Grabbing That Errant Eyeball

Well, first of all, I found piece 469, one of the tiny fingernails on that hand that is either reaching for or grabbing that errant eyeball.

I still have an elbow shadow, another fingernail, and a droplet of blood that are missing, but I’m hoping they’ll show up in the next 8 boxes. Holy crap. Do I really have 8 boxes left to iron? I am slow. Actually, it might be 9 boxes, but I’ve ironed bits and pieces out of the 1200, 1400, and 1500 boxes that were mixed up in the lower numbers because I missed numbering those pieces and had to go back and do it.

I haven’t ironed the damn octopus tentacles at all, because honestly, that scares me. I might need tweezers. And a magnifying glass.

Today was a much more successful day, and I was feeling pretty good about what I had achieved, and then shit from my past dropped in my lap. I’m trying to ignore it, like you would ignore an old smelly cat, but really, those are impossible to ignore, because they do that kneading thing with their claws in your lap and they’re purring and often trying to bump their head against your mouse hand and it’s just freakin’ annoying. Yes, I have personal experience with this.

I spent some time today at a friend’s house and cut out most of the Wonder Under for the 10 small bird quilts…

I finished the rest tonight. It took from 5 minutes (bird 2) to 16 minutes (bird 8) to trim the Wonder Under…about an hour and 45 minutes total today. My goal is to iron some onto fabric this weekend, but I really wanted to have the big quilt ironed together before I did that, and I don’t think I can do that as quickly as I’d like. The birds so far have taken from 22 minutes (bird 1) to 46 minutes (bird 8) to number, trace onto Wonder Under, and then cut out of the Wonder Under. Bird 8 has more pieces and is larger. The smaller birds are 1-6. Anyway. It’s progress. Progress is good. I put each bird into a tupperware or rubbermaid container (let’s hope we don’t have many leftovers in the near future) for the next step. It’s not a lot different from what I do now with 100 pieces in a bin, except this isn’t very many pieces, honestly.

The next renovation step has a lot of wait time in between the separate tasks, so hopefully I can stay focused and finish the damn quilt things…I’m starting to panic. I really feel like I’m getting nothing of substance done, and I know it’s because each thing I’m doing is so huge and time-consuming that you can’t see the finish line for all the chaos in front of it…like the living room getting done or this big quilt being finished. Even the birds…they’re small, but I’m crazy and decided to do 10 instead of 1 or 2. It’s really because I couldn’t decide…and there’s some argument that it’s more efficient this way. We’ll see if that’s true.

So yeah, I hiked tonight after…well, my last long hike was Memorial Day weekend…I never blogged about it for some reason (end of school brain death). I did a short flat hike in mid-June, with minor knee pain…but otherwise, oh yeah, there was one dog hike. That’s it. So I had been planning to do something this week and just couldn’t commit. Honestly, I was really worried my knee would act up…so I finally picked one that was strenuous but shorter than what I normally do, and in the evening, and that had at least one person I knew on it, just in case. And I packed my poles, in case the knee got really bad.

And then I hiked. And it was good. And the knee behaved, zero pain. And yes. Hallelujah. I felt good about that. So I will try to keep doing at least one night hike a week. I’ve persuaded boychild and my ex to hike tomorrow night to see fireworks (girlchild is in Anaheim and will be at Disneyland for that…scary!).

My success with the hike was enough to push me into ironing tonight…also I wasn’t as freakin’ tired as I have been the rest of this week…maybe because I went to bed at a reasonable hour last night (unlike tonight, right?). Sleep has not been good. I’m worried about upcoming stuff, lots of stuff. And worry is not good for sleep. Neither is being an old lady, but I can’t do anything about that.

So I finished up the pelvic area…some scars and cracks…

And then moved on into the ribcage above it, which is really fucking complicated (goddamned designer is just making it hard on me).

She has two hands in front of her that I haven’t ironed yet (obviously), and she’s holding her uterus (like you do). And there’s a snake that is somehow behind her and in her…so that’s the yellow/green stuff in her middle area. I’m mostly through the 900s. So halfway. Aargh. It felt like so much more, but if you think about it, there’s half the body left, including the face, which is incredibly complicated, plus a bird and an eyeball and a wolf and I don’t even know what else…and those damn tentacles. So I really shouldn’t be surprised. I’m at 12 hours and 38 minutes and I need to start spending more than an hour or two a day on this. So I should assume another 12 hours, at least. If I start now, I’ll be done before lunchtime.

Yeah. I’m a slavedriver. But I know what I need to get done this summer, and I know what challenges I will face in the new school year, so trying to get stuff done AND get my head straight would be a good thing. Damn head…keeps twisting around and trying to figure shit out. It just needs to accept that other people’s shit is not its problem. Sometimes I really hate days like today when I get so close to good feelings all around, not happy, but not shit, and then one thing throws me. I need more resilience. More padding. More protection. I’m imagining this…

Yup. That, except around my brain. Plus smiling. Yeah.

I miss this…

Because she’s gone for days…Key Club convention. Her male counterpart is around…he got his new college computer (grad present from his parental units) and is thrilled to have a computer that will run more than one application at a time. I feel that pain. We have three old and decrepit computers that need updating…so that’s one down. I’m not replacing all three…mine first, because it’s the oldest and makes the most inappropriate noises, despite my earlier fixes of the year. By then, girlchild will need her own super-speedy laptop for college. So maybe that’s how I solve that problem. Just spend thousands of dollars to send them to college instead of fixing the house computers.

Here he is with his last National Piano Guild certificate…a Superior rank.

Kind of cool…I remember taking him to the first one a million years ago. He was shorter than me then and had a shaved head. Things change. I bet if I go to bed, things will change again. Like maybe I won’t feel so crappy. Look how much stuff I did today! Brain! Pay attention! Yeah. OK. Sorry. Didn’t mean to disturb you. OK, I’ll turn the light out before I go. Closing the door. Sorry. Whispering now. Good night. Sleep tight. Don’t let the…OK OK. I’m shutting up now. Geez. Brain has no sense of humor.

