August 6, 2015

Day One

“Throw away the radio, suitcase keeps you awake
Hide the telephone, the telephone
Telephone, in case you realize
That some days, you’re just not okay
You’ll level off, you’ll level off, you’ll level off

And it’s not alright now
You need to understand
There’s nothing strange about this
You need to know your friends
You need to know that

I’ll be wavin’ my hand
Watching you drown
Watching you scream
Quiet or loud

And maybe you should sleep
And maybe you just need, a friend
As clumsy as you’ve been
There’s no one laughing
You will be safe in here
You will be safe in here

Throw away this very old shoelace
It tripped you again
Try and shrug it off, shrug it off, shrug it off

It’s only skin, now
Now you need to understand
There’s nothing fake about this
You need to let me in
Watching you and

I’ll be waving my hand
Watching you drown
Watching you scream
No one’s around

And maybe you should sleep
And maybe you just need, a friend
As clumsy as you’ve been
There’s no one laughing
You will be safe in here
You will be safe in

I will be waving my hand
Watching you drown
Watching you scream
Quiet or loud

And maybe you should sleep
And maybe you just need, a friend
As clumsy as you’ve been
There’s no one laughing
You will be safe in here
You will be safe in here

Well, you will be safe in here
In here, in here
In here, in here
In here, in here”

– “Clumsy” by Our Lady Peace

On July 29th, I tried to kill myself and no, I am not okay. But there is a plan in place and there’s a faint glimmer of hope in the distance that I will be.

It was not a cry for help. When I tried to kill myself twice before as a teenager, those were cries for help, from a kid. What happened last week was an adult making a conscious decision to cease existing and let the consequences of that decision be whatever they may be because if all went as planned, I would be worm food and unable to feel, see, hear etc. any of the aftermath and ultimately I knew my people well enough that they would be perfectly okay without me, perhaps even better off. If not? I would be nothing, there would be no such thing as Me, I would never know the difference.

Obviously, I failed. And trust me, it was not for lack of trying (but definitely due to lack of planning). If I wasn’t actively avoiding the internet right now, I’d be googling “how the fuck am I alive right now?” because I took what seemed to me to be a hell of a lotta cyclobenzaprine, clonazapam and trazodone. I didn’t overdose on any of my serious psych meds because I was afraid they’d leave me retarded if I failed. I thought I’d fall asleep and just never wake up. Instead, cops broke down my back door (which I had locked, and I had locked and put a chair up against my office/front door) and told me I could get out of my bed and come to the ambulance quietly or they could cuff me. I went mediumishly…voluntarily, swaying and stumbling, yet still saying “fuck the police” (which apparently they hear so often, they just refer to it as “ftp”) at an audible level about 25 times between my bed and the ambulance. I owe one of the cops an apology and a “thank you” and it’s something really bugging the crap outta me, actually.

At the hospital they did not pump my stomach or give me charcoal, they just put me in the ICU hooked up to an ECG machine, the little finger thingy that measures your oxygen levels and an IV that they never hooked anything up to and just took out after letting me sleep for about 48 hours. Then they transferred me to Royal Victoria Hospital’s (RVH) psychiatric ward which was where I was also sent in 2006 when I had my psychotic episode which lead to my diagnosis of bipolar disorder I, generalized anxiety disorder and agoraphobia, and also the same hospital I spent 6 weeks in after coming seriously close to dying in 2011 from pancreatitis.

So now you wanna know why, right? Cuuuuuuz that’s the next logical question and the most difficult one for me to answer. It’s actually kinda funny, if you know me well enough or have been reading my blog for a really long time, you know that I have a billion different, ever-evolving reasons for why I didn’t get into advertising, choosing to drop out of school at the last minute instead, and I always say like, “Reason #3875736254 I dropped out of advertising…”. This is kind of the same thing. As a person who is depressed with suicidal ideations a lot, it’s a complex thing with a million tentacles. It occurred to me when I was 5 years old that killing myself was a legitimate option. Most people never see suicide as a legitimate option because most people don’t try to or successfully kill themselves, according to my retired extra special needs teacher friend, Carole R. who told me that about 14 years ago when I went to work with her for a day and met young children who had already taken measures to end their own lives or seriously hurt themselves for whatever reason it is we all have in common on these things.

I don’t know where it came from or how it started or why I peg it at 5, which was right when my mom married my stepdad, but that’s when it started as a tiny seed of an idea and then grew, like I said, into this thing with a million tentacles, as if there’s some chunk of my grey matter dedicated to just this one specific area, like building my own killswitch I guess, and for whatever reason “I”, “Me”, “Myself”, liked being in there and focusing on there. Not always, but…a lot.

This could be chemical or this could be “something else”. What that “something else” is, I have no idea because I’ve never really spoken to anyone about any of this with any real detail or seriousness. Everyone I know (plus a lotta strangers) knows I want to kill myself regularly. That’s, “just Sunny” at this point. Even this time, my own daughter thought my last words to her were just me being “melodramatic” when she read them after not being here or talking to me for several weeks. (Which I don’t fault her for, especially because she’s 17. Again, I’m avoiding the internet right now – all I have open on my computer is Word and Spotify because I just spent a week in a world without electronics of any kind and everything is so noisy in this one – so I don’t remember what I said to her or if she replied. I’ve seen her since I’ve been out, though, and we’re okay so it doesn’t even matter for the time being or even at all maybe.)

For the first 2 days at Georgian Bay General hospital where I was in the ICU from July 29th-31st the only communication I had with anyone not involved in my care, including AND (at the time), especially my husband Blake, was sending a short e-mail to my boss (cc’d to my coworker/friend it would impact the most/immediately as far as work was concerned) saying long story short: I tried to kill myself, they’re sending me somewhere 45 mins away to see a shrink* and I was sorry. That was the last time I saw my phone until yesterday when I was released from Royal Victoria Hospital (RVH). I think they said Blake called the hospital to talk to me but I refused his calls and I guess Amy also called when I was in there too but at that point I just told them to refuse all calls so I didn’t hear about anyone else.

On the 31st, around sunset, I was told that I would be taking a taxi cab from Georgian Bay General in Midland, to RVH in Barrie where they were more equipped to deal with me, which would be about a 45 minute drive and I would be accompanied by this nice lady security guard, who would get me signed in and then take the same cab back to Midland. I don’t know how much that cost because the taxi driver lady put a cover over the meter. I do know from listening to the conversations around me that the lady had $158 on her Visa and that wasn’t enough so they had to get one with a bigger limit, but despite that it made sense to me for them to do this than waste an ambulance on me. I was happy at the healthcare system’s ability/willingness to adapt so successfully to non-government community services.

I can’t remember if I had any conversations with the security lady. Mostly the security lady and the cab lady talked while I enjoyed the ride (car rides actually calm me). I don’t think this was their first time making this trip, though. When we got to the hospital, the taxi lady told the security lady that she was going to Tim Hortons to get them both coffees, what does she prefer etc. and then the security lady and I started navigating the outside of the hospital because it’s all new and ever-changing, up the elevator to the 3rd floor, and through the psychiatric unit’s front doors. I was processed by the security lady and hospital staff (at this point I had everything but those people tuned out completely) and taken to a dorm-like room with 2 empty beds with nice blankets, 2 floor-length cubbies and a nice, clean bathroom. The security lady wished me good luck and left. I have no memory of anything else that night, I just got in the bed facing the wall and window and went to sleep. I don’t think I cried, I was just kinda unable to process anything happening to me so everything shut down.

The next morning I woke up and a nurse told me where I was and asked me questions about how I got there but I couldn’t really communicate with anyone yet. All the drugs I overdosed on (plus the ones I was supposed to be taking for my mental illnesses that they never gave me the 2 days I was in Midland) were coming out of me and I was just confused and scared. I’m agoraphobic so I don’t leave my house and when I do, it’s with Blake, so I was TERRIFIED to leave my room. I’d been in the psych ward twice before this and I knew the kind of people/experiences can happen in them and I just couldn’t deal. I only got up to go to the bathroom and get cups of tap water that were never cold enough to quench my thirst.

On August 1st, a Saturday of a long weekend, I made contact with Blake because, like I said, I was fucking terrified, and that day was the first time he visited. He brought me clothes and some toiletries, my pencil case, the brand new pad of Bristol paper I’d bought 2 weeks prior for doing colouring pages, some food I could keep in my room and a 6-pack of bottled Diet Coke because we weren’t allowed to have cans and bottles just made more sense since they had lids and stuff. (I’m addicted to Diet Coke, this is just part of me being me. You will probably never see me without a drink in my hand of some sort.) All I had with me when I came in was my bag full of like, basic “purse stuff” because the cops wouldn’t let me pack anything to bring with me except my phone and wallet pretty much and the clothes on my back. I had a greyish-black, t-shirt weight cotton hoodie, my grey “RAP MUSIC MAKES ME FEEL INVINCIBLE” t-shirt, medium-weight cotton yoga pants and my crazy-assed Period Panties. (This is actually my standard uniform.) They let me keep my shoes, which didn’t have laces. My bag was taken from me and everything important from it was put in a bin at one of the nurses’ stations.

No electronics were allowed whatsoever. Not even an iPod to listen to music and there was no music in any of the rooms on the floor except for this shower radio that barely got one pop country station none of us wanted to listen to. The TV in the TV room was stuck on the sports channel because no one could find the remote and then when they *did* find the remote, they changed it to a “48 Hours” marathon on A&E, a “reality” show where there’s been a murder and the first 48 hours are the most crucial to solve the case, which in the 3 episodes I sat through, they did. (And all the victims were women.)

When I’m at home on “normal” Saturdays, I get off work at 11pm and usually draw or otherwise make art until 3-5am or however long I can stay up and then I sleep in the next day to compensate because it’s my first day off so I can and then on the Sunday night I do the same because Mondays are my other day off.

