets Saturday. I may or may not be going depending on brain state. It's musical wheels and everybody who has an interesting spinning wheel brings one for people to try out. I have a kick wheel (made by Jim at True Creations) and I totally love it. I also won random rainbow striped roving that I can use on it to demonstrate  how it works and share with interested parties. I'd like to make this happen, but if I'm at a point where I'm bound to say whatever potentially awful thing comes to mind, I really should stay home.

Monday,  I go to see my other eye doctor and talk about if I am developing glaucoma or what's the deal with my right eye being wonky. (I see the optimologist next month about a possible new prescription because of this business with my right eye.) I'm kinda scared about the glaucoma thing.

Tuesday, I talk to my psychiatrist. If I'm hypomanic at the time, it may be a bit of a surprise for him because most of our sessions I have either been depressed or meh.

Wednesday, Cuddle Bear goes to the orthodontist. I have some suspicion that this will be the appointment that he gets braces put on and we make the down payment on the second round of braces. He's nervous. Heck, I'm a little nervous. But the orthodontist is a good guy and really knows what he's doing. It when we get to the oral surgery stage that I am real nervous about because I don't know how that'll go at all or who we're going to see or anything else like that. The kids have a great dental care team. I know they'll recommend someone who is good. I hope that they'll do the procedure under sedation so that Cuddle Bear doesn't have a panic attack.

[insert witty title here]

 I am struggling with depression again. It is a never ending merry-go-round of suck. Start to feel ok and then I drop into depression because of situational bullshit. Or, start to feel ok and then I drop into depression because my brain chemistry is fucked. Either way, it's bullshit.

Book five of my fantasy series is out. The paperback got approved yesterday. I have yet to slap up links to it on social media and such. Honestly, I feel like I am going nowhere fast with my fantasy series. I am not going to give up, I'm just very frustrated that I can't seem to manage to find my audience. (Hence the dog pic.)

I'm going to shut down the adult fiction blog I have going and start actually publishing it under a pen name. I don't know if I am going to have to keep a blog for that pen name to keep readers interested or what. I just don't know. I don't have a solid plan in mind. I'm making shit up as I go along. I've been hesitant about attempting to sell adult fiction because I was convinced that I was real bad at writing it. But, upon consideration, I am a decent author whose narrative style is pretty dynamic (or so I've been told). And I've been doing research into this for about three years, maybe five. There's some really awful stuff on the market that sells fairly well. If I set my price low and focus on writing quality short stories, maybe I can make a few bucks like those people writing the bad stuff.

Because I keep struggling with mental health issues, I have been struggling to write pretty much anything. It's not helping me any. Some of the low confidence issues that I am having right now are due to a three year project falling apart. Some of the low confidence issues are because I keep having flashbacks and intrusive memories of my parents telling me that I wasn't ever going to be successful as an author. C-PTSD sucks.

My computer is acting suspicious. It isn't charging. I don't know if it is because I have been using it as a laptop and this is how it is conserving the battery or what's going on. Windows is pushing real hard for me to upgrade to Win 11 and get Windows360, their office suite. It's really annoying. I was ok with my Win 8 machine until it literally started having mechanical failure issues. I'm kinda concerned that this computer, which isn't a year old and is 3 days away from having the warranty lapse, is mechanically fucked up some how. Planned obsolescence is a thing. It makes me miss the clunky, big desktop computer that we had running for almost a decade.

I don't know what I'm going to do with this machine. I'm considering reupping the warranty. I'm considering taking it to the local computer fix-it shop and having them figure out why in hell this thing isn't charging. I know one thing, I'm not upgrading to Win 11 and I'm not getting their office suite. They're working on forcing everyone's data off their boxes and into the cloud, where they can hold it hostage for money. Fuck that noise. I will switch to a different operating system before I let those assholes have more of  my data than they already got. 

I mean, the system is still trying to get me to use a pic of myself to unlock the computer. I refuse to do it. Passwords are a thing. They're useful. And I don't trust Microsoft Corp. They've done enough shady things in the past, I am suspicious of the whole 'unlock your computer with a smile'. Also, it's creepy as fuck to have Friend Computer demand that I smile.