Not Good with the Waiting…

So one of the triggers for my bad moods, the sad stuff, is not getting anything artistic done. I know this. I tell myself this all the time, but I get to this place where I can’t DO anything…except pick up a book, even though I know I need to. I’m physically tired, mentally exhausted, and the only thing I can handle as I’m standing in the chaotic space that is currently my house is a book. So I’ve read a LOT of them in the last two days. I really just need to shake off the mood and DO, and I think it will be better. There’s a lot of waiting around when you’re doing renovations though…waiting for contractors to show, waiting for things to dry. I hate waiting. I suck at it. Really. I do. I fidget and I can’t get anything started because I don’t know how much time I have, and I hate that.

I don’t wait well. Best if you don’t make me wait if at all possible, or if you do make me wait, give me a fairly accurate time of unwaiting or I will get irritated. I try to deal with my dislike of waiting by playing stupid games on my phone or reading blogs (they don’t take long to read), but at some point, I’m fairly sure I have better things to do than wait. Really, it’s rude to make me wait beyond a certain amount. But there are plenty of reasons why you have to wait…I’m better when I know there’s a reason (like the carpet has to come from some other state or the contractor already has jobs lined up). I get those. I don’t like it, but it doesn’t bug me. I don’t like waiting when it’s just because you forgot or you lost track of time…and yes, I know there are people like that. I gave birth to one. You tell her we’re leaving in 5 minutes, and when that 5 minutes is up, THEN she gets up and gets ready. Which is why I tell her “5 minutes” when it’s really 10. Yeah. Someday she’ll figure out that I’m doing that.

Anyway, this house stuff is a shitload of waiting. My life, honestly, is tons of waiting without really knowing what I’m waiting for or how to make it stop being waiting and instead being. Remember that interview question, “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” Oh hell. Fuck if I know. With both kids graduated, me completely broke (like worse than now). That’s all I can see. The rest is unknown. I can’t predict it. I don’t even want to hope for anything, because then where are you at when you get there and that’s not where you are? I thought I knew where I’d be this year at this time, and I was completely wrong, and that still feels like shit and probably will for a while. So what’s the point of that question? I know, they want to know what my ambitions are: “I see myself more sane than I am now, and hopefully the house is cleaner because the kids will not be living here.” Beyond that? Don’t know. Can’t see that far. Don’t want to see that far in case it’s just more of this.

So yesterday I waited for the mirror guys…see that wall o’ mirrors, the wall o’ 70s flashbacks?

They showed up with their fancy tools and their hang-loose hand gestures (seriously, he did the hang loose and then said “ciao”…) and in 20 minutes, they had all 4 panels down and out of the house.

OH MY GOD. Why didn’t I do this 17 years ago when we moved in? I thought it would be a lot more expensive than it was. The kids say the room looks smaller, but I don’t see it. I just see a Lack of Mirrors and I have to tell you, that is the closest I’ve gotten to happy happy joy joy in a year.

It didn’t last long, though, because then I’m looking at this.

Giant Sighs of Drywall Damage Hell. The plus is that my college art degree qualifies me to fix this. OK, really, it’s not that hard, right? There is texture all over this wall, so I’m going to have to patch the texture.

The carpet guy showed up in here too (didn’t have to wait for him…he just showed up without calling, which honestly is better). Unfortunately, we’re not getting carpet NEXT week, so I will have to live with chaos through the middle of July. AARGH. Sigh. I knew that might happen and I have a plan to move stuff a bit more slowly and stash it in my bedroom and the boychild’s bedroom (because the girlchild’s room looks like a hurricane hit it, which technically it did, and there is zero available floor space. It’s just damn scary in there)…and then the day before, we will deal with the major furniture issues. But I need to get those two walls done first…

I spent yesterday scraping mastic off, with dad helping, and then when I went off to an appointment, he started patching…the hole on the right had a speaker wire in it. I don’t know why. We don’t have speakers. It didn’t appear to be attached to anything.

I had book club last night, which turned into an interesting discussion of women in science and how it’s STILL an issue to be a woman and to do science, and so many people, men and women, believe that it’s so much better, when really, it’s not. After the last few book clubs I’ve gone to, I find it impossible NOT to evaluate a book’s ability to be fair to female characters, and the comics industry is even worse when it comes to this because of the art involved…you aren’t just imagining what a character looks like and what they’re thinking, you have a freakin’ picture of them. So now I read both comics and literature with this eye towards how we represent women, how we treat them when they are dealing with things that are purely female (periods, pregnancy, sex–which is different for women, menopause, aging). What questions do we ask in interviews of women that we don’t ask of men? Can you tell the gender of an author merely by reading their text? Dan Simmons? Obviously male. Robin Hobbs? I thought she did a relatively good job with males and females. And dogs, for that matter, although she needs to stop KILLING them. OK, it was for the story. I get it. I thought it was interesting to read LOCAS II, because Jaime Hernandez is a male Hispanic artist, but almost all the characters are female, and he does a relatively good job of portraying a wide range of truly female emotions and actions. His men? His men are a little freaky. Ray’s probably the best…

ANYWAY, I came home tired and ate and exercised and read a whole ‘nother book, because it’s all I could handle, and then went to bed and was awakened by the phone ringing, which I ignored, but probably shouldn’t have, because it was followed by dad knocking on the door to finish spackling.

Well, and there was THIS noise…I don’t know what the damn cat was doing, but I came in to this.

And there’s dad, sanding up a storm. He finished all the spackle, but I’ll be spending Independence Day texturing stuff. And hopefully ironing, because REMEMBER?

This is my road to a decent mood. Not the wall. The art. I gotta do some waiting before that though. Sigh.

I Can’t Opt Out of the Tree-Killing…

Hello Internet. I have talked to very few people in the last 24 hours…in fact, I think all of them were either related to me by blood or they were providing a service for which they were paid. Hmn. That sounds bad. I went to look at carpet for the living room. I said “No Thank You” to the Kohls’ lady who wanted me to get their rewards card, and I ordered a burrito. I said yes to salsa. The guy at the gym talked to me because I can never get my card to scan. Apparently it takes special skills for that. I also talked to my mental health insurance company about the plethora of trees they are killing by sending me three pieces of paper in the mail in an envelope every time I go to counseling. I feel sorry for those who need counseling multiple times/week…I mean, first of all, because they need that much therapy but also because of the trees they are killing.