After Blake had left me because visiting hours were over, I left my sobbing roommate (who came in the morning after trying to kill herself the night before) and went down the hall to this patient activity room that had a bunch of big tables in the middle with about 15 or 20 chairs that I’d noticed never had more than a couple of people in it. The second I stepped inside I felt better because there were pencil crayons and markers (not very many and really shitty ones, but pencil crayons and markers nonetheless) on one wall in bins and there were colouring pages and Sudoku puzzles in clear plastic bins on the other and I identified it as an “art room”, a place where I could be comfortable, and decided to just draw. When I was little and upset, my mom would tell me to either suck my thumb or to draw (or both), so I just started drawing a webcam model I watch sometimes.

As I sat in there with my pencil, eraser and Diet Coke, drawing, I could see people walking up and down the hallway and glancing in at me from time to time but no one came in until about 9pm and that person was Rich. Rich is 25 and basically a pussy magnet and he knows it. He said his mother had him put in the hospital on his birthday. He’d been there for almost a month and was going to be there for another month, minimum. He’s schizophrenic with ADHD and at the time he was either coming OFF of some drug or reacting to a new one and he was pacing and antsy and like, just spun out and squirrelly. I think I was the one who spoke first, asking him if he was okay and that’s when he told me his situation. I asked him if he was hearing voices right that minute and he said he wasn’t and we just started talking to each other. He sat in a backwards chair tapping his feet, or pacing the room or doing semi-push-ups from the edge of the table, but able to carry on a conversation. I just drew while he mostly talked about his thoughts on weed, evolution and god and what is good and what his purpose is on this Earth and I have no idea what I told him about myself. I think I told him about my job. He told me I was a good artist and I told him he was a good kid and we decided we were friends. We just hung out in the art room talking while I drew until he calmed down enough to go to sleep around 11pm. The head nurse on duty told me that because it was a long weekend, she’d let the art room stay open until midnight, so I stayed in there and drew until then and then went to sleep myself.

Sunday morning I woke up, changed out of my “RAP MUSIC MAKES ME FEEL INVINCIBLE” t-shirt and put on my grey “SORRY I’M AWESOME” t-shirt and didn’t eat anything. I didn’t eat anything the whole time I was there except a handful of pistachios, a few crackers and about 6 Babybel cheeses. Because of the aforementioned pancreatitis, which is now chronic, I am a medical marijuana patient so I need cannabis before I eat so I *will* eat and then I need it again afterward to keep it down. If I don’t do this, it starts this godawful vomit cycle that often ends with me in the hospital in the worst pain imaginable. Also every time that happens, my pancreas is being damaged which makes me unable to actually absorb the food I eat. Medical marijuana is a weird thing in Canada where it’s accepted but the deal in the hospital was that I could only have it if it was prescribed by a doctor from that hospital and there was no chance in hell any of the psych staff would sign off on that so I didn’t even push it and just dealt the best I could with the few foods I know are okay for me. I also begged and begged for Zofran (anti-emetic) and pancreatic enzymes, even had Blake bring in my own, but they wouldn’t let me have them.

Sunday morning was also when my roommate and I acknowledged each other. We had been in similar states when we arrived and hadn’t started acclimating until then. Her name was Kimmie and she was small, blonde, frail and almost curled into herself. Mother of 2 older teenage boys. I had heard her wearily having a conversation with her husband of 20 years the previous day in our room when I was still too scared leave it, where I heard her ask him for a divorce several times, to sign the divorce papers when he got them and him telling her she was crazy and didn’t mean it. He’d brought her flowers.

Sunday morning I went to the bathroom to pee and of course my uterus had to start spotting; my period was going to be coming any second now. I’m thinking, “of-fucking-course” but it wasn’t enough to worry about yet so I just came out of the bathroom, saw Kimmie was sitting on the edge of the bed, and slightly joked to her that of all the times to have to have my lady rain, it had to be now.  She didn’t laugh because she was so down, but she did offer me a few maxi pads to use from her own supply, which I was grateful for. We briefly shared situations, and basically she had been this man’s possession for the last 20 years and finally he had stepped so far out of line that there was no coming back from it so she, like me, did a swan dive with pills and alcohol and that’s how she got where we were. Her telling me about her husband made me really appreciate mine, so that’s actually what prompted me to call Blake and ask him to come visit. Before that though, I told Kimmie we were in this together and from that point forward I tried to take care of her the best I could. They were giving her pretty heavy anti-psychotics that were making her sleep all day and pace the halls all night and she was just SO sad and confused, like a frail little bird. She didn’t want to come out of her room that day except to bathe twice because she didn’t know what else to do. And the clothes her husband brought her were ridiculous, like a fluorescent pink bikini top and an obviously too small sports bra instead of something useable, period panties not in the fun sense, and stuff that he just would have to have picked out of the very back of her closet or drawers to come up with. I asked her if she thought he did that to be a dick or if he was just a clueless guy and she said it was definitely him being a dick. I reminded her she was safe where we were and I even told her if she needed anything, like a bra, I would get Blake to pick her one up from WalMart in a heartbeat, just tell me her size, but the only thing she ever took us up on was a double double from Tim Hortons.

All Kimmie wanted to do on Sunday was sleep in the room, which I understood, so I took my pencil and eraser and Bristol pad and of course, a Diet Coke and went down the hall to see if the art room was open. It was and was empty, so I took a seat in the corner of the room and kept working on the colouring page I’d started the previous day.

The art room was used during the week for group therapy sessions and since this was a long weekend, one of the social workers, Clayton, a huge guy with ginger hair, used his own day off and his own money to run a game of bingo with giftcard prizes for Tim Hortons or the deli in the food court and a mani/pedi “group session” for those who wanted their toes done. Blake happened to be visiting during this part of the afternoon and I painted his toenails lovely shades of metallic turquoise and magenta, which all the girls got a big kick out of. Every single person who came into the art room that day looked at what I was drawing and told me how much they loved what I was doing and what a talented artist I was. I just said “thank you” and was friendly and open toward everyone because these were my people. These were people who knew what I was going through because they were there too.  Plus for the afternoon, Blake was there to help break the ice with all these strangers. He’s kind of a social butterfly.

It was during the bingo and mani/pedi sessions that I made friends with Amy, whose name was easy to remember because she had the same name as my close friend who had the same name. She has schizophrenia and was hearing voices when I talked to her but she couldn’t articulate what they were saying. Her case was special because the medications that kept her schizophrenia under control affected her heart condition, so it was a delicate balance she had to maintain to pretty much stay alone. She was a super sweet girl who asked me Monday morning if she could bring me back anything from the food court downstairs because she had privileges to go down there. I wanted to barf my guts up so I gave her money and asked her to get me a ginger ale, which she did and I was so grateful for because it made me feel slightly better. She was just a super nice, sweet person who liked to be useful. In fact, she was helping Clayton the social worker orchestrate these extra special group activities on the long weekend. There were other people at the bingo game but I’m not all that into bingo, so I mostly tuned it out and kept drawing.

Also during the mani/pedi group, I met Hurricane Sonya who was manic pretty much the entire time I was there and somehow talked me into braiding her thick blonde hair into a fishtail, which I hadn’t done on anyone since I was like, 11 years old, and Jason who came in later, a paranoid schizophrenic who was interesting to talk to but who stayed away from me after he asked me and Blake if we thought there were any correlation between vaccinations and mental illness and we both pointed out examples of mental illnesses existing way before vaccines.

All day Sunday, I sat in the art room drawing and socializing and was told 100 more times by 20 people what a great artist I was, which felt good and validating admittedly, but inside I was still so shell-shocked by the fact that this time I actually swallowed the pills instead of just thinking about it, which is something I really, honestly didn’t think I was even capable of doing again because when I did it the 2nd time when I was 15 and landed in Whitby Psychiatric Hospital for a few weeks, I hated being there so much (but loved being away from all the chaos that was my home life) that I vowed never to end up in a place like that ever again by my own hand and for 21 years, I had stuck to it. (2006 didn’t count because that was out of my control, but this time I did it to myself.)

Sunday evening after Blake left, some new patients came in and that’s when I met Malachi and Sharon.

I heard Malachi before I saw him. After drawing all day, I went back to my room to lay down for a little while around dinner time and when I was half awake, I could hear this voice in the hallway outside my room that reminded me of the trans character “Nomi” from the Netflix show “Sense 8”, so I thought, oh, maybe we have a transwoman now, but when I went into the art room for the evening and tall, slight, red-haired, bespectacled Malachi introduced himself and started telling me about the troubles he’d been having with his new wife’s family and the police, which was how he got where we were. From what I could gather, he’d had some kind of mental meltdown of some sort in the apartment he shared with his wife and he broke some of their dishes in the process. During that, not knowing what else to do, his mother-in-law called the police on him and the police charged him – for breaking his own dishes, in his own apartment – with something like “domestic mischief” I think he said, and because the police put it down as a domestic dispute when it was a mental health call, Malachi is not allowed to have any contact with his own wife or live in his own home until after his court date. Due to this, he and his wife wouldn’t be celebrating their 1st wedding anniversary together and he was pretty upset. I didn’t ask how old this kid was but there was no way he was older than 23 and he worked at WalMart.

It was also Sunday night that I met Sharon. I don’t know what her diagnosis was but both she and Malachi came from another psychiatric facility somewhere. Blake told me he noticed tons of scars on her wrists so that’s all I know. She reminded me in looks like Peppermint Patty. She had medium-length reddish brown hair and spoke so quiet and low, it was almost a mumble, but with effort you could understand her. She watched me draw for 2 days and told me multiple times that I had to figure out a way to make some money from my drawings. Most of the people there, except for Rich and Malachi, weren’t “internet people” so to speak. I tried to explain Patreon to them after Sharon suggested that and a bunch of folks agreed with her but I don’t think they really understood what I was talking about. No one had ever heard of “crowdfunding”, let alone its pitfalls.

Sharon and Sonya had been in the same psychiatric facility 4 times but this was the first time they were ever spending any time together and the two of them were like the dynamic duo, with Sonya being loud and manic and flagrant and Sharon following her around trying to keep her calm and quiet.

