Man, there is not enough chocolate and coffee in this world for me not to cry like a little bitch as soon as I am more than a day away from G.

Bit difficult to write perky suspense stories, full of sexy humor and witty banter, if I am slobbering all over the keyboard about how much I miss him, TO him, via Skype.

Pathetic. But honest. Now focus. Literary doomsday isn't going to screw itself up. 

Dear diary

Making  a lot of paint, dear journ-journ, doing a lot of other things, too. I was a ninja yesterday, checking a third of the hives on my own (under supervision, obviously). 

The happenstance with the mean customer shook me up a little, as things do, but as I find myself to be a constant complainer, my complaints have melted in a sea of Karendom. Most of the official responses have been: yuh'huh, get over it.

To inject myself with some optimism, zeal and enthusiasm, I spent a fuckload of money on things G couldn't stop me in time: books, photoshop overlays, a tiny table ventilator, more pigments, some other stuff I can't think of right now - and because of a conversation with a paint-mate, giving in to a year-long temptation, I finally purchased Daniel Smith samples from that shitty Jackson's store, which really hates me. Their coupons never work and their 1% return policy is fucking retarded. The General was not happy; he claims I've long surpassed anything anyone else can create, but I need to know. The conversation was about starter sets of paint - I am a Schmincke girl, but is that because it was the only high-end brand available or because I actually like it? I've never sampled Sennellier or Holbein, so I cannot be objective. I usually but the exact same paints from everyone to decide - often it's olive green, turquoise and burnt sienna. Or some strange violet. But lately, I have no need to, though I do encourage people to build a single-brand and then add onto it by buying unusual, special paints from everyone and everything they can find :D

G's also come up with some good ideas about how to make dual paint. That, and we talked about painted salts, which I've seen but haven't yet figured out how to create. They look mesmerizing.

Without a hitch, on the tailcoats of Batch #5, inspired by debates with lovely customers (the universe's counterbalance to a depressing one), I've created paint for the remaining pans, shards, shells and acorns I still had, creating the ISLAND ARCHAEOLOGIST sets. Some came out rather large and expensive. I'll have to justify that by adding some adorable shit, like that glow-in-the-dark glue and lovely booklets... the interest in those has been heartwarming, though. The singles I listed have mostly been sold within days. 

I'm leaving for the capital in a few days and again, I am not going to take the camera with me, prudent and cautious with it - for no reason at all rather than being slightly paranoid. The initial sales of my paint have been largely due to the promotional material (though the feedback on how I arrange sets and put stories around them has also been very positive.) My old pastry-chef instructor put it extremely well:

    "A visually pleasing cake will attract a customer, a good cake will bring them back."

Don't fuck up. Don't fuck up. Don't fuck up. 

PS The nephews came across a semi-poisonous (venomous) snake, unusual for the region. The barn cat was fighting with it, so they took it to the forest, as all snakes are protected in this country. (Like, seriously, what the fuck is a semi-poisonous snake? Is it fucking venomous or isn't it??) It looks EXACTLY like either of the two semi-deadly ones we have on the regular, but it is said to be harmless to humans. As if you would seriously pause to inspect it THAT closely to establish a difference. "It looks like a rattle-snake, it acts like one and if it gets you, it's not quite as dangerous." Right. Like, fuck no. 

I haven't been slacking, I've actually been quite a good girl: making "Island" series of the paints and the other day I pushed my bike to the 20 miles removed side of the valley to go poach shards and river shells from an old castle ruin. We now know that a) lots of shards there but is paint still vegan if it's in a clamshell? and b) hard to push a bike over field roads after rain. Also much muddy. Mucho muddo. I came back looking as if I had been dragged behind a tractor.

We visited gran today - it was like walking into Level 4 (out of 4) pathogen testing facility. But caretakers helped me load her onto a wheelchair and we took a spin around the park for a little while. She's very old, though I think she liked the experience. It was a bit warm, perhaps. The park is nice, but the rest of the world was hot. 

Visiting some iron-age archaeo sites in the eastern part of the country

"... We will NEVER be slaves! BUT we will BE -- !!"
       "Archaeology explorers?"
       "No, you dumb fucking dweeb. CONQUERORS!"
       "Aw."

Today was 'my' day, so I got to choose where I wanted to spend the Saturday: although Poetovian city museum was at the top of the list, G's ankle is acting up again and making him walk for miles through long castle halls to look at paintings and wares display was not looking up. The second option were a few Iron Age sites - two locations of burial mounts and a contemporary mock village.