It turns out I can’t opt out of the tree-killing. I must endure it. I do not understand. It’s like the silly yellow immunization record I’m supposed to bring every time the kids go to the doctor. We lost boychild’s years ago, and I never remember girlchild’s. Why is it not all accessible on the web? Well, it sort of is, but they still want that yellow piece of folded paper in its funny plastic cover.

So the plus with going to work every day is that I often have substantive conversations with humans I’m not related to, and I don’t have to pay them to have those conversations. Instead, I spend a lot of time hiding in books or avoiding the darkly dank bits of my brain. Not fun.

When I woke up this morning and opened my blinds, this is what I saw…

Now yes, I know, it’s a nasty bit of dirt that used to be a lawn, and it will eventually be something nicer, but I’m not planting things in the summer because it’s silly in Southern California when there will be no rain for the next four or five months to plant things unless you plan to water them a lot. You can see where the trees belong though…in the place where I don’t have to stare at my neighbor’s truck. So dad found some trees, maybe, and hopefully later this week we will deal with that. Or next week. Because at least I can plant the trees and something else to block delivery guys from wondering where the fuck my front door is (because that ain’t it). And yes, that’s where they left the box. Right there. In the middle of the dirt.

The box was addressed to the boychild and had this lovely tape on it.

Jul 1 14 002 small

Yes, this is how my life is at the moment. Tape is exciting. And uses the word pilfer. I’m betting none of my students know what pilfer means. Although I did teach them irk and vex, so I could have taught them pilfer as well. Next year. I’m also going to teach them how to make a proper British cup of tea, so they can stop asking me about my coffee (if it has milk in it, it must be coffee?). The next most common question in my class besides “Can I go to the bathroom?” which is always answered with, “Yes, I believe you know HOW, but not right now,” is “What’s THAT for?” while pointing at the eyewash. Hate that thing. I bump into it constantly, it’s in a stupid fucking location, whole room is designed by a blind dehydrated poodle, and it doesn’t matter that I demonstrate how and why to use it on like the third day of school, I will get asked about 148 times during the year (there are only 183 school days; you do the math) about what it’s for. I’m thinking of making posters for the most annoying questions so I’ll just have to point at them. Of course, one of those posters would simply say, “It’s not coffee; it’s tea.” Maybe I could have one of the Doctors saying it. David Tennant would probably do that for me. I’ll text him.

OH MY. I can actually have my tea in a David Tennant mug.

Unfortunately, the link goes to a mug with not quite as much handmade character, but here it is…and really, if I got this for school, I’d just have to explain who it was to 95% of my students.

Yes, I need to get out more. I’m going to be doing that tomorrow. Maybe. Because the girlchild started texting me at midnight about her bee sting. She stepped on a bee at the soccer tournament yesterday afternoon, and it didn’t start swelling until last night, and tonight it’s bugging her again (please don’t make me say something about how walking around on a bee sting injury at the Del Mar Fair might have made it worse, because you honestly can’t tell a 16-year-old anything like that…they will just turn it into some drama about what an awful mother you are and did you call her stupid?). I gave her some recommendations (ice, Benadryl, Motrin, cold washcloth), but she’s leaving tomorrow for Anaheim for a huge Key Club convention, so inevitably the foot will go south once she’s up there, probably in the middle of the night, so I’m expecting to have to drive to Anaheim in the middle of the night tomorrow to take her to the hospital. Seriously. Sigh.

Meanwhile, boychild and I finished painting another two walls. All that’s left is the long 22-foot wall where the mirrors are…they come down tomorrow. Worst-case scenario, we’ll have to replace drywall. Which I don’t know how to do. Minor issue. There’s the little piece of wall next to the fireplace too. It has a mastic issue. I’m hoping for carpet installation by the end of next week (I can hope, can’t I?). Then put the house back in some semblance of order, because it’s reminding me too much of an episode of Hoarders at the moment…like the season finale.

I did iron a bit today…but not until late…

These bits are fussy. And very light. I think that was on purpose. I did manage to do the hand on the right side too. Up into the pelvic bone next, then into the torso. The uterus…it’s not in the body. She’s holding it. This is a quilt about menopause and how it fucks with all your systems…including the mental crap. Really, between the hormones and the diabetic stuff, it’s amazing my mind isn’t totally crumbling. Well, maybe it is.

I read a lot today. Couldn’t deal. That’s what happens when I can’t deal. I finished this…

Locas II by Jaime Hernandez. I’ve read some of the Love and Rockets series, and couldn’t find Locas I in the library. It was OK, sometimes really good and sometimes just crazy and even unintelligible, which might just come from not living in that world. Plus I couldn’t always tell the characters apart, especially when they changed hair color. But the graphic style is really nice.

I also read Relish by Lucy Knisley, which is the next book-club selection. I really liked this, and will hand it off to the girlchild, because it’s all about being in love with food…

It’s a really nice story about how Lucy fell in love with food over the years and the influence her parents had on her food connections. There’s even a few recipes in there. Her drawing style is really nice and clean.

Anyway, I suspect there will be less time tomorrow to lose myself in words (I even wrote tonight…over 900 words of the book, plus the 1400 I’ve written here). So all those things should add up to good. My counselor often asks me if things are good, if I remember what happy or joyful feel like. I have some vague memory of it, but I always have to stop and think about it…the third book I started today, Allen Zadoff’s The Lost Mission (or I Am the Mission, depending on what you think they might title it), had this to say: “I’ll give you a hint…if you have to think about it that long, it’s not happiness.” Yeah. I’m with you on that. A lot of it is just filler. And yes, I realize that reading actual books makes me even more of a tree killer…

I Had Cement for Her…*

I cannot find my head. It’s lost in a book somewhere, or under a pile of things to be filed, or perhaps I left it in Google Docs where I’m apparently writing a story of my own (best to wish you aren’t in it). It could be on a soccer field with the girlchild’s flipflops or in the hotel room in Corona where I left my nail scissors (dammit). It’s not here, though. It’s not engaged in anything. It’s performing tasks as told, based on a list. I guess the list is logical: Keep working on getting the living room done. Keep working on getting the big quilt done (and then moving on to the next logical step in the quiltmaking process). Keep checking things off that are supposed to get done. Keep reading, just take up the next book in the pile or the one that’s due back to the library next or the one that has to be read before the next book club meeting.