Sonya was loud and probably the ward’s biggest personality. She was honest and had even less filters than I do. She’d been to jail. She used to be addicted to crack. She was depressed before she came there. She had kids, lost kids, had her tubes clipped and unclipped and had another baby who was now 13 years old and Sonya really wanted me to draw something for her daughter’s birthday, which I said I’d do but really meant I’d get Blake to bring in copies of the more kid-friendly colouring pages I’d done, which we did on Monday.

Monday was much like Sunday except that the art room wasn’t open until 9am and I woke up at 7. Breakfast was at 7:30. I felt confident enough in having new buddies that I’d have somewhere to sit in the dining room so I went down during breakfast and sat with Amy and her roommate whose name I *think* was Deborah, and who was literally the most beautiful older lady I’ve ever seen in my whole entire life. When I sat down, they were discussing the fact that the night before, Amy, in a dead sleep, got 3 tea biscuits from one of her drawers and ate them all sitting on the side of her bed and then just fell back into bed and slept for the rest of the night. She was really freaked out, as I think I would be too. Deborah noticed that I have “Sunny” engraved in the arms of my glasses like a giant nerd and asked me about it, so I explained to her that in my day to day life, the only people who called me by my real name was my mother and doctors. She told me she liked my glasses and I told her I got them for like, $6 on the internet which sort of left her speechless.

After breakfast I went back to my room because the art room still wasn’t open and I talked with Kimmie about coming into the art room and colouring mandalas while I drew, which she ended up doing for maybe an hour but just after lunch she had a meltdown and needed some time to herself so I just stayed in the art room and, you guessed it, kept drawing, and talking to people and hearing what a great artist I was. I met a new girl there who had OCD and couldn’t stop coming into the art room, getting agitated by its messiness, cleaning it for 10 minutes, going away and coming back to do the same thing. She didn’t want to talk about how long she’d been there but what I gathered from Rich was that they were both in the acute part of the ward when they first arrived, meaning that at one point they were both pretty messed up, and she helped him navigate his way out of there and onto the main floor. The only other thing she volunteered about herself was that she was planning to move to Sweden or Switzerland, whichever one is closer to Italy, when she got out of there.

Monday afternoon when Blake came to visit me, he brought with him ginger ale, sushi, a beef teriyaki bento and spring rolls from my favourite restaurant in case I felt like eating anything that wouldn’t hurt me too much and my big black portfolio, which I asked him to bring because I knew I had one copy of each colouring page I’d done so far for patrons inside it, but I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to tell the copies from the originals and I wanted to give the copies to Sonya for her daughter myself. Also inside my portfolio were two large drawings of my girls that were originally going to be paintings, but I never finished them and I gave those to Sonya too because she seemed to be the most enthusiastic about them and I knew I’d never finish them. I encouraged her to do so, though. This was after I decided I didn’t want the Japanese food and started offering it to anyone who came in the art room. The OCD girl had a few pieces of vegetable tempura but wouldn’t take the rest, so I put notes on it all that said what it was and “plz eat me!” and I carried it all to the hallway where I encountered Sonya who asked what I was doing and when I offered her the food, she was like, “fuck yeah”. She ate most of it and shared a lot of it with other patients and told us when she sat in the art room to finish the bento that she had never had Japanese food before and that that was probably the healthiest meal she’d ever had in her entire life and I’d completely believed it.

After Blake left on Monday evening, I went to my room to check on Kimmie and she had just come from having a shower and was in her pajamas. I had told her previously that her ticket to getting out of there was to be out of her room as much as she was comfortable with and to participate in scheduled activities as much as she was able, which was unfortunately difficult because it was the long weekend and nothing was scheduled. She asked me if I would go to dinner with her and then go to the TV room to watch a movie with her because apparently they had found the remotes and we could do that now. The hospital had a bunch of VHS movies and she wanted to find a comedy and just forget about her life for a little while. So I told her we could do this. The TV room had a table and chairs that I could use to draw at while we watched a movie.

Well, when we got to the TV room, there were two guys watching that “48 Hours” show so we sat there and watched too, figuring when it was over, we’d ask them if they minded if we switched to a movie and then do that. Well, when the show was over, another episode started and it was apparent neither man was interested in changing the channel, so Kimmie and I sat through another episode of the show. After that one, both men left and it was about 5 minutes to 9pm, so I told Kimmie that she should pick a movie quick before they came back because if we started a movie right then, we’d have enough time to watch the whole thing before they closed down the room for the night. She chose “Patch Adams” and then she asked me if I knew how to put a movie on. I confessed I did not, but suggested we just try putting the tape in the VHS machine and seeing if it played automatically and if it didn’t, one of us would get a nurse to help us.

Before we even had a chance to try that, the 2 men from before came back in while Kimmie was in the middle of the room holding a VHS tape and looking at me and they sat down to watch the next episode of the “48 Hours” marathon. Kimmie looked at me like, “you ask them” and I looked at her the same way and we were both too chicken shit to assert ourselves with these men to get what we wanted so she laid on the couch and we both just watched another episode instead. And then another. And then it was time to go to bed.

I dreamt of war, which is typical. I always dream about war.

Tuesday morning Kimmie and I woke up around the same time, about 7am and we both got up and got dressed; her in a pink tank top and grey track pants and me in my lightweight, blackish hoodie and t-shirt of the same colour that said, “LESS CRAP MORE RAP” and my requisite yoga pants. See, me and Rich were having an unspoken “t-shirts that say stuff” war so that’s why I wore the 3 specific shirts I mention in this post. One of his shirts said “IT’S ALL ABOUT ME” and another had a list of negative things he was, like, “irresponsible”, and it ended with “…but a lot of fun.”. Not sure who won the war but I kinda think it was me because he ended up asking me where I got mine from in the end since all 3 shirts were made by the same Etsy shop.

Breakfast was late so everyone was milling about in the hallways or hovering around their doorways. Kimmie and I just sat on our beds and chatted about stuff and then all of a sudden from the hallway came this perfect female voice singing one of the songs from “Phantom of the Opera” at full volume and then a few seconds later a 2nd one joins her in perfect harmony. Kimmie and I rushed to the door to peek into the hallway to see who it was and it was this young girl who attempted suicide and who only left her room a few times that I was there and who also wore the same white lace dress every single time she did, and another lady who had grey hair. In the hour that breakfast was delayed, these two women entertained the entire ward with more songs from “Phantom” and I just kinda sat there thinking how surreal this all was. I was sitting in a hospital being serenaded before breakfast by mental patients! Who would believe this?

When breakfast finally arrived, Kimmie and I sat with Deborah, the beautiful lady with the pink cast, and the older lady who had been singing. Deborah asked me if I would write down the name of the company I got my glasses from, so I pulled out one of these little cards I just keep on me for writing little things down that has like, sunflowers and designs on it, just a little 3 x 4 inch card, and Deborah remarked about how cute they were and showed the other lady and explained what the company was, that they could get prescription glasses for less than $10 that looked no different from the ones you spend $200 on from the optometrist, so I wrote out a card for that lady too.

After breakfast I went to my room where I saw my doctor who had just gotten out of a staff meeting with the weekend staff and he asked me if I was suicidal. I said “no”. He then asked me if I wanted to go home, to which I said “yes” and he said, “okay I’ll go write the order, what prescriptions do you need?” So I told him and off he went. When I was admitted to Georgian Bay General, I was admitted on a 48 hour “form”, which was extended by 3 more days when I got to RVH and on Sunday they told me that if I stayed as a voluntary patient for a few more days, I could go home as soon as Wednesday or Thursday, so getting out on Tuesday was amazing to me and I was excited. (In hindsight, I’m not entirely sure I was ready to leave…)

Since the weekend was over, there were group sessions planned for the day on the big whiteboard in the hallway. The first one of the day was about “The Importance of Leisure”, which sounded pretty irrelevant to me but I went anyway because that’s how you get yourself out of somewhere like that and it seemed like what I should be doing so that’s what Kimmie and I did. Partway through the session, my nurse called me out of it and said that I should call my husband to come pick me up because at about 1:15pm, he would be done processing my release and I would be free to go. So that’s what I did. (Did you know it’s now 50 friggin’ cents to make a local call from a payphone and that if you give it a loonie ($1 coin), it won’t give you change? What kinda fuckery is that!?) Then I went back to the group room, finished that, then started telling people I was leaving and getting my stuff packed up.

I was sitting in my room with Kimmie looking at Mark Ryden’s giant “Pinxit” book that I got myself for my birthday this year but never had a chance to look at until I was faced with a whole lotta spare time to fill up, and we were just chatting when this blonde lady in a floral dress came in, introduced herself as Sandra and that she was a social worker. She asked Kimmie if she’d leave the room so she did and then Sandra started talking about what was going to happen after I was released. The Simcoe Children’s Aid was going to be involved because it was a domestic dispute about the cat and a shitty cop that led to this whole thing and that was just what happened automatically in situations where there’s been trauma in a family. When she asked me who my shrink was on the outside, I told her that I didn’t technically have one at the time because the mental health centre I go to in Midland was giving us the run around as far as getting me a new shrink after having serious issues with the one I had previously (who was new and came in after the shrink I’d been seeing for 8 years retired), passing us off from person to person. She said that was unacceptable and to come to her office, so I did, and there she got on the phone with the mental health centre and got me an appointment with a new shrink in September within about 15 minutes. One that even has a therapy dog in her office, which is already an excellent start. Then she got the social worker assigned to our family from the Children’s Aid on speaker phone and a home visit to talk to us all was arranged for the next day. Then she gave me the brochure and contact info for Catholic Family Services where I can apparently get free therapy, which we’re going to set up tomorrow because obviously I need it since I have no idea why or how things got to this point.

After that, Sandra walked me back to the hallway where my room was, wished me good luck and I thanked her for accomplishing in ½ an hour what’s been taking us months to get nowhere. When I started down the hall to go back to my room, I was like, “wtf?” because all my crazy hospital friends were sitting on the floor outside my room along the walls talking with Blake. They looked just as confused to see me because they thought I was in the room with the social worker with the door closed the whole time! I’d asked Blake to bring me about 30 of my plastic business cards that have photos of about a dozen of my different paintings on them like little artist trading cards with all my info on the back and I pointed out the e-mail address to every single one of them and said “please use that”. I got my hugs and said my goodbyes and be goods and then Blake and I walked out of the building, stopping to get a cold Diet Coke before leaving the building.

