Am so nervous about this stupid fucking virus I just ate a bagel which was accidentally unsalted and freaked out - two people had to try a piece to confirm it's not me who's lost all taste, but the bagel. 

         Nine days in dad still has no symptoms at all. I am beginning to suspect his test was a false positive and they just wheeled him to a Covid ward in the middle of the night and left him there. Had I not gone batshit hysterical and kidnapped him from the hospital, he might have actually contracted something. I think I will hold onto this version, as it makes me sound heroic and everyone is fine in the end. Three days to go and they can get their dog back. Not that much will change, mum will just return the furniture and curtains and paintings I took out, and won't have to get upset so much when she finds crumpets in the morning. That is not a metaphor, he literally sneaks into the pantry to steal the good food in the middle of the night. As I said, we've calculated that into the risk factor and mum disinfects everything regardless.  

Had one of the worst panic attacks of late, last night. I had to truly explain to the General, that I am not a crazy person, I am just really really freaked out and I have been acting far too calm and brave lately, because I really am not and I haven't the strength to be anything but myself in front of this one fucking person in the whole damn world. 

But this morning he had three missed calls from dad's number very early and he felt it, too - that sinking horrific sense of panic, right up until the moment it evaporates like a soap bubble - like a tense scene in a horror movie, when the creeping shadow turns out to be some random mailman or something ... Dad urgently needed to cancel his request for bagels and instead asked us to bring him burek. (Meaty pastry alternative.) It was so important - like in the mind of a very small child - it was a life and death situation, because he was starving and everyone needed to drop everything and deliver that to him. a) he is far from starving, in fact he's getting fat and b) for fuckssakes. He isn't half as senile as he acts. Now the General knows how I feel all the time. It feels like that all the fucking time. 

It's really creepy actually, all we do is wait and worry and wait and worry and try not to read statistics as they are gravely unfavourable, and I was told even the retirement home where gran is, even with all their strict precautions, got back two ladies from the hospital who got infected there. I have no fucking idea what they are doing in that fucking place, do they go around licking these people or what the fuck. Dad was in the INFECTIONS ward for chrissakes. ALONE in a room. There are safety guards with GUNs station at the gates. One is safer anywhere else at the moment. 

 Okay, so far, so good and we've arranged for a makeshift safe zone for dad to stay in and mum to avoid .... if only he wouldn't secretly break their rules. which we've taken into calculations. The problem is, he seems to be asymptomatic because of all the medicine he's already taking for his heart and diabetes - as I understand people like that show no symptoms, they just go at some point. I need to find a way to monitor his blood oxygen. I wonder if Samsung Health is at all reliable, or even just a little bit indicative? Geez, if only doctors had cars and would be able to visit their quarantined patients at their homes to measure these magical bodily functions, eh? 

Do those fancy sports watches you get with fancy phones work like that? Measure O2? they should. I am fairly certain we have one of those somewhere... around here ...

Okay, think. 

Fuck.

Okay. There is only so little we can do, but I think the first thing to do is get him out of that fucking hospital. And then hope for the best. I am so scared I have to shit five times a day. But this is like being in a wakeful nightmare and my brain keeps trying to help and keeps erasing my memories, so I walk around and think: but why am I shaking and feel so anxious? Oh, right, dad has covid, I forgot. 

 Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

Being worried about dad keeps shooting pellets of intrusive thoughts at me, regularly, and it can cause me to have mini anxiety episodes that I fail to pull myself out of fast enough. To combat this, to have ammo at a ready, G and I have been talking about baby spiders (or small spiders) a lot and - do not ask how my brain works - that is something that soothes me thoroughly. There are rogue concepts firing at random in my brain that just cause certain emotions. There is STILL a trigger of two words - as an impossibly random combination as you could imagine - which causes me to start laughing. Granted, there have always been more which cause me to cry. 

Being able to shop online rather vastly of late, I've gotten myself tons of material and even some treats - like a curious brush or a ... well, obviously, a few more books. Been a busy girl, too, constantly feeling mildly nauseated when outdoors, so I mull new and new paints. For all the German-company pigments I've purchased - and I plan to buy a lot more, now that I know they are trustworthy - I've made the primes and now am making the duals. Of what remains, I'll mix threes and scraps. What I really need, though, is a new phone, because mine has been acting up, lying to people about my availability, but I love my ancient phone and cannot be sure it's not the ancient sim card which is the source of the problem. Though I really do miss playing Pokemon, so g will probably get something superlative and I'll inherit his left-behinds. It's scary how fiercely capable phone cameras are these days. I used to dream about a street-smart Fuji and now for that price you get a phone with five cameras, one of which takes an absurd macro, another specialises in portrait and the last can take photos of the moon the size of a pizza plate. Fuji just has one lens and for all its retro charm, feels less and less like an investment and more like a hipster vanity toy. 