I’m stressed. I know that. There are many things that I am juggling and I don’t feel good about it. There is no relief when one is done, when it is retired from the juggling horde. It seems every time I get rid of one, two take its place.

Where is the part of my life where I lie by the pool with a drink and birds chirping and a nice book in hand? Having an intelligent conversation with someone I enjoy? Feeling at peace with the world, content, happy with my lot in life?

Fuck me. I really suck at this.

I think I need to find more time for exercise, meditation, and drawing. Funny that. It’s vacation. I should have plenty of time. I know I don’t have any peace…not much at the moment. Even ironing tonight gave me fits…

So I didn’t do a lot of it. I’m hoping to do more tomorrow. Hopefully I will feel less tired and more successful at crossing things off my lists. This is part of a leg…a sorta crazy chaotic leg. It will make more sense when the stitching outlines the appropriate bits.

I think what I really need is a new life. Still. All year I’ve needed that. I keep trying to make one, but it just doesn’t work out. I think it’s because I’d just rather stay home and draw or read a book or make another quilt. Even those don’t make me feel good, though. It’s escapism. People are just not in my current life formula.

Escaping your own existence. Seems like a bad TV mini-series. I don’t have the clothes or makeup for that.

Girlchild tells me every time she sees the sign at the grocery store for the shingles vaccine, she reads it as “singles vaccine” and is confused. “Dammit,” I say…”I forgot to get that when I was younger. That’s the source of all my problems right there.” She tells me to shut up, but laughs as well. She doesn’t like it when depressed mom comes out, even when she comes out making jokes about herself…which honestly, is probably the best way to be at the moment. Sure it would be great to just magically slough off the depression, but failing that (and that does fail, by the way, don’t wiggle your pretty little nose at me and tell me how if I just SMILE, everything will be fucking perfect), this is better than the alternatives. Really. It is.

So. Today was the last day of the soccer showcase, driving up to Pomona yet again…

Girlchild stepped on a bee. Because she was barefoot. Because she left her flipflops way the freak over THERE and mom had to go get them. After the bee incident. And then there were tears.

Today was the day I finished two of these guys…

I think that means 11 out of 30 are done. Not great, considering these are from last year. Whatever.

I listened to 10 parents talk about their kids’ college plans. Poor girls. So much pressure. I try to minimize that. I gave birth to a stress monkey, so I tell her I know she will get in somewhere decent and she will be happy wherever she goes, and she freaks out about it, because her brother got into an Ivy and that means that’s what she wants. I don’t know if that will make her happy. I don’t think it would have made ME happy. Then again, I have such a vague memory of that emotion…when it touches me, that feeling, a reminder of that feeling, because I don’t have it now, it just hurts and I cry. I know a college wouldn’t have gotten me there. Hard to tell that to a teenager though. They basically don’t listen to a word you say.

I worked on these guys…

They are closer to done than they were. In fact, a couple of them are almost done.

I also finished this book…

in fact, if I had read less, I would have gotten those damn birds done, but my brain, it was in that bad place (spending three days dealing with soccer games, parents, and girlchild’s related moods will do that to you, unless you have a magical outlet, a rejuvenating place that brings you back to normal)…so I read instead. I’ve always been a Stephen King fan. He messes with his characters like no one else, and this detective story is good, although somewhat formulaic…King-style, though. I still really enjoyed it (and read it really fucking fast, so there).

I’m not sure reading horror is the best treatment for depression, but neither are rom-coms or YA books half the time either. Or 90% of what’s on the telly. I seem to do best with fantasy/sci fi, but even that’s a stretch sometimes. No books that remind me that at one time I had something approximating a life and now, well, now I don’t know what I have. It’s not really there, ethereal and sad, but insubstantial, feather-light in the hands. Whisks away before you can close your fingers on it. It’s not even real.

Cat puke. Laundry. Bills. Mold. Those are real.

Today’s blog title is brought to you by my favorite poet, writer, thinker ever…e.e. cummings…

Seriously. Reading him is the closest to happy I get at the moment.

You Must Read…

So, if you were my neighbor, then just a few minutes after midnight, you saw me wandering my front yard, barefoot with a flashlight (actually, the first time I was barefoot WITHOUT a flashlight). That’s because Amazon claimed they delivered my tea (very important) and my book club selection (also important, since the library will not be coughing up a copy for a good long time) yesterday, and we hadn’t seen it…and it’s not a small box…I get 480 teabags (British) at a time…although Amazon sells them for half of what I used to pay locally. Since tearing out three tall skinny trees to put in the new septic leach field, there’s an opening to my front lawn that did not used to exist, and increasingly, delivery people believe it’s the access to my front door. I had even checked out the door from my bedroom that goes to the tiny deck off that front area, which is normally enclosed by bushes and trees and completely invisible to everyone but the gas meter guy, and I don’t think they even check that any more. Sure enough, once I had the flashlight and started checking all the available greenery, I found the damn box in the middle of nowhere, hiding behind a tree.

Yo Dad. I’m buying trees this week, if even to just put them in their pots where they will eventually be planted, because this is getting silly.

So. Yeah. Soccer. Driving. Dry wind. Hot. Hotel room. Stomach-cramping breakfast. Tired. I managed to finish yesterday’s drawing while sitting in the middle of the soccer team before the 2nd game…

I don’t usually draw with people around because they ask questions, but my head hurt and I was tired and it was what I wanted to do, and honestly, it’s not as rated R as most of my stuff. I also stitched and read, but I was reading Stephen King, which is like a whole ‘nother issue. I think the only benign thing I did, the only thing that no one could question, was the stitching. I’ll photograph them tomorrow after the third game (and 4+ more hours of driving…I drive half, girlchild does the other half).

We could have stayed up there another night, but I needed to get stuff done here, like sanding and washing the next set of walls…we moved a piano!

The next two walls to be painted are the one on the right, where the piano used to be (seems almost pointless to paint it when it will be 80% covered by piano and bookshelf, but whatever) and the wall with the sliding glass door and giant window. Then all we have left is the wall with the mirrors, which are coming down on Wednesday, and the one next to the fireplace, which has a mastic issue at the moment. Carpet is next on the list. Picking it this week, hopefully installing next week. I can only handle this level of chaos for a short period of time, and then I start to go a bit bonkers. (GO…ha ha ha. very funny)

So the soccer…this is the first tournament since girlchild’s back surgery in March. She didn’t do physical therapy, because she didn’t need to. They put two pins in her back and some growth hormone to persuade the bone to heal, but this is it. And it’s a joy to see her play…

Because she was really playing, seriously kicking some people’s butts, even though she’s totally out of shape…

And that girl jumps way higher than she does (the LA team was a little frightening in many ways)…

But she played half the game today and is physically tired, but not hurting in a bad way, despite all the contact during the game.