When we got to the car I loaded my vaporizer with cannabis and began to medicate while Blake and I talked and drove around until eating seemed like a good idea. I got a turkey sandwich from QuizYES but my stomach was shrunken so I only ate about ¼ of it.

When I got home the first thing I did was go to Wes, my 12 year old son, who was sitting at the computer playing Minecraft and I hugged him from behind for a long time and we just cried and I told him that I was sorry for doing that to him and I promised that I would never do that again as long as he lived.

Then I went into my office and got on the ground to say hi to each of my dogs who you could tell had really missed me and they weren’t sure how to be with me. Hoover just hung his head down and let me cry on his shoulder and Lucky licked the tears from my face before having enough of that nonsense and rolled over for a belly rub.

Wes came into my office and we talked a little bit about where I’d been. I asked him if he wanted to know everything that happened and he said he was good with knowing just what he knew but he confessed he had a pretty good idea of what I did.

I was so forlorn and fragile and scared and overwhelmed and didn’t know what to do so I asked Wes if he wanted to go play with the Polaroid camera with me so we went outside and wasted a pack of film. Then he decided to go back to playing Minecraft with his friends just as Blake was getting off of work (he works from home a lot). When he was done, I asked if we could go for a drive because I was just so fucked up trying to process everything that had happened and even though I’d only been out of the hospital for maybe 4 hours, I already wanted to go back and was missing my hospital friends and wondering what they were doing. I needed to calm down and like I said earlier, going for a drive usually calms me.

It’s now the end of day one of being out of the hospital. We navigated the Children’s Aid visit today successfully and the social worker dude is a really nice, understanding guy who is more than welcome to be all up in my business. I gave him my consent to talk to my family doctor and my psychiatrist after I talk to her in September and he told me that he’d actually heard really good things about her so that was reassuring. He also advocated for Catholic Family Services counseling.

So that’s the story up until now. Thursday (tomorrow) I get one day to breathe and then on Friday I have to deal with the police and the court and the charge(s?) being brought against me.

Y’know when you get so mad at your husband you want to kill him and you tell him so but you’d obviously never really do it? Yeah, don’t casually admit to that in front of a certain type of cop because guess what! Admitting out loud that you’d like to murder anyone is a crime in Canada and not just a phrase and Friday I have to go to the police station to turn myself in to be formally charged with whatever they end up charging me with and then they’ll escort me to the courthouse where there’s a special court for mentally ill people and I’ll meet my lawyer who we chose because she had her dogs on her “About Me” page on her website and she’s theoretically going to do all the talking for me. Blake’s going post bail if there is any. The judge could throw the charges out completely or they could stick and I’ll have a criminal record. I’ve never been in trouble with the police before and was clearly not in my right mind so the odds of anything serious happening to me like jail time or even anything other than the counseling and stuff that’s already in place is pretty slim, but being separated from Blake and going through the booking and mugshot process and being detained and in court all by myself is going to be traumatic for me considering I can’t even walk to the end of my driveway to get the newspaper or go to the grocery store or even talk to my own shrink by myself, and the bad cop from the day I tried to kill myself, the person who was the very tipping point for me to say “fuck it, let’s do this” and swallow 100 pills by his escalating the situation and being a power trippy bear instead of a compassionate human being responding to a mentally Ill person under duress, is probably going to be there to purposely work against me.

So that’s what happened and where I am. It is now 12:14am Thursday morning and I’m about to open an internet browser to engage in my own form of ASMR while still ignoring the 396 e-mails in my inbox and the 227 Facebook notifications I have according to my phone because I just can’t deal with that right now but hopefully I can start the cleanup process when I wake up. I’m not sure when I’m going to be ready to communicate 1-on-1 with people because I’m scared people are judging me and looking down on me and secretly (or hell, openly) wishing the pills had been successful. I’m scared that by telling the world that the Children’s Aid is involved with my family that people will assume I’m white trash and this is just yet another dramatic saga of my pathetic, trainwreck life. I’m scared because I know that no matter how much my friends are going to want to be there for me, I really don’t think any of them have ever been in a situation this fucked up. I mean, everyone has their stuff, but in all my years of talking openly about my depression and persistent suicidal thoughts on the internet and social media, not one person I know has been able to really say, “yeah, I know how you feel” so expecting anyone to be like that now is just dumb. And even the ones who try…they’ve all known me for over 15 years and in that time, they’ve seen me have two major mental health issues requiring hospitalization as an adult. I can’t say the same for almost any of them and trying to commit suicide for real, as an adult making a completely rational decision, is a whole other animal entirely.

The Children’s Aid social worker, named Anthony, when I told him some of my fears about being a bad mom on so many levels and being judged by everyone, just said, “you would be shocked if you knew how many and what kind of families we are involved with” so I’m taking him at his word, that sometimes shit just gets fucked up and you need outside help to clean up the mess and do better. And that’s where I am right now: at the mercy of kind people and in the process of starting from scratch and building my mental strength back up – again – just like I had to do in 2006. Even though I said I wasn’t suicidal yesterday and promised Wes I would never go that far again, there’s still a large part of me that wishes the pills would have just worked because what’s ahead seems so impossible for me to overcome or even get through. Blake says the goal now is to feel grateful that the pills didn’t work and most of me is already there but the framework’s pretty shaky.

So far I’ve only been able to message my two best friends to tell them that I’m home and that I love them and that I’m sorry. (And that I can’t deal with the internet or deal with time periods longer than 24 hours.) Blake’s been keeping my boss mostly in the loop but mental illness is pretty outside of her scope just culturally, I think. My well-being seems to be her first priority though and she said she had my shifts covered for 2 weeks last week so there is no real pressure to come back right away. (I work from home doing customer service for a large website.) I was aiming for Saturday because that’s usually the most fun work day of my week, but also the longest so I think I’ve pretty much decided against it, especially considering I may be traumatized from the day prior. Sunday and Monday are my normal days off so I think I’m going to aim to get back to work on Tuesday when my work week would typically start at 5am my time. I decided in the hospital that I was going to talk to my boss about maybe starting an hour or two later than I usually do and just work 2 less hours per day than I did before all of this happened. Work was 100% not even remotely a factor in any of this. I love my job. I get validation at my job because I’m good at my job and my life typically revolves around my job, medication and proper sleep just to maintain sanity. I’m scared my boss is going to see me as unreliable or as the weakest link and somehow inferior to who I was before all this happened. That I wasn’t really deserving of the extra praise and responsibilities she gave me a few months ago or that she’d think that very thing caused me too much stress and that’s why I did what I did. I dunno. I have to e-mail her but I don’t want to until I can give her a firm, committed date for when I’m coming back.

And now I think I have to be done writing this, send it into the world, and let it be whatever it may be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(*originally they were going to send me to Penetanguishene Psychiatric Hospital which is just NO NO NO. I was lucky as fuck not to go there.)

 

April 21, 2015

Creatively speaking…

Hi.

I’m sort of in the process of rebuilding my life and I’m at a point where I feel I can share my plans with you.

I have a bit of an internet presence…

  1. website
  2. livejournal
  3. twitter x 2
  4. tumblr x 2
  5. friends only facebook that I’ve recently been posting more publicly with
  6. facebook fan page x 2
  7. instagram
  8. youtube
  9.  does snapchat count?

…plus a million other things I’ve signed up for and never used again. The tumblrs and fan pages hardly ever get updated, so let’s pretend they don’t exist for now. YouTube is only used to embed videos in other places, so it’s more of a utility to me than any kind of community that I have to participate in, so take that off the list too. Everything else I use and most of them have some kind of community linked to them that I am part of.

Well, I want to build a new community around myself where my site or LiveJournal is not necessarily the center of it because I don’t think either has been the center in quite a while. I want this community to be built around Patreon, and my creative life, with everything else mostly pertaining to that. But I’ll get to how I plan on using each component after I explain Patreon. 

Patreon is a website that allows me to receive monthly payments from generous patrons who wish to support my work. In return, patrons receive perks, like Kickstarter, and they get to share in the experience of creating some pretty cool stuff, which, if I don’t suck, should give them a little bit of pride of being a patron of the arts and having a hand in whatever crazy thing it it is coming into being! And yes I *am* proud of that run-on sentence!

My first project is a zine that I’m (oh so originally) titling “Textibitionism”. I haven’t really posted anything about it over on Patreon yet (that’s my next  task), but what I envision is 20 individual pieces of paper-based art which tells stories from my life and the things I care about. The original idea was to use traditional scrapbooking materials/embellishments and instead of making typically pretty layouts with smiling children or whatever those happy scrappers do, I would be, well, me. The original idea was also that I would only use materials that I already had, but I already blew that idea out of the water, bigtime. Now what I envision is a mix of altered scrapbook materials, subverted and perverted by my very being, original writings and hand-drawn illustrations. If this sounds good to you, then you should know that almost all pics of works-in-progress, process videos and discussion about this project will be on Patreon, mostly via the patron-only activity feed, which is like a blog with comments and likes. This will be the centre of my creative universe, if the Patreon model of getting money to make art actually works. (We’ll see. I’m not totally convinced. Steph the Geek seems to be doing okay so far, though. Ana Voog and Blake are also using it.) Unlisted YouTube videos, Snapchat (which is where you get videos and pics exclusive to that app on your phone) and private Twitter will be used for daily life stuff for sure, but those media will mostly be where spur of the moment creative thoughts, ideas and work-in-progress photos, things that are pains in my ass etc., will be posted for patrons.

I’ll still be using my main Twitter account and I will (hopefully) only ever have one Instagram account because switching back & forth all the time sounds like a nightmare. LiveJournal is going to continue to be used for the emotional, real life stuff while my site’s updates are basically going to be State of the Union of Sunnyland addresses, linking to everything else once in a while.