Today was Wednesday - my shipping day, but I wanted to keep mulling, setting up the pigment jars on the table in the morning. I have to pack the orders tomorrow, otherwise, I get thrown out of cadence. Not that I've written, painted, read or seen a whole movie since Batch 6 began, but I am ambitious now. Batch 6 has been a very well oiled machine, still rolling. 

Revendreth

A corrupt, miserable, treacherous realm, led by a scheming, hypocritical elf and his sycophant sadistic posse. And they have Garrosh and are torturing him for his anima. 

I think I've just found my covenant. That blonde bitch is going down.

 I cannot for the life of me understand people. It didn't use to bother me as much, but it has been bothering me lately. As a hitchhiker, I used to be pretty good at reading people and besides - almost everyone is exactly the same, everyone's got issues and anxieties and ambitions, it's really kitchen-sink psychology. Yet, recently, I just don't get it. My sister and her boyfriend, who last time we interacted shouted at me and forbade me to bring home a puppy for dad, shrieking she will prevent me - which she did, easily, as mum does anything she says ... and suddenly nice to me. Like, extra nice. we're talking a sibling capable of holding a grudge for a decade. wearing her face long around people in a passive-aggressive attitude for YEARS. Or being super smug, having achieved me having to give the puppy away. But no. Yea, okay, dad's in the hospital, but he's often at the hospital. And yesterday G and I go up to take some stuff to dad and the pair tried to give me a phone. Like, a fancy phone. Saying mine's been acting up (I have a Samsung 4, it's as old as most people's feet, but I am oddly fond of it and have no real need to replace it.) 

        I just don't get it. Preventing me to bring home a puppy because dad's old and mum can't handle another load, okay, I could get that, even though it almost looks like they've thought it over and perhaps saw I was right - a puppy Labradoodle WOULD cheer everyone up. But being nice to me, trying to give me a phone? Er .... G says to not linger on it. 

        But, dude, I honestly don't get it. Like, I know I'm half autistic, but this is ridiculous. 

My tummy aches. I've not bee eating properly - protein bars and some spicy street food last night - as dad had to go to the ER, again and again, that is a seven-hour ordeal. Even if I come prepared and G brought me a power bank and some more protein bars, it's still a tedious mess. Most of the hospital is Covid occupied - it's actually rather freaky when they have to transport a Covid patient though the general part of the hospital for some reason, like a CT scan or something, the staff look scary and they have their own security to move people out of the way. The ER was moved to paediatrics admittance ward, which made them move not an iota faster. six pairs of people sat there, waiting, miserably, for gods know what. 'Your paperwork is being done'. It's past seven. We arrived at quarter to two. Dad was in fairly good spirits, as he wasn't in any pain anymore, though his legs look horrific and are leaking all kinds of impossible things. We actually chatted all kinds of pleasant things, some stories, some memories, some summaries of documentaries we've watched or YouTube clips. It's always so awful when they take him away, such a mess. But hopefully, they find some balm or magic pill and help him. 

         The cutest moment was when I offered to give him a protein bar and he asked if the vendor has any meat. No, alas, no ribs or steaks or T-bones in this vendor. (Awesome fucking vendor, though, I must say.) Eff off with your fruity protein bars, that's not food. Hah! But then I gave him one and for a man with no teeth, he sniffed that bar. He said: now that I've had a mean, I will probably fall asleep. "Good, do sleep, the time will pass faster, I said. He replied: Okay, now I've slept, can I have another fruity protein bar?" :D :D :D

         I made an effort to find those with least fruity sugars and most calories. He ate three. telling him that's almost a 1000 calories he just input mattered little, as it's the volume which counts with him, not value. The General has recently invested into vitamins - something I am usually not a fan of, supplement - because he discussed with people who probably know this shit, how food lately is actually truly poor in D3 and Vit C and so on, so getting some B complex, Zinc and Magnesium won't hurt, but may help a little. Prophetically, I also traded some acid-soothing and digestive enzimes from my My, so today, feeling like there's a rock in my gut, I get to down more capsules than an old junky in a loony bin. 