This one…our player and the girlchild both hit it with their heads, but both had their eyes closed, and it basically rolled down the girlchild’s body.

You can see the goalie behind them. If some other player had had the brains to be standing right in front of them, it would have been a goal, but no such luck. This is not really a tournament you win…it’s a college showcase, and basically girlchild has decided (quite intelligently) that she will be picking schools for their academics, and once she has her short list, she’ll start contacting the soccer coaches there. Soccer doesn’t bring the big scholarships, but I think she’d still like to play if she can.

So while we play in these, she’s not really super-bothered about who’s watching her…as she puts it, mostly it’s local schools (Southern California) and she wants to go farther than that.

So there’s one more kamikaze drive tomorrow and then we’re done for a couple of weeks, when there’s another one. Meanwhile, she communes with her friends…

Listening to music and talking and snapchatting, all at the same time.

We saw this sign up in Pomona…

Which reminds me, I’m making a phone call tomorrow to see if I can get a scholarship for a mindfulness class locally. It’s way too expensive otherwise. The director asked me to call, though, so we’ll see what they can do for me. Maybe nothing, but if you don’t ask? Then you don’t ever get…right? I don’t know if the Bible says that.

One of the reasons I wanted to come home tonight is because the ironing is talking to me, the talk of the artist-addict. I finished ironing this guy together…

And then did the arm on the other side…

It was about 100 pieces. I’m 9 1/2 hours into the ironing, a little less than halfway through the pieces at 720 or so. I found two of the missing pieces, but am now missing two more. There’s some weird universe-balancing aspect going on there…not sure I understand it. I do know I want it done and that I need to get working on the birds too.

Moodwise, spending time with the girlchild falls halfway between really nice (at dinner, at one point in the car) and absolute hell (when you can’t say anything right, it’s all wrong and I often just can’t deal with that). I know that’s normal for teens…wish I could manage my own reactions to it better, but it is what it is. It does make it hard, though…because I feel like I don’t have anyone I can check in with on weekends like this, there’s no one to commiserate with, to help talk me through it, through my emotional reaction to constantly being railed at. There’s no mood stabilizer. It’s all on me, and I don’t have it in me.

So I cry. Again. And then I get to iron for an hour or so and things get calmer, more peaceful. Note to self: less drama and teens, more artmaking. Oh, if only that were truly possible.

I finished a book this week. It took me a long time to read this…China Mieville’s Perdido Street Station…

partially because of all the work on the house and partially because it was long and DENSE (boychild’s words), but really good. What’s also interesting is googling images for the characters in the book. I think the artists have done fairly well with Lin, but I didn’t see a good Garuda, as far as I had seen Yagharek in my mind’s eye. The slake moths, yes, and the Voldyanoi…but the Cactucae? Not so much. I work really hard at visualizing a place and the characters, and I think part of what makes this level of fantasy/sci fi difficult for many readers is that it is hard to do that…Hyperion was the same way, with all the different planets and species. I will read more books by Mieville, although he apparently wanders genres like my brain wanders during staff meetings, so who knows what that will look like. Again, these literary worlds are much nicer places to live, even when filled with nasty creatures out for your brain’s emanations, than my brain is right now…so I’ll keep reading.

“You must read, you must persevere, you must sit up nights, you must inquire, and exert the utmost power of your mind. If one way does not lead to the desired meaning, take another; if obstacles arise, then still another; until, if your strength holds out, you will find that clear which at first looked dark.”
― Giovanni Boccaccio

Revisions…

So. I’m stuck in a hotel in Corona tonight for a soccer tournament…and girlchild is in a mood…although feeding her Indian food seems to have helped. This is somewhat depressing, being here. I’m stitching, reading, even wrote for a while. Tried to meditate. It’s hard to keep on an even keel with someone squealing at you about everything you say. I brought my sketchbooks, but I’m not in the mood. I drew a little to deal with the aftermath of girlchild’s third or fourth cranky session…

But it’s not done. I brought the big sketchbook too, but forgot and left it in the car. Plus I’m tired…long car drive, lots of traffic, getting squawked at, but now she’s fine.

Girlchild is doing awesome though, first games since the back surgery. She’s tired but kicking ass while she’s on the field, which is a very good thing.

Anyway, two more games, two more days, but going home tomorrow…on the off chance that I can get some work done at home.

This hotel room is weird…a bar in the center of the room goes between the two beds…

Girlchild keeps moving furniture to revise the room.

Wish I could revise my head as easily. Probably best to just take myself to sleepland.

I Could Get Back Up…

I haven’t written much about meditation lately because the current sequence on my app has been difficult for me, and because of that, I haven’t been meditating as much. I’m trying to get back into it because it does help with my nasty moods, but also because if I keep going, I’ll get past this section that I don’t like. Not entirely altruistic, eh? Whatever. I know why it’s hard…he wants me to be all kind and benevolent towards someone that I dislike…and the fact is that there are very few people like that in my life at the moment, and the few that are there, hey, well, I really don’t WANT them to feel better at my expense, which isn’t exactly how he words the meditative process, but I have an anger bomb inside me at the moment and it’s making these sessions difficult to swallow. He acknowledges that, but says I just have to get past it. Um. OK. Mostly my mind wanders when I’m supposed to be wafting good thoughts and happiness towards the person I dislike, but I can’t even picture the person(s), so my brain just takes a breather and goes on about something else.

I get what he’s saying about feeling and mood and crap, I’m just really not there. I suspect I’m not doing it right. Whatever. In general, the meditation has been helpful and I’m sure it will be again. I just need to get past this section.