I've never seen these locations before, so even though they may not be as exciting as museum visits, and there was a fucktillion of mosquitoes, I've now visited them and can say so. We were following a cute book which describes the sites rather dramatically, so unless someone is a dweeb like me, it may not seem very worth the drive (Looking at you, G and dog.) The first was a Brengova site, a forest-hiding collection of burial mounds just above the highway.

I think only two were properly excavated - one showing the remains from above and another has a bit of a tunnel leading to it. Most of the others have a bit of a dip in the middle, showing the lid has concaved. These were burials of cremated nobility - I'd guess where the highway is today some massive merchant artery once paved and there were prominent settlements all around. While we were driving around the Poetovian plane, there quite a bit of random tiny villages sporting unusually posh architecture. We're talking fifty houses in the middle of nowhere and three have collonade step ways. That's not usual.

The second location was that of the Stone age settlement - mud houses, made of local, handmade elements, and a bit of a bread oven, loom, fish rack and so on. It was not easy to find either, but I'm sure when there's a re-enactment going on it's really cute. From there a camp was supposed to offer for primitive living experience, but I couldn't;t find it. I followed a forest footpath alongside a small river until it met with Mura, my father's homeland river. Mura is certainly a prominent force of nature and I would sit and write a poem then and there, if every blood-sucking insect in the zip code area didn't hone in on me and tried to kill me.

We passed through Lotmerk, a city I don't think I've ever paid attention to before. It was surprisingly modern and vast. I mean the square, the rest was brief and tiny and their only hotel was long closed. There will be a fantasy&horror movie festival called Grossman there in a week or so. We had good coffee and some ice-cream.

The last stop was beneath the Poetovian Mountain (on top of which a really oversized church sits), a seemingly useless bunker, with some hints of horsemen-class burial mounts, sleeping forlorn in the midst of fields. We made out a little, finished some of our food and decided to drive home - it was almost four in the afternoon and it was enough for one day. the next trip will have more to do with Celtic or Illyrian culture. I haven't been to Rifnik in 15 or more years, and I drive by that damn hill every day.

An interesting conversation to be had, for sure

There's a moment. I bump his chest with my head and he shakes my shoulder, paternally-like, but then starts to touch my face. My smile fades. I hold his hand and kiss it. "In another life," I say, "sure."
         "Yes. I think so, too."
         "Though I wouldn't think I am your type."
         "I didn't know people like you existed."

Some poetry

Upon a wishing star: I wish he wishes me

I would love nothing more than to watch 
that beautiful body sleep
Those soft feet twitch in the
dreamscape footwork
Every range familiar, every reach
Each shape, each twitch
But I have fireflies to count
And rutting roe deer to trust
they know what they're doing
Forest cobwebs to repair before dew
And that strange red star on the
Southern sky, what is that? I have to
investigate that.

- - - - 

Rather shirtless
in a rather tiny valley
My air-light sense of self, my bike
(mud-caked)
And my good ear are basking 
in bird song
Forest fog is all but gone
And the dirt road is getting dusty
Going back will be a pain
but for now, for the bees and flawless sky
I am bresingary.  

Ordering some more paint

With all that's been going on, between the good shop experience and the bad shop experience - and still not being able to draw - I decided to order more supplies and just continue Batch 5 a little while longer. Perhaps skipping the pause altogether and dragging it into August - but that is ages away.

I have so many new ideas. I guess a little bit of danger is good for the heart. 

Today was too hot for a bike, but it was too beautiful an opportunity to miss

The boys offed early morning to fix the ladders on some of the watch posts, and I hopped on a bike earlier still, riding up and down tiny valleys in hopes of running into them. (No signal, so no shared locations.) I did find them eventually, thanks to the Huntsman's car which you can spot from a space station. They moved around a bit, I followed them a little, then we went separate ways as it was nearing noon and the sun was starting to no-joke. The ride back was .... fuck I was tired. Okay, so I am not in a long-range shape and it WAS hot, but luckily the road is always going to the river one way or another, so it is always an invisible decline I was able to slide, even though I had to pause twice, in a thick chase, to "check on my social media" - biker's equivalent of the runner's tying their shoes.

My next destination is the castle ruin we visited a few weeks ago, so I can look for some old pottery shards. I should probably start a lot earlier, though. It's twice the length. Hm...