It’s warmish, it’s bright and I had my delicious apple pie for breakfast.
It’s foggy, that’s why it’s so bright and uplifting. It would otherwise be a sunny day. I go back and forth to the studio in just my t-shirt. (And pants, of course.) I’m putting up things that go on the walls and in the paper cupboard.
And I finished two more coats on my worktable. It’s done and Mertz Manor is on it. I have to cut it down to get it to fit in the loft — less height, more lateral space. I tried twice to get it up and failed. I also dropped the thing.
My home is chaos. The animals go crazy digging in all the stull piled in my dining room that will go into the studio so there’s torn paper and bit of wood and plastic everywhere. One of them got into a bag of Styrofoam peanuts and there are bits of them all over the place. There are a million jars and boxes full of things and, of course, mannequins and lots of plastic body parts. And fabric! And paper!!!
I can only handle it all knowing that it sill soon end and that it’s a step toward the perfect studio.
Darrell couldn’t do any work yesterday. The supplies he needs are on the Arbutus Lumber truck but they haven’t unloaded it yet. They said we’d have it Saturday morning but it wasn’t ready. Then they said Saturday afternoon but it still wasn’t ready so he had the day off. I worked hard all day on the worktable and at fetching my supplies from the attic and sorting them all into containers. I’m not troubled by the delay at all. He’ll be back tomorrow.
Yesterday morning I went out to get wood and Sheba came with me. I came back in but Sheba stayed outdoors. After a while, she scratched on the door to get in so I opened it and she came in totally excited, saw Fred and chased Fred into to the bedroom. I went back to work at my desk.
Then I heard a noise. I got up and went into the living room and my huge and heavy tapestry was off the wall and on the floor — the tapestry that the kitties use to climb into the loft; the tapestry I carried all over India. Then I saw it: My pristine white duvet covered in filthy black puppy paw prints and smears.
I decided to go to the studio and talk to Darrell and calm down. I left Sheba in the house. I was pissed. Then I saw the hole she’d dug. It was huge. That’s why here feet were so dirty and when I went over to look at it, of course I stepped in her poo.
I calmed down, came back in and got down to work at my dest. Sheba asked to go out, so I let her into the yard. I have a window right beside my desk so I kept watching her. At one point I glanced out and raced to the door and yelled at her to stop. She was good. She did. And then I fetched the dead Thrush she was chewing on.
Can you believe that?
Google search: “How to cremate pets.”
A Jay came back and I think there was a fight and the Thrush lost. Mother nature is harsh — even in Pinecone Park.
I was really happy with my speech at the Arts Council meeting and I’ve been high on how the McGuire technique has helped me with the phone. Speaking with Darrell is no problem; he’s been here every day for a couple of months and Buffy and the team at SeaAir are familiar so I have no problem with them either. The rest of the time I’m alone so I’ve been living pretty easily and comfortably for a long time.
Yesterday I went into the sports clothing store here and not a single word would come out. It was back to square one. It was my first time there.
I’ve been so high on the McGuire technique. It was inevitable I’d have a bit of a fall.
All the people in the program are “normal;” that is, they don’t have C-PTSD. The objectives of the program are far more accessible to them than they are to me; they have to climb a mountain but I have to climb Mount Everest. Still, it’s been a great help.
Our behind my studio is the cistern and a small mountain of garbage left by the previous owner and the two woodsheds are full of plastic pails I don’t want to look into, miles of piping and stuff so dirty and covered in spider webs I have no idea what they are.
When I saw it, it made me sick that it was all left here. But then I found out the poor guy died and this place wound up in the hands of the scumbags at The Bank That Doesn’t Care (TD). Well now I look at all that crap and I look forward to Spring and the good weather that will make cleaning it all up pleasant work. I’m in the zone.