This is going to hurt tomorrow...

For the record, tonight I consumed:
1 bottle of cabernet sauvignon
+ several shots of hypnotique
+ a shot of strange Japanese liquer that we only purchase because it has weird floating fruits in it (we referred to it as testicle juice for the rest of the night)
+ chocolate martinis made with white rum because there was no vodka around
= a very good evening that will surely result in a headache for me.

That probably did not make any sense, but I don't care, because I am very very drunk.

Why am I tryng to blog while I am drunk?

Just because.

and that's when I killed him your honour...

The boy has has a couple of running jokes that he thinks are positively hilarious. The main one is annoying me into saying things to him sarcastically, and then turning my sarcasm against me... another is taking movie quotes and bastardizing them for his own purposes. In this case it's the "I am dangerous... ice... man." from Top Gun.

I realize that explaining this all probably kills any inherent humour in the exchange to follow, but I felt you might need the back story to understand our insanity.

So I was laying in bed this morning beside the boy, after waking him up...

The Boy: "Your eyes look tired"

Me: "Yeah, I am"

The Boy: "Ice Man"

Me: "What?"

The Boy: "You ARE tired... ice... man"

Me: "Not what I said"

The Boy: "Yes it is."

Me: "No, I said Yeah, I am"

The Boy: "See!"

Me: "No. You said that my eyes looked tired, and I agreed, because I am tired. I said Yeah, I am"

The Boy: "No, you said I am... tired"

Me: "Yeah, that's totally what I said, exactly."

The Boy: "See... I told you. Ice man."

Me: "Wow."

The Boy: "Man, that joke is awesome... seven years, and it's still awesome."

Me: "Why? Must you always do that?"

The Boy: "Yes. SEVEN YEARS."

Grace in small things - part 45

1. a trip to the local farmer's market with the boy
2. freshly made apple-cider doughnuts from the Mennonites
3. imagining that the doves and finches are appreciative, and somehow know it's us who fills the feeders in our yard
4. curling up on the sofa under a warm fleecy blanket
5. watching tv with the boy, and providing our own colour commentary to the silliness on the screen

I am participating in Grace in Small Things

the almosts and could-have-beens

I've been feeling nauseous off and on for the past three days. I'm attributing it to my meds, or that I started taking the pre-natals again (just in case we ever get lucky), or that it's just another symptom of the foul mood I've been in lately.

I do my best not to let the boy know just how foul I'm feeling lately because he worries so much. It's probably counter-productive, since I end up feeling cruddy longer because I'm holding it in... but I don't like that look he gets when he's worried about me... his brow is knit with concern and he is determined to fix me... to take on my stress, or ask an endless stream of questions until he gets to the bottom of what's bothering me. Sometimes I don't want to have to explain that there is nothing in particular that is bothering me, it's just that I am bothered in general. Does that even make sense?

Probably not.

So I'm sitting at my desk, working away... reconciling receipts, listing prints, and sipping on room-temperature water, trying to ignore that wave of yuckiness (is too a word spellchecker! Because I said so, that's why!) that comes and goes. I put my head down on the desk periodically and wait for it to go away. I'm trying to ignore it because I'm sure that it's nothing. I really am.

I won't let my mind go there anymore... I used to get just a little bit excited if I started feeling nauseous, because it could mean that we had succeeded... that my biology wasn't a failure after all! I don't allow myself to get my hopes up anymore because I don't want to feel like I'm mourning every time I bleed... especially when it comes late, as it often does. I don't like imagining that we were (at least partially) successful, and maybe conception had in fact occurred, and it's more than run-of-the-mill menses being flushed away.

I don't like knowing that it is often the case... that my problem isn't entirely with conception, but with getting it to stick. I don't know how to stop myself from grieving the almosts and the could-have-beens.

Then I get angry with myself for feeling like I'm losing hope... for not being more positive. As if a smile on my face will somehow a baby make. I try not to let it get to me when people say "maybe if you weren't trying so hard" or "maybe if you just stopped thinking about it... it will happen when it is meant to". Because it's somehow my fault that my plumbing doesn't work, right? Clearly I am subconsciously and deliberately self-defeating, psychically destroying each zygote with my negative thoughts! Thank you for pointing that out to me - it's all so clear now!!!

Grrrrrrr!!!

I know... I don't need to be an asshole about it. It's not anyone else's fault either, and their intentions are not to make me feel worse. I know that I should lighten up, and that there are other (very expensive) options out there for me... for us... but it's hard to be positive when the chaos in your uterus matches the clutter in your mind.

