hand eye crafts

By my fingernails.  Which are slowly breaking, one by one. Making this: out of this:

Having a monumentally bad day.  Inside, I'm screaming, "What is the point of going on?"  Keeping it inside is setting off waves of panic attacks.  And if I type about it anymore, things will get worse. So let me type something that I found the other day.  A while ago, the magnificent Stephen Fry published a book called  The Ode Less Travelled , which helped its readers write all different types of poetry.  I found my workbook from when I read the book, and am rather fond of the following. We were called upon to finish "Fry's Ballad," which began thusly (my contributions in bold): Now gather round and let me tell The tale of Danny Wise: And how his sweet wife Annabelle Did suck out both his eyes. And if I tell the story true And if I tell it clear There's not a mortal one of you  Won't shriek in mortal fear. For Annabelle was fair of face, A comely shape and size. She won young Danny with her grace, But everything was lies. Her...

Riley is now at our vet, and will be until at least Friday.  She is showing signs of improvement: she's noticeably less jaundiced, has gained a couple of ounces, has less bilirubin in her urine.  They're still having to feed her with a syringe, but that is SO much better than a feeding tube.  We miss her, but would prefer she stay with them until she is completely stable. In addition to calling off all my travel plans for the rest of the year, I've also cancelled acupuncture for the time being.  I wasn't having the best luck with it anyway, but that's another weekly cost that     would have eaten away at the money I have. And I'm still looking high and low for a job.  Without any luck.  Wonder if I qualify for unemployment again? Just bought this bead from my friend Shannon.  Not so clear in the photo, but the "sky" is swirly purple, like a storm.  Just gorgeous, and so me.  The plan is to make it into a pendant. ...

Right now, I am going through as bad an emotional spell as I have since I was suicidal.  No hope, no energy, constant worry. I don't want to lay it off on the acupuncture, but after each session I've had, I've been immobilized --- the first time by physical pain, this time by emotional.  I just stare straight ahead, unable to move, unable to find a reason to move. And blogging about it is iffy, as I already feel that I've scared away friends who had once stood steadfastly by me, but lately, have been nowhere to be found.  If I were crying wolf, I'd get it.   But I'm not.

Second acupuncture session today, and it was a disaster.  The needles, the cupping caused pains that made it difficult to breathe.  One needle to my hand sent electricity through my fingers.  One needle in my foot, in a place that one was last time, caused me to gasp in pain. Then, all of a sudden, I was crying.  Not just tears leaking out of my eyes.  Huge, racking sobs.  I couldn't stop. If I can't even endure the treatment, how will I ever get well?

The acupuncture treatment went very well.  I was aware of a slight sting when the needles went in, but it was much less than being stuck with a regular sewing needle.  Not a problem at all.  Honestly. There was also a cupping treatment, which was more uncomfortable than the acupuncture. What has caused the most problem since, however, was the intense massage.  Since I woke up yesterday, I have had a searing headache.  Everything that was done was to release pent-up energy and toxins, and I must be a damn landfill of the stuff, as much pain as I've been in since.  I've been in bed with ice packs all day today, even having to cancel a therapy appointment. The therapist told me on Saturday that my symptoms might worsen after the treatments.  She was right.

Going to an acupuncturist in the morning.  (Why isn't that spelled "ac c upuncture"?  Seems more acc urate.)  Decided to try some other possible remedies for my anxiety/stress/depression and  my headaches.  I've no fear of needles, so that isn't a problem.  I do  wonder, though, what the feeling will be like as the energy begins to move around.  There's a whole lot of bad stuff stored up in this body, and I just wonder what it's going to feel like when someone tries to take it out. I just have to do something.  Spinning in place has gotten old.  And Briton is convinced I'm suicidal again.  All I want to do is stay in bed and sleep, which has always been, as I'm sure I've said dozens of times here already, my Worrisome Sign. So, we'll give that a whirl tomorrow.  'Til then, Rifftrax and Noro silk:

Finn scared me deeply Thursday by first vomiting and retching, then literally collapsing against one of the bathroom cabinets.  It was the first time I'd ever seen him anything but jumpy-happy, and it was unnerving.  I laid on the bed with him, gave him ice to lick, and, within a couple of hours, he was back to normal.  Still pretty tired, though: Pretty sure I put something about this organization on my facebook wall.  Well, the bracelets I ordered from them arrived: The top one says "Dropped + Made in Laos."  Hard to realize I'm wearing parts of bombs or guns or ammunition around my wrist. Spent a good part of this morning updating my etsy page.   I didn't make a single sale over the holidays, so it isn't like I had to re-stock or anything.  There were just some pictures hanging around that needed to be posted. On THE other economic issue, I am still unemployed.   I told myself I was going to jump back into the hunt with renewed ...