Thinking about awful things doesn't help one bit and it will just make me sick again. It's best to focus on getting some magazines, crossword puzzles and a phone to dad, in an evidence bag, possibly hurling it tied to a brick and through a third-story window. It almost worked the last time. Damn, we have so many stories taking place in that damn building. Here's to praying to serpents and wine gods that we generate many more. 

Apricot poodle

I am just saying, this needs to be my fucking next dog. Not a boar on a leash, not a neurotic hound, not something whiny and needy. A golden poodle. 

For once a good dream

After a few days of dreaming of cub velociraptors loose in a petting zoo (am not even joking) and people being sick with Covid, finally a good dream for a change!

         I've mentioned how my brain looooves splaying tricks on me, right? How in the micro-millisecond between the time my senses pick on something and the brain analyses it, a part of my cortex forces possible alternatives right to the front: a Rolodex of horrific images and warnings. It only lasts a heartbeat, but it is designed to freak me out completely. Last night example, as Lyra and I were walking down the town square - which is slightly declined, so like a pleasant wide ramp and there was almost no people - it was already dark (to combat light pollution city lights are very dim.) I see something wildly bizarre crawling at some speed towards me, maybe about 30 cm high but about a meter wide, using four limbs to push forth, like a weird insistent spider. My brain screams: OMG it's a creature from the Thing!!

          Er ... no. It's a small kid lying flat on his skateboard, pushing himself up the slope with hands and feet, playing. But thank you, brain. I needed that blood pressure jolt. 

          It's been a long day, rather melancholy, as of course there's no way you can have a puppy for three days and not fall madly in love with it. Fuck but he was awesome. (I gave him to a young family with a country house and small kids). I keep seeing him everywhere, the idiotic bundle of enthusiasm, following me on every step, usually pulling on my shoe lace. It's really hard to poo when a puppy is biting your toes, just so you know. We've gotten rather good at walking on a leash, with Lyra leading, even if most his energy went for chasing dry leaves as they tumbled in the wind. The moment he wore out and I stopped anywhere, outdoors or indoors, he just gave the long heavy puppy sigh and passed out on my feet. That sigh, by the way, actually relaxes and settles your whole body, so now I'm doing it as well, after I lye down. 

         It's gotten a tad warmer, too, tonight, so, to cheer me up, brain gave me an Owen Grey dream - he's the ugly porn star with a spectacular dick I'm a fan of on Pornhub. In the dream he's this tall thin slimy-looking rogue, wearing all black, except for the inside of his jacket which is an odd pepita dull beige dull brown pattern, that makes him virtually invisible in a forest environment. We're standing on the edge of a dangerous, steep woods, with time to kill. We seem to be some kind of assassins or something. I propose we play-hunt and if we catch anything, it'll be a nice lunch, but if we don't, we can just fuck. The General's bought me a hunting knife recently, so I had that in the dream. And so, me in lead, we parkoured, jumped, slid, climbed, bounced and swung alongside the crumbling terrain, for the better part of the dream. It was great. I was good at it and had no desire to impress, which made me the boss. Plus, getting a guy hard at the very beginning is an excellent way to ensure no animals are harmed during a hunt :D

          Ultimately we had to climb up to the lege and interrupted some farmyard dog and drew the attention of the people, but even though we were muddy, we just amenably pretended to be looking for mushrooms. The farm woman gave us tips and her two sons, who were working on an old car, were sort of wrestling, wearing no shirts, sweaty and very large and handsome-looking. (It was a VERY nice dream.) The Grey rogue character and I made fast return to the woods, because we were both getting wildly horny by then, and started with oral, although by then I was shivering with pleasure and woke up, alarm sounding off a minute later. Pity the General has to go to work at 5 this week (consequently leaving the alarm as late as humanly possible, down to a minute, alas.). I'd have loved to tell him about this dream I just had. 

no good deed goes unpunished

Today was an odd day - scary, exciting, pleasant, overwhelming and depressing as fuck. The scary and exciting - I'm talking so scary that at some point I had to drive into the woods and poo - part was the fact we are not allowed to leave our city limits. There is almost no traffic and there are a lot of roadblocks - I saw three, yet, Hermes' fortune, always on the other side of the road. These are anti-covid precautions, as the virus is still spreading and killing people, more than those in charge can explain or act cool about.

