Need. Want.

There’s this thing in my head about choices, about feeling like you don’t have choices, about the connection between that feeling and depression, and then there’s this conversation about if you can map information on the brain, if you can map learning on the brain, could you not map a happy existence onto the brain, erase PTSD, erase abuse, erase violence, erase bad things that happen to you, a la The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (that movie completely fucked with me)…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lnSgSe2GzDc

In fact, I just watched the trailer, and even that made me cry. How many years after I saw the movie in the theaters? God DAMN it. I was OK. I was. I really was. And then one thing. It’s always just one thing. It’s a matchstick on a huge firewood pile, and that fucking little thing, it topples the pile, pulls it crashing down on my fucking head and I’m in that place again. Damn, but I need to draw something. I need to spend some time in a bar with a sketchbook and a pen and people around me completely ignoring me, except for the wait staff, who are appropriately attentive, but not overly so, and someone should buy me a drink, wave at me from across the bar as the staff delivers it and stares pointedly at them, and then they fucking LEAVE, because that’s how much social interaction I need at the moment I think.

All this after I spent a perfectly nice couple of hours with stitching friends, except I wasn’t stitching, because I am a woman on a semi-psychotic mission that seems never-ending some days. Because yes, I will finish this quilt, because I have a deadline and it’s important and it’s good, but there is another one in line, and when that one is done, there will be another one, because there always is and there is nothing else.

Is this related to the girlchild’s vomitfest from last night (let’s all hope it was food poisoning, because she ate at her dad’s, not my house, and I can’t afford days of vomit at the moment…or like ever).

FUCK.

Deep breaths. Really, universe, you keep trying, and I sit in my chair, cross my legs. flip you off calmly, and say “Bring it the fuck on. I can do it.” And then at midnight, my brain implodes into a ball of messed-up goo.

What’s left to be cut out…

It doesn’t look like much, but it’s time-consuming. Maybe tomorrow night? Maybe if it’s not a fucked-up mess like tonight?

Actually, I cut out for 2.5 hours tonight, between the meeting and home. So fuck you. Bastards. I did work.

I’m at 8.5 hours. I don’t think it’s going to take 15 total…maybe another 3?

Here’s what’s done and what’s trash…

Lots of big body pieces cut out today. It’s good. No really. Fuck you brain, it IS good.

I think I need to learn to filter better. Filter the stuff that sends me off balance. I know I could do that if conditions were right (they’re not).

Need. Want. I did a quilt about that…

One of the few sold. Need on the TV. It’s actually called Lost. But yeah. Need.

Tomorrow’s brain. It should function better than today’s.