I have other ways to find meditative peace. The ironing continues…

Albeit slowly. Here I am ironing the parts of the face on the drawing, to be placed eventually on the face itself to the left. At first, I thought I hadn’t gotten much done tonight, about 100 pieces in two hours? It didn’t seem like much…but I forgot that the face was in the 1200 box and consists of about 43 pieces (OK, that’s precise, not about). Then I ironed from piece 470 to 618 or so…about 190 pieces in two hours makes more sense. I’m 8 hours in now.

Jun 26 14 003 small

This was slow going. Lots of little bits and pieces…once I finished the woman, I ironed her onto the background…

She’s still missing a fingernail. Apparently she’s missing an elbow shadow as well. There’s an eyeball in her hand now too. Can’t see that in this picture.

I wasn’t going to go on to the next section, but then I realized it wasn’t very late, so I told myself I’d do another 30 minutes (you should know that “not very late” was 11:08 PM).

No one should listen to me…this is an hours’ worth of work. Tiny pieces…and no, it’s not done. I thought about trying to finish it tonight, but I’m tired.

I spent three hours this morning at life drawing…

There was something wrong with every drawing I did…this one has one leg that’s too small and too short.

That’s the wonder of drawing in pen, though…you’re stuck with it. I did all the short poses in pencil, but still erased nothing. Her right arm has giant issues. Just imagine the drawing without it. I still enjoy the process though, getting your head into looking at the figure and the shadows. It’s more about the process than the product. I’m planning on going to these all summer. It’s cheap, just $5 for 3 hours. Not a bad deal. Even when the girlchild is texting you the whole time because she’s BORED. Holy hell, child.

I had the two of them clean out the cupboard in their bathroom…it’s a catch-all for art supplies and kid crap…I still had their painting aprons from when they were little. I packed up some stuff for the thrift shop (all the big kiddie paintbrushes and the aprons) and tossed a bunch of dried-up paint and mismatched containers…then managed to find space for some of the art supplies that had been stored on top of the piano (this was the original plan)…because yes, in all good Hoarder’s houses, that IS where you keep random art supplies. So now the 10 palettes we have (between me and the girlchild) are all in one place with all the paints and inks…in case you’re coming over and need to find them. We have the mother of all palettes up there now (inherited from Aunt Betty, who really WAS a painter…mom of Babygirl, in case you’re wondering). I kinda wish I were more of a painter so I could use this thing.

I do use palettes, just not very often. Some things are just harder to get rid of…my SIL and I had a conversation about this last night, and she told me about cleaning out her grandmother’s house, which she thinks cured her of hoarding…I’m a packrat…my whole family is. But I think a lot of mine is just a lack of time. I’d love to clean out every cupboard in the house but there just aren’t enough hours in the day. And she did allow as though my second job (artmaking) required quite a few supplies. Oh yeah. I guess. Shall we talk about all the other artistic pasttimes that are in this house? I’ve done all of them, I think.

I kinda lost momentum with the kids today, though. I pretty much did all the clearing out on my own once they had gotten it out of the cupboard, and they only did the top section…then I went and did the whole of the next living room section. Tomorrow is pretty chaotic, so I’m not sure I’ll get through the whole next step, the spackle and wash. But whatever. It will get done. I boxed up all the stuff we took down off the mantle shelves too, so it’s not like I didn’t get anything done. I just didn’t get the piano and bookshelf moved before the kids left today for their dad’s, and I really couldn’t move them by myself.

Still controlling moods with distractions…good books and drawing and ironing and cleaning. The bad times are when I’m trying to fall asleep, which is partly why I stay up so late, so I’m so tired when I get in bed that I essentially pass out from exhaustion. Also when I’m waking up in the morning…no lying around and contemplating the day. I used to really like having time to do that. Now it’s just torture. And at the gym, when I’m lifting weights, because I can’t distract myself with a book or something else. I was trying to persuade myself to write my book in my head during that time, but then I couldn’t remember everything afterwards. I can’t really type into the phone while lifting. I need some sort of memory recorder…like I can just think stuff into a folder (Google Drive in the brain!) and then access it later? I don’t know if that would be good or bad in the long run.

Anyway. Probably need to attempt sleep soon, but the brain is wide awake. That’s one of the problems of ironing at night…my brain doesn’t want to let go of that alpha art brain mode…it just wants to keep going until it passes out. It even considers all-nighters. But I know I have to be up relatively early tomorrow, so I need to at least try to get the brain to shut down. Maybe that’s the core problem with getting rid of the depression too…that the brain doesn’t know how to just drop something…it worries it like it’s a little dog. I’m hoping sometime in the future that the part of my brain that is wreaking all this havoc will come back into the herd and be one with us. It’s kind of annoying having it being so mopey all the time.

I had this song stuck in my head this morning…I have no idea why, but when I told the boychild, he started singing it, so all I can think is that he was standing over me in my sleep, singing softly to me.

You know. Like they do. I am an optimist. Really. It’s hard, but I’m always trying to find the positive. I don’t always say it out loud, but that nasty part of my brain that is sad and hiding…it’s not really who I am. Like the daily crying. That’s not me. Except if it goes on for a year, then is THAT who you ARE? Or are you still the other person that you used to be? I don’t really have an answer for that. I do still have some part of me that is hopeful, that is trying to make a future picture in my head that doesn’t feel awful. So yeah. I guess that’s optimism. I could get back up (from the song)…

it IS that late…

The book I’m reading has these characters, the slake-moths, which have hypnotizing wings, so to avoid being hypnotized and then eaten, essentially (they actually only suck out your dreams, leaving you a drooling lump of flesh that needs diapers), the characters have devised a way to look at the moths using mirrors, looking backwards at them, which protects them from being sucked dry…but two mirrors doesn’t work. They counteract each other. Strange concept, I know, but the thought of viewing everything through mirrors, trying to distract oneself from the hypnotizing death wings, that’s where I’m at today. How many things can I get on my plate that will distract me from the things that drag me down? Lots. I made the mistake of trying to nap (too many late nights and not sleeping enough) this evening, and finally gave up, because my brain was falling into that depressive hole and it was hurting me. So I got up and made yet another cup of tea. And here I am, again, at holy-shit-it’s-late, still awake. Brain is fucking with me.