I know I shouldn't dwell, and I'm not trying to be this way... I swear that I don't live in my own perpetual self-pity party. I'm actually a pretty bubbly person... but sometimes I'm a mess, and I wish I was just a little less so.

I'm rambling. Again.

can I fake it 'till I make it?

I have these pictures in my mind that I need to get out.

That's the way my drawings and paintings start. But I try to get them out too quickly I think... I draw furiously, rushing to empty the image from my mind before it slips away, before the idea is gone... and the end result ends up feeling flat.

I feel like I should take more time with my pictures. Nurture them. Build them slowly, bits at a time. Leave them for a while and then revisit them. I beleive that this approach would produce better art... that the paintings and drawings, and little doodles and bits would have more emotion in them... I think that they would have more feeling, and consequently they would draw more people to them... maybe then I would be a "successful artist".

Maybe then more people would buy my work.

But I can't create this way. I want to. I need to. But I can't. Instead I am compelled to rush into it when the mood strikes, and work away at a feverish pace, producing many pieces in a night, until I am completely spent... until all the pictures and ideas are drained from my mind... my fingertips are numb... my hand is aching... my heart is empty... I push myself until I have to sleep.

It seems manic, almost. It is a little crazy, but that's the only way I know how to produce my art. One would think that this would result in fun, fiery paintings with lots of movement and texture and feeling... but what it produces are paintings of birds, and drawings of goldfish... sketches of dainty ballerinas in fluttery tutus.

If I'm feeling especially "indie" I might come up with a tattooed woman, or a sassy pin-up... but that's about as badass as my artwork can get.

I want more.

I want to produce giant pieces with thick flashes of colour, and found pieces of pages from old texts... swirling abstracts and striking colour fields... dark portraits of lost lovers with haunting eyes. But when I try to paint like that... when I try to get those images down on canvas, or paper, or whatever surface I can... what comes out feels fake. It feels like I'm trying too hard to be something that I'm not. It doesn't feel... authentic.

I don't know what I'm doing... I don't know who I am as an artist.

Why did I think this was a good idea again?

I get frustrated with myself for thinking that I could possibly make it as a full-time artist... as a small business owner... as my own boss. I'm not good enough. I'm not talented enough. I'm not strong enough. Sometimes I feel like I'm only pretending to be an artist, and that someone is going to notice... that they'll point out how there are too many brush strokes in that particular painting... I must have struggled to get the right gradation in the shading... Then everyone will know I'm not a "real" artist. I'm just good at faking it.

Okay. Breathe.

I know... we are all our own worst critics. I know that I can do more. I am capable. I am better than this. Maybe I just need to write affirmations like that all over my office and repeat them to myself all day... that wouldn't make me seem any more crazy, right?

Haha. Yup. Manic.

I don't know where I'm going with this, or why I even started typing this out. I probably shouldn't even hit publish. I don't know what I'm doing here, right now, this minute. Beating myself up because my sales aren't where I hoped they'd be when I decided to take this risk and focus on my art. What is the point of this? This isn't productive, and this won't help me be a better artist... and it's certainly doing nothing good for my level of anxiety.

I wish I could just get over myself and get on with it.

hide & seek

Grace in small things - part 44

1. feeling prepared for my first ever trade show since starting to do my art full time
2. how sweet and helpful the boy has been as preparations for this show have consumed my life recently
   
3. the yumminess of light cream cheese on a toasted blueberry bagel
4. the crisp smell of fall air in the morning
5. the soft purring from one of my cats, Shadow, as she sprawls across my arms, on the desk between me and my laptop

I am participating in Grace in Small Things

shine

This is the post where we cross over into too much information land... way, way TMI... A Public Service Announcement

I am sharing this as a note of warning to the ladies out there, so that they may learn from my daft mistake.

Always, and I mean ALWAYS... no matter what... even if you think your hands are clean...please, for the love of everything... make sure that you wash your hands thoroughly and completely before attempting to remove a Diva Cup...

Especially if you have very recently been rubbing Vicks Vapo-rub onto the chest of your ill husband.

*shudder*

Camphor and eucalyptus + sensitive lady bits = OW OW OW OW OMIGAWD OW!!!!!


That is all.

two years

This post is for you, "the boy", the love of my life...


We've been married for two years today... we've been together for more than seven in total. You are still my favourite person in the whole world.