The stomach crud will not let me go yet.  If I'm on Briton's timetable, tomorrow should be a much better day. When I can stay awake long enough, and sit upright long enough, I'm knitting with some great yarn I bought at knit in Charleston.  It's thick-and-thin, which is a huge favorite, and a bamboo/wool/acrylic blend that has a delightful hand.  It's called "Bamboo Bloom Handpaints" from Universal Yarn.  I'm using Reflecting Pool.

When your son has passed along the stomach horror that has had him abed for the last 3 days, do you browse around on etsy , or cowboy boot sites , or  online yarn shops ? Or do you think about the days when your son was little, and even then susceptible to high fevers?  And do you think about the number of times you've put him in the tub at ungodly hours to pour cool water on him and try to help him out? And then does your mind go to both your children, when they were both little, and you remember having babies was so sweet: But then you realize there were an awful lot of days like this: And you down some Gatorade and ibuprofen, slump down onto the couch, and hope that your fever brings you warmly weird and satisfying dreams.

It is 11:57 PM, I have taken SEVEN Klonopin, and sleep is not in sight.  That is double the dose I am supposed to take.  I'd take more, but that seems a little dangerous, and I am so awake now, I doubt it would help. I am angry, and I am in pain, and I want to lash out at people in my anger, and I want them to hurt like I hurt.  Because they don't seem to care right now.  My son and I had a SCREAMING telephone call this afternoon, and I'm willing to bet when it was over, he went back to playing video games or whatever he was doing and never gave it a second thought. My daughter spent all day in her room, until friends came to take her our for pizza.  We've said maybe 8 words all day.  I've got plenty of things I could yell at her. Why am I so angry?  Where is this consuming rage coming from?  I just want to smack everybody down.  I'm being cruel to our pets, I'm throwing things --- I don't have any control. I lost my mind onc...

It is just after 1 AM, and here I sit, unable to sleep.  I've taken 6 Klonopin and 4 sleep aid tablets, and I'm as wide awake as I can be. Which stinks because I have to be at my psychiatrist's in the morning.  For him to say, for the jillionth time, "Well, let's just stay with what we're doing, and let me see you in about 3 weeks."  I have begged him to try something else.  I have brought all my medications into his office, poured them on the floor and said, "These aren't working.  DO SOMETHING ELSE." I realize that as many drugs as I take, it's a delicate process of figuring out which are effective and which are not, and then calculating how much more or less or each to take.  But nothing, nothing, nothing is working right now, and I have to make him understand that.  Surely telling him I'm now going to therapy twice a week because I couldn't make it with just one session will make some sort of difference.

As of this exact moment: 7:37 PM on the 9th of November, 2012, I care about absolutely nothing. I have kept myself drugged since Wednesday so that I could sleep.  I took my daughter to work, I went to my second therapy session, but then I slept.  In the last 72 hours, I've seen my daughter for approximately 6 minutes. I don't care.  I don't want to care.  What has caring done for me these last 2 years?  News from Tennessee is that we may be close to signing the sale papers on the house.  So?  Just another trip up there, just more guilt, just more pain.  It will all be over, but it will never end. One week ago today, my mother died.  The first year is hard, because you're forever being reminded of where you had been, or what you had seen, or what you had said or laughed about during that last year. Will the passing of the anniversary make a difference in me?  I don't know.  I don't remember any big changes the year after...

When I am having a particularly bad depressive day, or in this exact situation, several in a row, the feeling that lives inside me is that I am being torn to shreds.  Thoughts hurt, clothing is a nuisance, the sadness has depth, breadth and width. These are the days that make The End (as in the righting of the ship) seem impossible to see, much less imagine. I see people who care enough to get dressed, go out, keep their heads up, look others in the eye, talk , and I want to SCREAM at them "HEY! I'M DYING HERE!  And no one cares." I used to have my mother to pray for me --- now I'm not sure I even know anyone who prays.  My children are dealing with issues of their own (though they weigh exponentially on me), plus neither is of an age where anyone's world matters but their own. I am sitting on this couch right now wondering how I will make it through the next ten minutes.  That's what my life is some days.  How am I going to make it through?  W...