The house destruction and reinvention is part of it, the distraction…but ironing was a good bit today…a difficult bit…and still not done. I had time in between painting tasks, so I started ironing earlier than usual…

That human figure in the middle actually has almost 200 pieces in it, I realized today. And when I numbered it originally, I forgot to number the face and hair, so although the body runs from piece 316-469, the face and hair are in the 1200s box. Hmn. The view above is the other direction from where I usually photograph the ironing, so you can see how small the space is for my butt between the ironing board and the table where I lay my pieces out. There’s a lot of stuff in this room. Scares me sometimes.

Anyway, so while I was waiting for one coat of paint to dry and for the girlchild to come home from somewhere, I started ironing the figure that’s kinda down in the water…or is she just in front of the water? Hard to say. I kind of imagine her sitting in front of a glass aquarium somewhere. Just so you know. When I drew her, that’s what I was thinking…not that she was IN the water, but that she was IN FRONT of the water. Not sure why that’s important.

Here’s the 400s laid out in groups of 10.

There’s some freakishly tiny-ass pieces in there. Piece 470 and on is an eyeball and then some tears. I haven’t ironed them together yet. I only got through 469. I ironed for about an hour or so before dinner, although I think I did two more coats of paint on the window moldings during that time period too. Girlchild cooked (oh blessed child), so I didn’t have to. She and I ate out on the deck because the kitchen table looks like this…

Actually, it doesn’t look like that any more. We managed to paint the whole dining area today and put some of the furniture back. Because the next step is carpet, we can’t really put everything back. It will be chaos here for a few weeks more, whether we like it or not. Boxes everywhere. Boychild is watching some weirdo webcomic that’s kind of a gif/video thing as well, so he hid in the computer room for dinner while we were sociable. Sort of. As much as any of my people ever are.

Girlchild helped for about 40 minutes before she had to go out. She dances and sings while she paints…

Can you tell? Unfortunately, it does not make her a better painter. Boychild pitched a fit about painting near the asbestos ceiling, so I did that…he did edges and corners and bottom…so that wasn’t bad. The next step is the main part of the living room, probably in two sections, because of the mirrors and the stuff next to the fireplace that needs work. I think the drapes are coming down and out. I never use them, I hate them, the color sucks. If I sell the house later on, I’ll deal with it then. Or I’ll buy some crazy purple stuff and hang it with beads or something. Whatever. Boychild hates them too! It’s not just me.

We may not be the most efficient painters in the world, but we get it done. It’s a 3-day cycle: Day 1-remove and pack stuff up. Day 2: spackle and wash. Day 3: paint. Rinse and repeat for the next section. Two sections done; two to go. At least in this iteration.

After dinner, I did my exercising and then my SIL called. She was driving to her parents’ house back east and it was really late and I think I kept her entertained for two hours on the road. I ironed while talking, which was nice…

I don’t have a lot of adult interaction during the summer. This is really harder this year than previous years…well, last year was bad too. I need to remake my life. This really has been a bitchy section to iron…probably won’t be the last (as I blaspheme against the designer yet again)…

Yes, I am the designer. Ironing always makes me angry at the designer…OK, not angry, just irritated. Couldn’t I have done a better job of drawing this? Wasn’t there a better order for numbering? What the fuck is my problem with the tiny pieces? Do they really add to the final piece? I can’t answer that. I draw it the way it’s supposed to be. Everything else is just fate.

The whole body is done, minus the head (I did actually finish the hand later). Lots of fussy pieces in this section. I’m about 6 hours into the ironing and about a quarter of the way done with the whole thing, so my original estimate of 18 hours of ironing pieces together seems a little low…it’s hard to say, though, because this was a significantly fussy section and I was on the phone as well, and I know I’m not as efficient with ironing when I’m talking on the phone. I get distracted…distracted from the distraction! Didn’t I say I wanted to be done with ironing by the weekend? Yeah. That’s not happening. I always set these goals that I don’t achieve…but I find I am better when I set some goals than when I don’t set any at all.

I’ve also been writing; I’m up to a few thousand words on my story, most of which will probably be edited out, but that’s OK. It’s a start, and that’s all I need. If I write a little every day, then there will be something substantial in existence by the end of the summer…and that will be a good thing.

So I entered an art show last week and was all proud of myself, but it came back yesterday short of postage, and now it’s too late to send it out again. It needed a postmark date. Dammit. I even weighed it though and checked amounts online, so I’m not sure what happened with that. It motivated me to get another entry in today, though (online! much easier than the mail…y’all should pay attention to that if you’re putting on a show). I will be entering shows all summer. It’s good to get the work out there into the public.

OK. Tomorrow? Life drawing, more cleaning/furniture moving, plus ironing I hope. I’m being purred at right now. Surely that’s a sign that it’s bedtime (it truly is. don’t look at the clock. it IS that late).

Demolition Day

Today was all about demolishing things that have been driving me nuts for the last 16 years. Seriously. And then I ironed. So that’s like putting things back together. Plus I need more fabric.

No really, first I went to a meeting, kind of a pre-installation of an exhibit that will be up for 2 months in the fall…it was interesting, and I have tons of ideas rambling around my head right now, but I really do need more fabric. And a drawing. And some wire. I was just at Home Depot (yes, again…it’s currently a daily occurrence). Forgot the damn wire. The drawing? Maybe this weekend.

I did iron tonight…

I love to write about what I did backwards. It makes sense as I think about the day backwards. What did I just do? What did I do before that? This is probably more than you need to know about my brain and its lack of function. Seriously, I’ve screwed up payments this week and postage, and god knows what else. My brain has wandered off again. I forgot to eat too. Luckily, my blood sugar reminds me of that, kind of boisterously, honestly. Yo! Bitch! Eat! Now! It’s kinda rude.

So I ironed more on the big quilt. I quit doing everything else (there was plenty to do, trust me) and just walked in the studio and ironed, which was a damn good thing, because that’s where my head went. Into the artspace.

Out of the bad place. Into the good place. I could live there, I could. It’s peaceful and I barely think about the shitty things that shitty people do. Plus my brain is fully occupied by the ironing of tiny bits that need to fit together and numbers of pieces, and then X-Files in the background takes care of the part of my brain that would normally wander off and try to find things to upset me. It’s not allowed on Facebook any more. It just makes trouble. Really, it’s better to just give it television and let it watch.

I managed to iron all of the water down…

There is a fairly obvious human figure in the middle of all that…it will get ironed next. Plus there’s a huge eyeball. You know. Like there is.