My best friend, my lover, my parter in life.


Happy Anniversary.

Grace in small things part 43

1. enjoying the fall harvest of my vegetable garden
   
2. cooking with the last zucchini from my garden, as well as freshly picked tomatoes, peppers and herbs - that it was the last zucchini might just be the best part...
   
3. the way my house smells from the herbs and chicken - yum!
   
4. the fizziness of grapefruit soda, and how it tickles the roof of my mouth
   
5. a pretty pink scarf with black polka-dots on it
   

I am participating in Grace in Small Things

wind and rain and thunder and lightning

The sounds outside my office window are ferocious. I swear I can feel the house tremble from the thunder, and it's as if the whole structure is swaying, just slightly, from the force of the wind gusts. The rain sounds almost solid, beating against the glass. I've always loved a good thunderstorm. Ordinarily there is something about them that makes me feel peaceful... like drinking tea, curled up on the couch with a blanket. Tonight, or this morning rather, this particular storm sounds ominous and a little to close over the house... and the racket of it is doing nothing to improve my foul mood.

Maybe it's the quiet of this time in the morning that is amplifying the sounds and making them seem more powerful than they really are. Everyone else is in the deepest stages of sleep, and the house has settled...it's too early for people to be up and driving towards their day shifts, so the roads are free of traffic and the sidewalks are clear. The only sounds are the crashes from the sky and the howling wind. It's startling. It's haunting.

I keep toying with the idea of going outside and standing in the storm... face up to the sky... letting the rain and the wind whip my skin... allowing the cold to numb my body. I feel like maybe if I stand there long enough, and soak in enough of it, the numbness will reach my mind... and then I will have some rest tonight.

Typing that sentence feels melodramatic, and pitiful, and tired. It feels like I'm going on about nothing... like I have a woe-is-me attitude that would make you roll your eyes and think that I should just get over myself. You might think that I should just walk it off... suck it up... get on with it... I feel like I should be able to brush this aside... get over these feelings... but I can't... at least not tonight.

Tonight I am in a dark place. It's as if there is an invisible blanket wrapped around me... wrapping tighter and tighter... the pressure on my chest, and my temples, and my neck... my shoulders are tense and my legs are restless... I try to shake them out... shake it off... but the pressure keeps building... I feel as if I am burdened down with some great weight that I can't slide out from under. There is a buzzing in my ears... behind my eyes... a persistent hum that forces me to focus on little else but the pressure, and the tightness, and the humming, and this feeling like I need to run away somewhere and hide... somewhere that I can be still, and calm, and quiet.

And then there's a crash of thunder and I almost jump out of my skin. I'm nauseous and flighty and lethargic all at once. I'm a snivelling contradiction.

I focus on my breathing. Inhale deeply.... count to five.... hold it for five... exhale slowly... counting to five... hold it for five... inhale deeply... "Picture a plateau" the doctor has said... coping exercises... "Visualize yourself relaxing".... count to five... hold it for five...

The wind howls and breaks my focus... I want to cry... I want to cry out... I want to be okay.

I want to be better.

Grace in small things part 42

1. having a three hour and fifty-four minute long telephone conversation with my sister
2. being able to open up to my sister in ways that I haven't allowed myself in the past
3. being able to listen to her, and be there for her as well
4. remembering that we've gone through the same/similar crap, and that we're both just as damaged from it all
5. feeling a little less alone in the world

I am participating in Grace in Small Thing

executive in charge of seat warming

Our pug, Trevor Beans Tiberious Meliton Esquire, has decided that he is on the company payroll. Yup, again with the ridiculous name on a pet. You can call him Trevor, or T-Dawg. He responds to both.

When I sleep in, and the boy is working in the office, Trevor likes to occupy my seat... he's our office assistant/executive in charge of seat warming.

(That wall of paper taped together on the left side, on the end of my desk is to keep evil cats from jumping up onto paintings that may be still wet and on the desktop)

hummingbird in flight 1

my new space

Friday was my last day at the soul-sucking cube job. My last day of staring at that computer monitor and those beige walls and that evil old crone with the awful bleached hairdo.

I'm going to miss some things about my cube job, of course. I made friends in the three years I was there... it's hard to spend nine hours a day, five days a week with a group of people, and not get close to at least some of them. I will miss those people, and I will miss our daily conversations. I will miss that place for the social interaction, and of course the consistent paycheque... but I am happy to be out of that cube... out of that space, and into my home office full-time.