I realized when I was in San Francisco that aside from my job, there was very little structure in my life and if my job is any indication, I think I’m less productive as a result. It’s not that I don’t have ideas, I have tons of them, but for a while, whenever I tried to put an idea to paper, I’d start but ultimately lost interest for whatever reason and nothing ever got finished. “Textibitionism”, and the other creative milestones I’ve set for myself on Patreon, is the first time I’ve felt excited and energized about a creative project in a really long time so I really hope that if I make it, I’m not the only one who’s going to see it.

The big picture is that if the zine is well-received, eventually I would maybe like to build Textibitionism.com/.ca/.org where it would be for sale both digitally and hard copy after everyone on Patreon who is supposed to get a copy, does, and the site will have links to all the girls I can find still making and selling zines on Etsy and elsewhere.

The big, BIG picture I’m still working out in my head but there is one. Not giving it too much thought yet though, since so far Blake is my only patron haha

As far as adding structure to my life, today for example, I got off work at noon so I knew I was going to medicate at noon and then write this post directly afterward. I’m falling behind schedule already because I meant to have this done by 3pm but that’s okay. I bought a day planner to help me keep appointments and structure my days to be the most productive I can make them because I’m a freak and I’m happiest, the most emotionally stable and the most satisfied with life when I’m busy creating something, whether it’s writing this post or painting a mermaid. In the past, my creative endeavours have made other people happy too so I’m hoping for this whole thing to be mutually beneficial.

Now I think it’s time to forage for food. Peace oot, homies!

PS. It is a VERY GOOD IDEA to insure your camera equipment, as I found out this week when I realized my camera’s messed up after taking it treetop trekking. I got it insured a few hours before we went! *whew*

March 25, 2014

What’s your damage, soldier?

Woke up this morning at 4:15am like I always do, got up and went to the bathroom without turning the light on and as soon as I start peeing, I start gagging. I grab the garbage can to my right – in the dark – and sat on the toilet barfing into this garbage can on my lap almost until it was time to start work at 5am. Then working from 5am-8am went like this: answer 5 e-mails, run to the bathroom to throw up or just dry heave for 5-15 mins, repeat.

Blake put me to bed at 8am and I woke up about an hour ago (11:30am-ish) with pain in my pancreas so this is the beginning of a pancreatic attack. I’ve taken hydromorph and now that I’m not working I can medicate with cannabis so if I can keep the nausea/vomiting and pain under control, usually things won’t escalate.

What did this? From what I can tell, because I now have to write down every single thing I eat, it was simple cheese sauce from a packet on broccoli last night. I eat frozen Green Giant broccoli and cheese sauce all the time with no issue but lately the texture of their sauce has kinda grossed me out, so I wanted (what I call) “real” cheese sauce on real broccoli. So that’s what Blake made me. And now I kinda wanna die a little.

But hopefully with the hydromorph and cannabis it won’t escalate further.

I was screwing around with polymer clay on the weekend because I have an idea for a big clay project and I wanted to make sure polymer clay was the way to go. I hadn’t used it since I was a kid and man, this stuff has gotten so much nicer in the last 25 years! I remember the old Fimo was SO HARD and you had to work it in for like a million hours until your hands cramped up to be able to work with it, then they introduced soft Fimo but it was more expensive and too rich for my 10 year old blood. Then I lost interest in it until Sunday when we went to Michael’s and I spent the gift card my mom got me on the colours of polymer clay I needed to make a couple of little guys, which we burnt because we screwed up the math and our oven runs hot :o/…

…that mouse was supposed to be elephant grey and baby pink. Anyway, making them was fun and I definitely want to proceed with the bigger project once I work out some of the logistics and play with the remaining clay to figure out how best to bake it in our wonky oven. I’m also going to invest in an oven thermometer at the suggestion of a bunch of my friends on Facebook, just to see how far off our oven is and how it cycles. My friend Mark – the one from the UK with the neat fish tanks, not the one who bought a forest in Nova Scotia – found this really good series of blog posts about baking polymer clay, so once I get my shit together and really get into this project, I’m definitely going to re-read those and maybe seek out more resources. The more info the better.

What I haven’t figured out yet is how to fund the bigger project. Polymer clay is pretty expensive and not really in my budget and I’m going to need a lot. I only bought this stuff to screw around with because my mom gave me a gift card for my birthday and there was nothing else at Michael’s that looked interesting. I didn’t know it would lead to IDEAS. If I’d have known that, I would have stuck to scrapbook paper! I still need to figure out if I’m capable of executing it with the oven we have anyway and I have so much on my plate at the moment that I just don’t even have the desk space right now to work on it so it’s a far ways off.

The gift card though, oy! We get to the cash register and she rings up our stuff, scans my coupon on my phone and swipes the gift card and it wouldn’t work. Long story short: The customer service lady worked for 20 mins to get the gift card to work in the machine and it wouldn’t, 1-800-MICHAELS is not open on Sundays for them to check the balance and when the lady peeled the sticker off the back to reveal the PIN # the paper came along with it, ruining the legibility of the numbers. Finally the lady just GUESSED the PIN # and it went through! The lady had never seen a cardboard gift card before and said she’d tell corporate that they suck. I was so so so fucking thankful that Blake was with me and handling the transaction because I was kinda freaking out. I knew worst case scenario was that I’d have to pay for my purchase, which I had enough money to do, and my mom and I could work it out. I figured she kept the receipt for the gift card because…that’s my mom…and I only spent as much as the gift card was for so somehow it would work out, but the fact that people kept trying to get in line behind us (we were at the customer service desk) and the lady kept having to tell them to go to another register was freaking me out and I wanted to melt into the floor. When she guessed the fucking PIN though and it went through, for a fraction of a second there I think I might have believed in God. At the very least either her karma was good or mine was or something. But nah, it was just a flukey “win”. And she was GREAT for persevering. That’s good customer service, that’s the kind of customer service we provide our customers at my work (which I happen to think is excellent on its own, but especially when compared to most other companies’ customer service). Michael’s had kinda been on my shit list after they sold me old varnish that fucked up a painting and the cover of a sketchbook (which the varnish manufacturer made good on, because DecoArt ALSO has excellent customer service) but I think we’re square for the time being.

Last week I bought myself flowers because they were just so beautiful they had to come home with me, and they’re still going strong. They’re Gerbera daisies, which are actually more related to sunflowers than daisies, according to Wikipedia:

Aren’t they crazy beautiful?
Isn’t my desk crazy messy?
I should just put all that paint away…I may just do that.

In discussing the first day of spring the other day, my friend Rugg reminded me that prior to me getting sick, he had helped me, for my birthday, turn my front yard into a wildflower garden and my back yard into a vegetable garden. This year he asked me if I wanted to plant and it had been something I’d been thinking about now that we’ve decided this is our forever home, but not very seriously because I just don’t have any money and Blake doesn’t care so it’s not like he’s going to give me any. We have decided that we’re not going to have a vegetable garden again because it’s too much work when the grocery store is down the street and sells fresh Ontario produce that’s pretty affordable, but Rugg bought me these hanging planters for tomatoes to grow upside-down, you’ve probably seen them on TV, the spring I got sick so we never really got to use them. I planted them and everything, but then I got sick and no one looked after them so they shrivelled up and died. They’re pretty neat though and you don’t have to weed them, so we figure we might as well. Fresh tomatoes warm from the sun on a PLT is one of life’s greatest joys, so I figure we should probably give it another shot, if only for that possibility. Other than that, all I know for sure is that I’ll be planting the usual cosmos and bachelor’s buttons out front – wait, back up…

…this spring, when the daffodils and hyacinths come up, I’m relocating all of them to the garden that’s in front of our front porch (where only hyacinths grow now, I think) and if there are too many to do that, then I’m just going to plant them randomly throughout the front yard because that’s where all of my little spring flower bulbs are. The reason I’m relocating them is because I want the garden beneath my living room window to be cleared out for peonies because after the daffodils and hyacinths die down in like, the end of April/beginning of May, I can’t get anything other than dandelions to grow there because it’s too shady, it’s right under a big maple tree. I haven’t actually researched whether or not peonies would work there, I just think they will because I’ve seen peonies growing in shade before so some varieties must be able to. If not, suggestions for something LIKE peonies would be welcome if anyone knows anything about gardening! (Keep in mind where I live though…)

Another idea I’ve been thinking about is turning the former vegetable garden in the back into another wildflower garden with more of an emphasis on butterflies and the possibility of a bird feeder in the middle. I want to get one like this, on a pole, but I’d need my mom and John’s help with the pole because I don’t even know where you would get one of those or how you would put it in the ground. All winter I’ve been buying suet balls and we’ve been tying them to the branches of the tree out front. We’ve had little chickadee guys, a woodpecker-looking guy who may or may not be an actual woodpecker because we’ve never actually seen him peck wood and a bunch of different types of black birds. The kids, and even Blake, have all liked watching the birds and I like watching them too if I’m in the kitchen or sitting on the rocking chair in the living room while I talk to Blake at his desk. I’m not sure we’d feed the birds in the summer, they eat the wildflower seeds anyway, but we’d like to feed them in the fall/winter/spring and you can really only give them suet balls in the winter because suet is animal fat so when it’s too warm, they fall apart. Just another idea.

Something else I know as a definite because Rugg and I have already discussed it is sunflowers. Lots and lots of sunflowers. And of course morning glories and moonflowers to grow up the stalks, among other places! Yeah, I have plans and ideas…I just have to get them all in one place and organized because some things will need to be ordered immediately, like peonies, and planted early inside, like tomatoes. Sooooooooo I’m gonna stop babbling and go do that. I also have to make sketches for the polymer clay project. Things they are-a-happenin’.