This is where I needed to be today. In art. Making it. Letting all that poison sad shit wander off somewhere else while I accomplished something of note. Well. Accomplished something anyway.

We actually accomplished a lot today. For instance, the house is now a giant mess. Really. It is. If you thought it was messy before, now it’s a fucking disaster. But it’s a move in the right direction. I think.

Dad came over to help with that giant-ass hole in the wall, which he fixed while I demolished shutters that had never been used. And then I spackled. Or maybe I spackled first. It’s all a fucking blur, this home improvement shit. It’s all the same, day after day. What day is it? What phase am I on? I did manage to find someone who can take the mirrors out, but not until next week. I’m OK with that. Then we started looking at the mantle. The mantle and shelves to the right of the fireplace are this godawful pinky ’80s crap and it’s in totally the wrong PLACE as well, hung too high. The previous owner, the wife was an artist, but apparently she never learned not to bisect the vertical plane exactly in the middle. So it’s always bugged the crap out of me. Plus it’s fucking pink. It’s just wrong.

After telling Dad about 5 times that no, I did not want him to saw through the screws, thus leaving big metal pieces poking out of the stone of the fireplace, he and the boychild and I manhandled and pried and pulled the damn things off with pure brute strength (I am a beast at times, yes)…and then went after the paneling, which turned out to be two layers of paneling (which was better than more mirrors, which is what we found behind the first set of panels).

I must have a picture somewhere of the mantle. It’s in my driveway now. Feel free to come take it away.

You can’t really appreciate the ugly while it’s lying there.

That’s asbestos flying through the air. You think I’m joking.

So. Mirrors are still there for another week, but paneling is gone. Let’s assume I can deal with the mastic and paint that sucker, and then Dad said if I drew something up for bookshelves, he would have the boychild build it (um. Does the boychild KNOW how to do that?).

Maybe all this destruction is a good thing. I mean, at least I will be able to look over at that space and not be annoyed by it. I still need a replacement mantle, but I will deal with that eventually.

Meanwhile, I’m making art. The house is getting painted. There’s art in my head. And I found the missing cat (no idea where Babygirl was for the last 5 hours, but she just showed up…good thing…boychild would be pissed if I lost her). Fuck the rest of it.

I Am Stumbling. I Must Not Fall.*

Two places are safe at the moment: deep in a storyline like the one from the blog title, or way up in my artist’s brain, tracing or ironing something. There is nowhere else that I can be at the moment that doesn’t hurt. I’ve been divorced for a long time–the separation took place in 2002–but there are still things that can happen related to the divorce that are reminders of that stomach-dropping nausea of realization, that cut you deep and make you wonder why people behave as they do. It’s convenient, I guess, if you don’t have to consider your actions and how they relate to other people. I guess if that’s how your brain works. Mine doesn’t. I’ve spent a million years considering my actions.

So yesterday. Yeah. I read, I meditated, I traced Wonder Under…

because otherwise I would crawl into a hole of WHY? and never come out. I’m not in a good place; I know that. I’m trying. I’m staying busy, too busy probably. I am letting some things drop, just because I can’t seem to do ALL the things. My brain. It sucks.

I traced the last three birds, which were bigger and more complicated than the others, but still, I’m at about 30 minutes for the larger birds…the quickest bird I’ve traced was number 3, in just over 7 minutes. The next step is to cut out all the Wonder Under…and then I’m supposed to iron to fabrics, but I think I need to finish ironing this big quilt, which I haven’t touched in a few days. So maybe I force myself to do that today. It was overwhelming last night. I couldn’t get my head there. It’s easier to trace Wonder Under, a kind of brainless task that also engages a huge part of my brain that would otherwise wander off into rumination ruination. Tonight it will have to deal, though.

So we did finally finish painting the smaller room…two shelves ended up needing 3 coats to cover the previous layers of dirt and yucky. Then we started pulling apart the dining area…the boychild really is a slavedriver in some ways. He seems to enjoy the archaeological-dig aspect more than I do. We’re tossing and recycling a ton of stuff, and then the girlchild came home and started on her piles, so that helped. Here’s where we’re at now…

Lots of furniture moving around and books being boxed. Still need to deal with the piles on the table, but honestly could paint with all that there…but today is wash and patch day…because I need to deal with this…

this remnant of trying to find a water leak that wasn’t a leak at all in a part of the house that has no water pipes. Long story. I have the stuff to fix it, but need additional stuff, which might be coming from the Dad Store…you know what that is. It’s the pile of stuff your dad has in his garage that helps you finish your project without having to go back to Home Depot for the 10th time. I just didn’t have it in me yesterday. I went to Dixieline (closer) to get plug plates for the walls, handed them to the boychild, and he promptly broke two of them by overtightening the screws. Nice. Anyway…today I fix that hole and a bunch of smaller, less-challenging ones, and we wash walls (if you never move your furniture, you never know how disgusting it is behind it, which might be a good thing), and tomorrow we paint, because we will have three of us…although I do need to go back to Home Depot for more paint (I knew two gallons wouldn’t be enough, but I was having a hard time envisioning three…no longer having a hard time with that.).

Then the mirrors…damnit, the guy I called is flaking on me, set an appointment and then didn’t show up or return phone calls, so I guess this is one of those jobs that people don’t want to do. So I will call someone else today, but we can’t paint that last bit until we get those down…although we could do the other two walls in the main living room. Here’s the offending 1970s crap…

Yeah. I know. Wall ‘o Mirrors. Been staring at them for 16 years. They’ve been covered with kid art all that time because I really hate them. Plus the mantelpiece. Sigh. It’s going.

Anyway, speaking of going, I’m supposed to be at a temporary art install in 32 minutes, so I should go. Summer is not low stress, for sure, but hopefully I can keep my head away from yesterday’s bullshit. People suck. OK, not all of them suck, but enough of them suck that I feel like staying away from lots of them for long periods of time. With books. And art instead.

Back to my high-school epithet: Fuck the World. Not the healthiest mantra, but occasionally useful. At some point, I will replace “the world” with the names of the people responsible for my current state. And then I will kick their asses. In art, of course, not real life. Oh yeah, you piss me off? I will make unflattering art of you. Expect it. Whoops…that sounds sorta vengeful. Sorry.

*Perdido Street Station, China Mieville