The most pleasant part was the moment I found the perfect doggo for dad - a small brown mix with lagotto romagnolo, for almost no money, a boy, ready for pick-up. It was the perfect dog and I got so excited, I called instantly. There is a problem, though. My mum isn't too thrilled about having two dogs, even though the hole left behind by the death of their old rottweiler is palpable. But that was, in my design, going to all vaporise once she sees the adorable joy bundle. The General thought it was a tremendously bad idea, because the penalty for crossing city limits is 400 euro and I needed to cross more than one. Both ways. This stubbornness of mine caused him to lose complete control over my wellbeing and that does not sit well with him: he hates it.

I drove, petrified, for hours down the most pleasant, sunny, abandoned roads and it was lovely. The puppy was slightly less like the lagotto, but we liked one another instantly. A soft, clean, fluffy, calm, trusting puppy. He cried for a little bit, once we started driving, hating the transport box, but after five minutes of my humming and talking to him and listening to pleasant jazz, he calmed down and would just look at me or sleep in the nest of doggy toys I stuffed in the carrier.

More luck than brains, not a single patrol stopped me. I kept wondering if I should use the smaller roads, but every time I could see the smaller roads across the valley, more cops were there, expecting it. Once I reached my city, I called dad to ask, hypothetically, if he had a dog of his own, what he would name it. I wanted to keep the puppy for a couple of days and teach it some basic fun commands, but we were due to go uphill tomorrow, so that was the plan, to surprise them then.

At home, the puppy was awesome. Still too young to comprehend almost anything, but the stress of travel caused it to sleep, so once he rested, ate and drank and peed and pooed, and watched a movie in the General's lap, full puppy mode came on: he found all the old socks from under the bookshelves, he found that there is nothing more desirable than a whole box of packing peanuts and he really wanted to prove he can murder most of the toys hitherto serving as his pillows. He's sleeping now in the next room, with Lyra, the lights turned off. 

Alas, my sister reacted to the photos of the doggo like an onslaught of unexpected diarrhoea, forbidding me to take the dog up, calling me selfish for imposing more stress on mum, telling me to go visit them sometimes (er...), and see how old and unable to even take care of themselves they are, how I should take care of the animals I have (as opposed to what I'm doing now?) and how I'm making her furious with these crazy ideas of mine. My response that it is a dog designed for elder people, that it's a good one coming from someone who leaves her own dog up with them for four out of seven days a week to go party, and how I can decide for myself whether or not they can or cannot handle a Labradoodle.

But of course she called mum and that was that. If she allows it, then it's allowed, if she suggests it, than it's the right thing to do. Otherwise, door stays closed. Mum called not to even come up tomorrow. Of course, dad doesn't pay for her anything and thinks she should get a job, so, guess that explains most of her actions regarding him. 

Am not really interested in being a part of that family at the moment. Fuck 'em. I do miss dad and feel like shit about being treated like shit by a pair of reject side characters from Misery, but the next time he tells me how lonely he is and how much he misses his old dog, he should probably consider I'm the kind of a person who drives across the country to get a puppy to make an old man happy

Bitter glitter and the glitteratti

 

I managed to unhinge my brain the other day: I got so upset and roared furiously, my blood pressure either skyrocketed or plummeted - either way, I nearly passed out, started seeing double and nigh vomited. This was also when I was one foot in the bathtub about to take a shower, so it was extra tricky. The General had to try and balance me whilst I was wet and collapsing in slow motion. 

             Only I am able to get pissed off so much I damage my own neurological blueprint. 

Something isn't quite right - it's not Covid, even though hits have been landing close to home aplenty - but it is something. Maybe just simple vertigo. Strong coffee helps, and being careful with how I move. Sex has to be minus tussling. (Ah, the sweet, sweet simple missionaries...) Food can't be greasy. Salty, though. So it is pressure. Have I forgotten to eat salt again? Hm ... On the plus side, I am too tired to get upset again. But I have to find another coping method. What fun is being a tempestuous bitch if it makes me queazy? 

             -----------

        Delicious books have been arriving at my doorstep all week: I've re-ordered my long lost Mr.Punch, several illustration tutorials - usually regarding plants or fairy tales; some poetry, comics and a fancy paperback. Should I get everyone books for Yule? The same book? A Nightmare Before Christmas pop-up? :D 

          I've also discovered two shops for tiny packagings: one more serious and one more girly and the girly one has the precise minute boxes I need, together with pretty silk paper and decorative paper bags. I ordered 30 of each, so we'll see if my customer-service gets any classier. So far I've been keeping my "dug out from a necropolis" style intact.