Completely unnerved by the murders in Colorado.  Not really sure why, but my stomach won't stop churning.  Why in the world a politician --- any  politician --- won't sac up and tell the NRA and all other gun fetishists (as one writer called them) that we're sick of their nonsense is beyond me.  And that some people are actually saying that if other people in that theater had had guns it would have ended "better"?   Are you kidding me?   My God, what kind of country have we become?  And shut up about movies and video games.  If they were, indeed, inciters of violence, then every person who watched a film or handled a controller would be mowing people down.  That "explanation" holds no water at all. The psychological explanations of murder are many and complicated.  But being able to sit in your house and order military weapons, battle armor, and thousands of rounds of ammunition off the Internet does no one any good.  A "sane" ...

When your children are small, birthdays are easy.  There's a TV show or a movie that they're hooked into, so decorations and gifts are simple.  There are a handful of friends that they like to play with, so you invite them, and --- WHAM --- happiness abounds. As they get older, it gets a little trickier, because character decorations are NOT cool, and the 2 or 3 friends that they seem incapable of living without are easy company, because they spend the entire time they're together as far away from you as possible. Now, I have adult children.  And one of them has a birthday today.  I've spent the last week, week and a half pleading  with her to tell me what she wanted as gifts, if she wanted a cake, what she wanted to do.    She didn't know, she didn't know, she didn't know.  Maybe get some of her Atlanta friends together and go to Six Flags.  But I never saw or heard her trying to get in touch with anyone. Finally, she said that ...

The nightmare trip to Nashville finally ended, but not before my finding more evidence of mice even more everywhere.   I just cannot figure how they got in.  There are steep, steep stairs both from the garage into the kitchen and from the first floor to the second.  These must have been some in-shape rodents. Back here, I found Gable severely weak and in pain.  I was taking him to the vet to get checked out;  he died in the car on the way.  I was holding him in my lap, so I was with him, but it's still a fairly crushing blow.  He'd been with us a long time.  But he's never been the same after we had Jessie put down.  He adored her. Hannah is back for the summer.  Or for part of it.  She and a friend have got to find a house to live in in Atlanta;  they're aiming to move in in late June/early July.  Looks like she'll be living out of boxes and bags until then. I finished several little knitting projects w...

By all rights, I should be in Atlanta right now, knitting and shopping my way through Stitches South .  Instead, I am home sick with some sort of beastly sinus/flu thing .  Sore and clogged throat, stopped-up nose, headache, fever, arms that feel like dead weight. . . I blame my son for getting me sick and his girlfriend for getting him sick. Fin.  ('Cause my arms are tired from typing just this much.)

1.  Why does ribbing take so blasted long to finish? 2.  And why do designers call for twisted rib, when you can rarely tell the difference anyway?` 3.  My girl crushes are Olivia Wilde, Sara Hess, Rachel Maddow and Rashida Jones. 4.  Why is the saying that money doesn't grow on trees?  Why not stalks?  Or stems?  Or directly out of the ground? 5.  I should start a list of the song that are in my head when I wake up each day.  Thursday, it was "Wanted, Dead or Alive."  Yesterday, "Another Saturday Night."  Today, "Horse With No Name." 6.  Still, if I have a free moment and don't have anything pressing to do, I think, "I'll call Mama." 7.  Knitting is still a chore --- I'll start a project, think things are going fine, and then find a mistake serious enough that makes me want to unravel the whole thing.  And start something else. 8.  Repeat #7. 9.  The only thing I've finished in several months is a simp...

Finished Eight White Nights  a couple of days ago, and have chosen my "B" author: This experiment is going to have me reading tons of fiction, I think, which I don't usually do.  I enjoyed Eight White Nights , I suppose --- I read most of it when I was sick in bed, so it's a little unclear whether I would have read it so steadily if I'd been up and around. I already know my "C" book --- it's in my own collection.  And is non-fiction.