PS. Madison dyed her hair red yesterday after school…at school in the girl’s bathroom because she’s banned from using hair dye in our house since she bleaches or dyes everything in the bathroom and we just had it redone and we’re in the process of painting the whole room white. So she bought hair dye at lunch and started dying it in the bathroom at school and when she got to the rinsing part, she had her head under the sink, which she said was barely dripping water on her because they’re all water-saving faucets (haha), when a lady janitor came in and said, “oh you’ll never get it done that way” and lead Madison to a janitor’s closet down the hall where she could use a hose and wash the dye down a drain hole where it matters not if she gets dye anywhere. She’s overjoyed that she can now dye her hair again and I’m happy for her, but I REALLY wish she’d use gloves when she does. Right now she looks like she murdered someone…maybe she has…hmmm….

February 27, 2014

I’d like to thank The Academy…

I’m probably the only person who’s going to care about the following. Others may care and will be thinking, “Sunny, you n00b idiot!” Whatever. I’m AMAZED.

Tomorrow is the eve of my birth and in celebration, some friends are coming over to play euchre cuz I’m (almost) old now and this is what old people do on Friday nights. This will be party #1 because I have to work all day Saturday, until my actual birthday is almost over. More on party #2 later.

In preparation for tomorrow night’s festivities, I have rolled birthday cake flavoured joints (that were soooooo fun to roll with my little rolling machine thing, it’s like arts & crafts!) more because I could than anything else. The papers exist. I had ’em. Realistically they’ll probably end up in my purse to be smoked on the go at a later date because joints aren’t really my thing. Truthfully there are only two shitty things I’ve found about weed so far: 1. I can’t drive medicated. (Having said that, I shouldn’t have been driving on some of the stuff I was on prior to weed either.) 2. I have to smoke it or it doesn’t work. Eating it doesn’t work. I’ve had zero success vaporizing. Smoking it is. And a joint is probably the 2nd worst way to smoke it, only second to a blunt (I would assume, I just figure cigar wrapper is more junk in your lungs than a super thin rolling paper). Some people enjoy smoking, I do not. So I want to do it the easiest and least harsh way possible, so that’s why I use a glass bong. It’s still unpleasant but at least you don’t want to expel your lungs (necessarily – everyone/strain’s different) during the process. I still cough even with the bong because I suck at smoking weed, but at least the whole thing’s over in 3 rips and you can get on with your day, meanwhile it takes me a thousand years to smoke a joint and I’m hating every single second of it.

By the way, I’m writing this post mostly for people who don’t regularly smoke weed, which I’m assuming is the majority of the people reading this based on my completely scientific research a while back on whether or not people could name strains.

Anyway, we told our guests to be here “sometime after 6pm” tomorrow and I plan on staying up pretty late, so I’m not sure how long they’ll be staying (overnight is always a possibility, we can sleep 7 extra people in our tiny little house), but what that does mean is that I’m going to be medicating, with my bong, in front of people, in a well-lit kitchen for what’ll be a pretty long time. And this brings us to the bane of my existence: resin. Resin is sticky brown shit that is a byproduct of combusting or heating cannabis and it coats the inside of  your bong, is totally gross (but some people re-smoke it, which I think is also gross) and is a total pain in the ass to remove from basically anything. It’s unavoidable.

It wouldn’t be classy to have a dirty bong sitting on the kitchen table while we play cards and I would be a bad hostess if my guests brought their own legal herb to smoke and all I had to offer them was dirty glass.  But the thing is, cleaning resin off glass is a total bitch project to the point where a shocking amount of the stoners I know will buy NEW glass rather than clean their old glass. I only have a small glass pipe and the bong and the pipe’s used so infrequently it’s still preeeeeeeeeeeeeeeetty much clean so all I had to do was the bong. Like I said though, it sucks to do – at least I *thought* it did – and requires the bong to be out of commission at least a day and overnight, sometimes longer, so it hadn’t been done in a long time. It wasn’t super gross by MY standards? Or if I knew I would be the only one smoking and we were playing cards in my office where it’s darker I probably wouldn’t have bothered cleaning it, but since I didn’t know if I’d be “going alone” (ha!) and we’d be playing in my pristine (thanks to my loving children) kitchen, I figured I’d better clean the bong.

When we went to Liquid Chrome on whatever day it was when I bought all those papers, I also picked up this stuff called Purple Power, which is a cleaner I’ve always used for my glass. That’s specifically what it’s meant for. The problem though, is that to clean a bong with it, it’s usually a 48 hour process involving a lot of really annoying agitation of the cleaner every time you walk into the kitchen, and then some, to re-soak and rinse the parts that can’t be directly covered by the cleaner itself, like the shaft and the perc, because you can’t really get at the inside of a bong any other way.

All week I’ve been dreading this project so I put it off until after my first bowl this morning, aka the last possible minute for the Purple Power to work by the time our guests got here tomorrow. As per usual, I put the stem and the bowl in a plastic container, covered them both (mostly) with Purple Power and put the lid on. Then I swirled the cleaner around for about 3 minutes making zero progress and then I remembered something. Blake had found 99% rubbing alcohol to use as an aftershave, which has been long rumoured to be an excellent cleaner of bongs and as I recalled, a few weeks ago he said I could use it as long as I left him some. Honestly the reason I never tried this before was because I truly thought 99% rubbing alcohol was a banned substance in this country since I’d only ever seen 70% before. I assumed there was a reason for that and knew that 70% wouldn’t work because I read my Reddits.

I poured the alcohol into the base and perc of the bong, stuffed this piece of sponge I use into the hole the stem goes into, put my hand over the top and shook with the other for about 30 seconds. Then I set it down and watched as the resin melted and slid down the glass. IT WAS ALMOST INSTANT AND SO SATISFYING. Then I poured coarse salt into both parts and shook it up for about 8-10 minutes (intermittently because my arms kept getting tired) and then it was SPARKLY CLEAN! The salt doesn’t dissolve in the alcohol, which I thought was interesting. I poured the Purple Power that the stem and bowl had been in back into its bottle (the stuff’s reusable) and while I had to soak them for about half an hour, but they came completely clean with alcohol, agitation and salt too! I will never buy Purple Power again! That shit is like, $9-11/bottle. Rubbing alcohol is like, $2. I’d be shocked if I used 5 cents worth of salt total. Sure, the alcohol’s not reusable (or maybe it is, I have no idea) but you can’t get 5 uses out of a bottle of Purple Power anyway and f0r less than an hour’s work, who the fuck cares?

See? I told you no one would care about this. But just keep it tucked in the back of your brain if you ever seriously take up pot smoking.

On Saturday, my actual birthday, like I said I have to work all day until 11pm so we’re not really doing anything. Blake’s making Mississippi Mud Pie though, which we’ll have on Sunday during party #2 with the kids and Ronny and Alex who are coming over for that reason and for possibly watching the Oscars with me, which The Academy is so graciously hosting in honour of my turning 35. I meant to watch Her today but got sidetracked and I still haven’t seen Labor Day, but other than those two I’ve seen all of the Best Picture nominations and I don’t think ANY of them are worth an Oscar. I guess the one I enjoyed the most was Dallas Buyer’s Club but that wasn’t because it was a good movie, it was because it had good actors and hopefully they’ll win their respective categories. So many people I know absolutely went crazy over Her, but I fell asleep about 10 minutes in and Blake said it wasn’t that great. Hence why I meant to watch it today.

As I’ve been typing this, crazy things have been happening. Here’s what it’s looked like here all day:

I messed up the days forgetting that there were only 28 this month. My birthday is in 1.5 days!

This morning I accidentally woke Blake up at 5am, so he went into the office early since he was working in Toronto and because he did this, he missed the *96* car pile-up that occurred directly on his route at about the time he’d normally be going through. So that happened. As I’ve been writing this, he’s been on his way home from Toronto, where he left the office at around 3:30pm. Right now it’s almost 7:30pm and he’s not home yet. Last time I checked in, he said he was 20 minutes away but in this weather that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

About half an hour ago, Madison’s boyfriend’s mother – whom I’ve never spoke to – called me and asked me if he could spend the night at our house because he lives in the beach and all roads to the beach have been closed since this afternoon so he’s stuck at the school all of his busmates with no way to get home and it’s not safe for anyone to come pick him up. Obviously, without question, I said it was fine that he stay here. I got off the phone with his mom and sent Madison to the school to pick him up not knowing when Blake would be home, called Blake just to double check he was fine with it, which he was and when I got off the phone with Blake, Ronin’s mom’s calling again saying  that apparently they’re not releasing any of the kids without an adult. I asked if it could be any adult and she said it could so I told her I’d call Blake to pick Ronin up at the school on his way home and as I did all this, I told Wes to run after Madison so she didn’t have to walk all the way to the school for no reason. He didn’t catch up with her so I told Ronin’s mom that when she called the school to tell them it’s okay for Blake to pick Ronin up, to tell them to tell Madison to stay there and wait for him too. OH CALAMITY!

And now you’re up to speed and I’ve gotta go prepare/take my pills, choke down an egg and I guess…wait….maybe I’ll see if I have enough time for Her before bed…

November 23, 2013

Great article on creatives.

Why Creative People Sometimes Make No Sense

1. Me.
2. I dunno. Probably me. I think I’m definitely equal parts smart and stupid. Maybe I’m smart like a fox… ;o)
3. Me.
4. Used to be me. Now I think I’m a little jaded. Workin’ on that.
5. I’m an agoraphobic person whose life is laid out on the internet.
6. Mmm, I dunno. I have a hard time with the word “pride”. On the same token, I have a hard time with being unappreciated and I think that’s probably tied to what would be my warped sense of pride.
7. I don’t think I’m very traditional or conservative. I can’t think of any examples of me being either one, anyway.
8. Yep.
9. Creating is literally my favourite thing and you can do it anywhere, with anything.

Anyway, I thought it was a good article so I thought I’d share.

PS. It’s snowing. We’re supposed to get like, a foot today and more tomorrow. I’m callin’ it “winter”.

Posted at 2:54 pm in: Art , Creativity , DIY , Fall , Misc. , winter
August 5, 2013

Be Cool, Man. Christ.

Sooooooooo many thoughts, so little time.