This is what I will be staring at for hours on end now instead. I have done my best to create a functional, comfortable space where I can be creative and productive. It is well ordered, and tidy.


Now if only I could get the space inside my head in as good a shape, I would be set.

It's funny how the giant leaps have been the easiest things this past year... surprisingly... but the baby steps, the slow and steady pace of treating my issues and managing my anxiety and depression, that's what's really kicking my ass...

I'm afraid that if I can't get out of my head and get on with things... if I can't figure out these baby steps, and get one foot in front of the other when it comes to my thoughts and emotions... then there is no way I can be successful with my big plans. I don't know how to focus on the big picture and getting down to the business of my new business, when I'm smack in the middle of one of what the boy and I refer to as my "sad for no reason" times.

I know what to do, and how to do it, but sometimes it's so hard to keep my mind on my goals when all I want to do is lay down in my room with the curtains closed and a blanket over my head. I'm afraid that I won't be motivated to succeed now that I'm not tied to an office schedule that determined my hours of productivity. I'm afraid of spending too much time inside my head. I'm afraid that the relief I feel from no longer being stressed out about my previous job is nothing in comparison to what I've got ahead of me.

Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right....

Grace in small things part 41

1. taking the dog for a walk with the boy
   
2. holding hands with the boy while we walk
3. the sweet stickiness of the summer air and the cool breeze that makes it actually feel pleasant
4. eating a bowl of lucky charms at 10:30pm, because I wanted to, and will not feel guilty about it
5. the little coagulated sugary bits that are allegedly marshmallows in lucky charms... so tasty...who knew this crap actually tastes good to people older than seven?

I am participating in Grace in Small Thing

a ferocious beast

This is Professor Dustin Robert Meliton...or Dusty for short.

Yes, I know it's really annoying that he has a ridiculous name like that... and it's not really his name anywhere else but on his vet file... but it's silly... and I like silly... sometimes you have find ways to inject joy into your life, to lift you out of the mundane every day life crap... and I choose to do that by giving my pets preposterous monikers that begin with titles like "Professor" and "The Right Honourable".

I snapped this photo of him mid-yawn when he was perched on the corner of my desk, hovering over me as he likes to do at all times. He's still sporting his lion-cut hairstyle that he gets once a year to give him some relief from the summer heat, as well as give us some relief from his uncontrollable matting.

He looks intimidating, but he's a little love muffin once you get to know him. He is now twelve years old, and has been with us for four and a half years. When we adopted him from the Toronto Humane Society, he was so scrawny and sickly and quite ornery. It's taken him this many years to finally trust us enough that he can now fall asleep on my lap, though he still doesn't jump up on us without coaxing.

He loves to be scratched under the chin, and he's always somewhere nearby, watching and waiting for you to notice him and give him a pet. At night when I'm brushing my teeth, he hops up on the vanity and rubs against my belly and meows until I pet or brush him while I attempt to complete my nightly routine with my free hand. He's sweetie, and he often affectionately head bumps me and the boy, so we know that he's just as fond of us as we are of him.

Grace in small things part 40

1. quitting my job, at last (though not a small thing, it needed to be on the list!)
2. feeling completely anxiety-free since Friday afternoon
3. having a lot of fun working on Halloween themed items for my Etsy store
4. had a very relaxing, and refreshing two-hour nap this afternoon
5. not dreading going back to the office on Monday... for the first time in months!

I am participating in Grace in Small Things

i did it

I handed in my resignation today. I'm going for it... I'm going to be my own boss.

I gave them almost four weeks' notice (should that be possessive? I feel like the word "weeks" should have an apostrophe, but it looks a little awkward. Anyway...) which is a little long for a sales support position, and much more than the obligatory two, but I am the resident trainer, and if I don't stick around long enough to train my replacement, I would feel really shitty about leaving someone else to do it.

So yeah... I'm all courteous and shit.

The boss asked me if there was anything he could say or offer to persuade me reconsider, but I explained my master plan to him, and he gets it... he appreciated my desire to pursue my art, and he might even be commissioning a painting or set of paintings for his soon-to-be-born daughter's nursery. He gave me a hug, and I instantly felt a little guilty about all the horrible things I had felt and said about my work and my work environment. He's a really nice man, and he genuinely wishes me well, and I am happy that he and many of my soon-to-be-former-coworkers are supportive of my business plan.

I'm really happy. And excited. And nervous.

I've got so much to do!