I’ve been thinking about my grama a lot today. My mom says she’s doing really well right now. I mean, obviously she’s still dying, it’s not like she’s doing “better” than before she was diagnosed with cancer, but she’s doing better than she was when she was going through radiation and chemo and she doesn’t need someone with her all the time anymore. It’s not going to last but at least she’s having lots of visitors while things are good. Or so I hear. I know my mom and my brother visit her often and I’m curious to know what she thinks of Chad since she doesn’t really know him. When Chad was like, I dunno, 5 or 6 maybe, my grama gave him a blue lamp that was in the shape of a pencil and he didn’t like it so he said so and threw a tantrum because his present sucked. So my grama took the lamp back and it was in her spare bedroom for the longest time, she probably still has it.

Well, soon after that my parents split for good and my brother went to live with my dad/Ken and when my brother visited my mom, which didn’t happen every weekend or even every other weekend most of the time, they would spend time together, not at my grama’s. The only time my brother ever really saw my grama from that point on was Xmas. She went to his grade 8 graduation too. I don’t recall any of his birthdays being celebrated with her in the picture, but I could be wrong on that.

So yeah, I’m curious to know what she thinks of him now. It would be so funny if she left him the pencil lamp when she died haha

When I was little, we lived with my grama, my mom and I. And my grampa because they were still married then. Then when my mom and Ken got married, we lived above my grampa’s carpet store in Stouffville, beside Good Eat and across from the clock tower. It was a one bedroom apartment so my brother and I shared the bedroom and my mom and dad’s bed and bedroom furniture was in the living room. My dad was a really amazing artist. I’m sure he still is but after we moved into our first house in Greenbank, he sort of stopped drawing and never really picked up the habit again. One of his many artistic talents was airbrushing and my room in the apartment in Stouffville was painted yellow and my dad airbrushed a big rainbow and clouds on one of the walls. I used to read Robert Munsch books to my brother at night, through the bars of his crib, in whispers.

Anyway…I started this post at like, I dunno, 3pm maybe? It is now almost 9:30pm and I have to go to bed because I work at 5am. Boooooooo.

What I did want to say before I go to bed though, is that, at the encouragement of some of my Twitter friends, I’ve been persuaded to put the box of my old zines I found on Etsy for fun and profit so I just finished doing that. I figured there’s no reason not to, they’re just sitting in a box in my office taking up space. Some of you will remember The Paper Blog and may still have copies, while others have probably never heard of it because it’s not like I talk about them all the time or anything. The Paper Blog was a zine I wrote, made and mailed between 2004-2005. Only issues #s 3-6 are on Etsy though because I only have ONE copy each of issues #1 & #2 and the files for them all are now long gone so I’d like to keep those. Issue #7, the final issue, was digital and I no longer have the file.

Go to my Etsy shop, if interested!

I need another project like I need another hole in the head, but I kinda think I want to make a new zine. I was just told yesterday about this site called MagCloud which is a print on demand service where you upload your zine (or whatever) as a PDF and they print it as people order it and send it to them. Then I was also informed that Etsy now allows digital downloads, which, as my friend Less put it, is a fucking game changer. I could make an e-zine and sell it on Etsy. I’m still looking into both of these things, but you have to admit, they have some pretty cool possibilities.

Anyway, it’s now 9:35pm and I am soooooo tired so I’m going to bed. Peace oot.

May 9, 2013

This Means War!!!

Yesterday was the day the kids came to our house to scrape and paint the side of our house. There was Madison, her friend Emily and her friend Devon. Hailey was supposed to come but she was sick. The day started out pretty good…

Then it devolved…

Then it was all out war…

Emily was smart, she got a SHIELD…
That’s because she’s secretly a superhero.

LOL

I love Devon’s evil face in this pic.

Emily paint rollered Madison’s head haha

“Bitch, I will fuck you up!”

Then Blake got really mad and Emily abandoned ship and Blake drove Devon home while Madison cleaned up the mess and had a long shower.

THE END.

January 7, 2013

Blue Monday

Tonight is my first yoga class in 2 years and I am nervous as fuck. What if I suck at it? I’ll probably suck at it. :o( The classes are at a country club and the instructor is Kelly, the same instructor I had before I got sick so at least it’s someone I know. We’re going to get there 20 minutes early so we can give her the whole story about me being sick because she never really knew what happened, just that I got really sick and had to drop the class. Blake just wasn’t in any shape to really explain it to yet another person as it was happening. Anyway, I’m kinda looking forward to it but I’m also absolutely terrified. Even when I was going to classes before, I’d dread going all day but then once class was over, I’d feel amazing and would be glad I did it.

Yesterday Blake and Madison started watching Twin Peaks, which is awesome because it IS awesome so that’s pretty much what we did all day; they watched Twin Peaks and I painted. My snow fairy is coming along nicely. I’m at the dreaded stage where I have to make her some arms, which is the hardest part of the whole process. Actually in this case that’s probably not true because I have to sew the marabou trim on her dress at the end, which is pretty difficult because you have to sew through varnish, cardstock and canvas. A few years ago my mom gave me a good sewing kit though so I have two thimbles I use to make it easier to sew through all of that.

Last week I priced out button makers and I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m getting for my birthday: a button maker and the supplies to make 1000 buttons. Blake and I are going to go halvsies on it because those things are friggin’ expensive. My plan is going to be to make cut & pasted buttons of my girls, similar to my ACEOs, but I’m not sure how I’m going to do that yet because I need to do them on watercolour paper and that might be too thick to make into buttons. The one I priced out was for 2 & 1/4″ buttons but I’m afraid those might be a bit too small. The 3″ one is $100 more though and I’m not sure I want to spend THAT much money on something that may not even work. If the buttons I ordered from Zazzle are good enough quality though, I think I’m just not going to bother with the button maker at all because making girls that small is going to be a royal pain in the ass and I just don’t think they’re going to look right. At the same time, I’ve always wanted a button maker and would like to at least try because I think they would be pretty cool if I did them right so I dunno. I can’t think of anything I’d rather have for my birthday. The other thing is that the homemade buttons would be pretty labour intensive so I would probably have to sell them for like, I dunno, $8-$10 each plus shipping, so like $12 like the ACEOs. Is that outrageous? What if they really are pretty cool? They’re going to be glittery and pretty and basically like a mini painting that you can wear. Thoughts? I mean, the cost of the button maker + materials + labour, even at $10 I’m not going to break even until about the first 75 sales. And that’s a lot of buttons to sell. I highly doubt I’ll be able to sell that many in a year. Maybe even 2 years isn’t realistic either. But I still think they’re going to be really cool so I just dunno. I DUNNO GODAMMIT. Is making a profit secondary to making art? That seems to be the story of my life. PS. Buy my paintings!

This weekend we dyed Madison’s hair turquoise, which turned out pretty much blue. She loves it. I did the bleaching (to get the pink out of her hair and to get rid of the brassiness) and then on Saturday Blake did the dying. Here’s the result:

So yeah, she’s happy with it. She says she feels like an anime character. (She even showed me the specific character but I forget the name now. She’s apparently the first pop star that doesn’t technically exist and they project a hologram of her during concerts or something.)

Anyway, I think I’m gonna go make lunch and see what documentaries are on Netflix. Then I’m gonna work on this painting and the cover of my new sketchbook. Peace oot, homies.

PS. I mailed my application for the artist’s guild today!

Posted at 1:22 pm in: Art , Beauty , Creativity , DIY , Exercise , hair , Kids , Life , Madison , Photography , Sunnyland , TV , winter , Yoga
December 9, 2012

Ups & Downs

On Friday I had a bit of an issue. I posted this on Facebook:

“Blake’s in a phone meeting in the living room. I was watching Twin Peaks and Twin Peaks has a lot of pie in it and suddenly I was thinking that pie would be a lovely thing right now and also we need ketchup and Blake’s always saying that the whole reason I’m doing immersion therapy is so if he’s working from home and the car’s available, I can just take the car and go wherever I want.

 So I put on a hoodie and a hat (because my hair is unclean today, yay hats) and socks and shoes, put my wallet and phone in my purse, took 2 clonazepams and 2 Ativans and I already had my keys (that’s where I keep the Ativan, on a keychain container) was all ready to go, so I opened the front door and walked to the end of the driveway and looked down the street to see if they were still doing construction because they hadn’t been doing construction right in front of my house for a couple of days so I thought maybe they were taking a break or they were done or they were working in the opposite direction to the one I had to go in to go to the grocery store….

 But I saw down the street, in the direction I had to go in, a big dump truck pulling out of where they’re keeping all the construction machinery & vehicles and there’s all these signs down there, like road signs and I don’t know what to do down there with all those signs and I’m scared I’ll do the wrong thing so I just came inside and now I’m all ready to go but I *CAN’T* and I can’t stop crying and everything is terrible. And Blake’s on the phone in a meeting so I can’t even tell him any of this and I am paralyzed and disappointed and frustrated and I don’t even know what to do.”

And people generally posted messages of support and in the end, Blake was finished his meeting and came into my office where I was crying and he asked what was wrong, so I told him and he was like “Let’s go to Wasaga Beach,” because that way we could avoid the construction and the Wasaga Beach Foodland is better than the Elmvale one anyway.

So we went and I drove and all was fine and good. The roads were dry and I did a good job parking. We ran into Wayne, who works there, and we shot the shit for a bit about nothing in particular. I could tell by how he was asking me questions that he’d known I’d been sick.

I got an apple pie, a bag of ketchup chips and macaroni salad from the deli. Please we got a bunch of other stuff. Then I drove home.

But when I got back home and looked at Facebook, this comment was on my status update from my brother and it made me lose my shit completely:

“Remember the time I went with u to get ur g license and you were all scared and u kept saying u were sick and making up excuses to not do it. And I pretty much said eff that ur doing it . And you did . And you were so happy u did it and you knew it wasnt even a big deal at all after you had done it. I know that was a long time ago but that same brave strong fearless chick that I always looked up to is still in there wanting to come out again. Just have to remember the days you conquered your fears . One at a time lil by lil .

Love you.”

I have so many supportive people in my life and people who mean well, but probably no one’s words could mean more to me than what my brother posted in that situation. I can’t even put it into words. Someone who knew me “from before”, the real me, not this shell of a scaredy cat I’ve become. Just the fact that he’s taking the whole thing seriously says a lot about how much he’s grown since the last time I talked to him.

Yesterday was Medieval Times. It was okay. I needed to take a lot of medication to be there, the food was awful and I hate horses so it wasn’t really my thing at all and I would never in a million years pay $40 to go there but for $30 for our whole family to go (it was Blake’s work’s childrens’ Xmas party) and Wes had a really good time so I guess it was all worth it. We were seated in the yellow knight’s section and it looked like he was going to win because he won all of the challenges but then the red and yellow knight had a beef with him a stabbed his ass. We left before it was over so I could get back home in time to go to work and then I worked while Blake and the kids played Warcraft.

This morning was a holiday geocaching event in Penetanguishene which is about 45 minutes north of us and I drove the whole way there and back WITH the kids in the car, which is something I never thought I’d ever be able to do. Then I drove us to Wasaga Beach so I could take “signs of life” pictures, which I’ll edit after I’m done writing this post and then Blake and I dropped the kids off at home and we went to the drugstore where I decided that it was time to have pink hair again.

The bleach in the Splat hair dye works really well, the actual Splay hair dye is fucking brutal though. I am head to toe covered in pink. It’s all over my hands, my scalp, my hairline…which, by the way, you should not use a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser to try to get off because that shit is abrasive and will make you bleed – and you’ll still be pink. So I guess I just have to wait it out and I guess we’ll see how long the dye itself lasts. I think for future though, I’d use the Splat bleach with Manic Panic because Manic Panic doesn’t stain everything as badly as this stuff did. I’ve never had a problem with it and I’ve been using the stuff for 20 years. The only reason I used Splat this time around is because our drugstore had it and you can’t even get the shade of pink I use in Manic Panic at Shopper’s Drug Mart here like you can with almost all the other colours for like, $10. I have to get it at the goth store in the mall at $30 a jar. Sucks.

Then after I was finished washing out the pink dye and brushing my hair out, I realized that Blake had missed like, a 5 inch in diameter spot right on the side of my head. Now, I had a bit of dye left over, however I’d already added shampoo to it for maintenance like the instructions suggested, so I threw that on my melon and it’s been in there for about half an hour now and hopefully that’ll at least blend it in if it doesn’t dye it completely. When Madison’s finished vacuuming I think I’ll wash it out and see what happens.

Annnnnd I think she’s done so I’m going to go wash this stuff out of my melon and see where things stand. Then edit pictures.

No Walking Dead tonight. Bummer.

September 9, 2012

Starting to freak out.

I leave for Squam on Tuesday after Blake gets home from work. Well, technically we don’t leave until early Wednesday morning but I have to stay over night at my mom’s so we can leave early since she lives an hour & a half away from me. I have today and Monday off and then I work Tuesday morning and then that’s it until the next Tuesday. This is sort of awesome, but sucky because I’m going to be so so poor by next paycheque because I’m taking 4 days off, unpaid. Bummer.

On Thursday I packed my “Squam Box” and I can’t think of anything else art-wise to add to it. I put in all my brushes, my pencil crayons, my Inktense pencils (since I don’t know how to use them and maybe someone can teach me), all my glitter (which may be unnecessary but what if they don’t have any there and I need it?), a jar of varnish that I probably won’t use, a bottle of crackle medium that I also probably won’t use, my “Smash Kit” full of stuff from my Smash Book, mostly washi tapes, pencils, pens and stuff like that…I can’t remember what else I put in there. Oh yeah, two sketchbooks; one for Belinda and one for me since we have the same class on day 2. Really considering taking the peacock feathers.

Blake told me to keep my supplies to a minimum because if you look at the materials list for my 2nd class, most of what we’ll be using will be provided. Oh yeah, I *did* pack a whole bunch of Martha Stewart paints because I think the paint provided will probably be Golden and I hate Golden because you have to mix your own colours and honestly, fuck that, I don’t have time for that.  Anyway, Blake said that I should use their materials instead of mine because that’s what I’m paying them for. I think he has a pretty valid point considering how expensive this trip is.

I’m mostly scared about my 1st day’s class. I’m scared to have my picture taken and I even told my teacher that and she said that if I felt uncomfortable about it, I could decline but I don’t want to do that. What I wanted to hear was that if the pictures are horrible she’ll delete them. Plus there’s this:

And then I’m TERRIFIED of being somewhere with 134 (approx.) other (mostly) women. I don’t have a lot of female friends. I don’t really know how to have female friends. I don’t really get into the whole “sisterhood” dealio that so many other women seem to just connect with. I mean, yeah, I like Oprah, but that’s about the extent of it. And yeah I’m a feminist, but that doesn’t mean I get along well with women traditionally. Or other creatives for that matter. Maybe these women will be different?

Squam made a blog post this week about the first fall session and there’s the group picture that they take every year. Right here, look. I don’t see any tattooed, gum-chewing freaks in that picture. I don’t see “my people”. And that scares me. Belinda and I are going to stick out like sore thumbs. (Especially Belinda with her multi-coloured hairdo.)

But I signed up for this to have an experience I couldn’t get otherwise so I’m trying REALLY REALLY FUCKING HARD to keep an open mind and to not be judgmental. I’m just going to be so out of my element and I’m not sure how I’m going to cope without my safe person. And is being in a car with my mother for 10 hours really a good idea? I mean, can we go 10 hours without her getting pissed off and me in tears? I’m not sure. I’m bringing TWO bottles of Ativan though so hopefully that’ll help. Is it even possible to overdose on Ativan?

And in the US, I can’t use my phone because I can’t afford to due to international roaming fees, so that means no “Twitter support”, which I rely on in the outside world quite a bit.

Talk about first world problems. :o/

And then there’s the whole Free People fiasco. Charlie ordered me some clothes specifically to wear at Squam so I wouldn’t look like a homeless person in my crappy, worn out Old Navy stuff and I think it’s sitting at the post office right now but I have no way of getting it. The only things we’re expecting in the mail are Free People and Madison’s Gamecube controller which only shipped on Friday and Blake picked up the “you have a package” slip yesterday so I’m pretty sure it’s Free People. Blake works in the city Monday and Tuesday so he can’t pick it up so my only alternative is the following:

I am going to call the post office on Monday and ask them to tell me who the package is from. If it’s Amazon, fuck it, Madison can wait until Blake’s home on Wednesday. If it’s Free People, I’m to text Madison’s cell phone and she’s going to try and pick it up after school and her friends will help her carry it home (I’m assuming it’s a large box). But the post office ladies are fucking nazis and since Madison’s name isn’t on the package, they may not let her pick it up so if that’s the case, then Madison comes home and we go back to the post office together and pick the package up and me, her and Wes will do our best to carry it home. I mean, what alternative do I have? It’s not like our town of 2000 people has a taxi service or anything and I don’t have a car. And I don’t know anyone in this town at ALL let alone anyone with a car who will help us out.

So I’m basically fucked unless I do this and I hate that.

Also I don’t even own a bag that you would put clothes in for a trip so I’m going to put my nice, clean, possibly brand new clothes in Blake’s stinky nasty yoga bag. And how I’m going to fit 5 days worth of clothes in that bag, I have no idea.

Why did I sign up for this thing again? Why do you guys always support my really really stupid ideas? (That was a joke, I appreciate the support immensely.)

Right now Blake’s doing horrible things to my phone because it’s a massive piece of shit whose only purpose in life is to PISS ME OFF. All day yesterday I tried to update the apps that say they needed updating, like Facebook for example, and the phone kept saying there wasn’t enough hard drive space to do it. I’ve moved every app I can to the SD card but it won’t let me move most of them and honestly, I only even have like, less than 10 downloaded (as opposed to the ones built into the OS that you can’t move or delete) apps on my phone and they’re all official apps too, like I use Twitter’s app for Android as opposed to TweetDeck because I think the official one is smaller.

My SD card is literally almost empty so why it keeps saying I don’t have enough space is beyond me. Also everything I’ve been reading about Android phones, because I was Googling yesterday trying to fix the fucking thing, says that they have soooooooooo much space on them blah blah blah. Well, mine doesn’t and it fucking sucks shit.

My phone is a Motorola Milestone, the one with the pull out qwerty keyboard. It is slow as fuck and there’s the obvious space issue. I hate it.

I even deleted all the music Blake put on it when I first got it to try and solve the problem but all that was on the SD card which is not where I need extra space. SO FRUSTRATING.

And then I don’t even know how to put music back on it except song by fucking song because I use iTunes and can’t find my playlists so I can put them on the phone. Intuitive my Aunt Fanny.

So yeah with all this shit I’m basically on the verge of shutting down completely. I don’t even know what to do with myself right now or for the next 3 days. I’m charging my camera’s battery so it’s fully charged for my first day of class. I have it written down to bring all my chargers, pack extra batteries for my mouse, don’t forget Gravol and enzymes, don’t forget my US money. I cleaned out my purse of all junk this morning so I’m good there if they feel like inspecting me at the border. I have my hideous passport and Blake’s insurance card. Like I said, my Squam Box is packed and I can’t think of anything else to put in it so I guess all that’s left is to pack clothes and toiletries which I can’t do right now. (Oh yeah, I did all my laundry on Thursday.)

I guess all that’s left to do is to actually read the book my teachers created because I haven’t done that yet and I’d feel like an asshole asking them to sign it when I haven’t even read the whole thing yet.

I AM SO STRESSED OUT. HOLY SHIT.

This year is Squam’s 5th anniversary so there are a whole bunch of extra things planned. I’m pretty excited about the open studio space. I’m not doing yoga so I’ll be doing that instead, especially since it’s being set up in our cabin.

Okay, I think I’m going to go make mixed CDs for the ride since I don’t have an iPod. I only have 5 blank CDs so I have to make  my song choices count. And they have to be “mom friendly”. I’m not even sure what that means exactly but they just…have to be…

Off I go!

« Previous entries Next Page » Next Page »