I made the mistake of googling how many nuclear warheads Rusia actually has. Now I no longer worry about finishing my epic novel.
But a good thing about depression can be, when you worry about the worst things imaginable, they feel almost funny, if not like a relief. Creepy soothing, really, how much would be solved if fucked up old men with too much money and zero heart would all be eradicated. Though I doubt they ever really would be, as long as there are humans around.
But the weather's been beautiful and this is far too much fun not to make all kinds of mistakes and mess...
Keep trying to explain to G the Ediacaran Snowball Earth event, but keep forgetting the long words and who did what to whom in the sense of oxygen, carbon dioxide, sulphur and the cyanobacteria. Don't ask. My brain is an omelette. An excited, happy, if frightfully unstable omelette, but an omelette nonetheless. The psoriasis patch on the inside of my elbow is getting bigger and bigger and bigger and I can't convince it, this is happy stress. (I haven't had that one in 20 years - usually my palms are the ones to start to crack). Spent this rainy weekend messing around with the new-bought resin supplies. First, G helped me pour the first dice cap mould, which, so far, is curing and looks fine. G is too fussy, though, too pedant and he makes me nervous - I don't want to fuck anything up in his presence, so I start to shake and pant. The cheap Chinese-store baking frame seeped a bit, but not too much. We even found some old dollar-store batteries for my little scale (i.e. shit I have lying around the house.) What we could NOT find was my old heat gun. I have an excellent one, I just can't find it. It's what happens when you store things neatly so you won't lose them. The second half of the mould was nastier, vaseline everywhere, refusing to fit, not curing properly, I was angry and nothing makes me angrier than G being angry because I'm angry. Man, I have the temper of a banshee on crack. Let me have this one, okay?
Once he left, secretly, without telling him, I mixed the resin on my own - I wanted to see what happens if I use random inks and what happens if I try very hard to avoid bubbles or add bubbles. Without proper moulds, for now, I just used water balloons, so now I have a handful of ugly little glass turds, with some multicoloured dirt on top, and now I know acrylic ink won't work. I've bought about a dozen or so proper alcohol inks instead, and some more little moulds. The five stores I've been to in the meanwhile, sell nothing in the sense of baking silicone that I could use - just more and more glitter. I now have two cases full of glitter of all kinds. I look like a travelling witch doctor.
They raised the price of a lens I've been saving for by 600 euros.
Okay then.
.
No, I'm not demented, no more than usual. Less, in fact, now that I am making an effort to avoid toxic elements of my existence, best as one can.
Our bed is up a shitty iron ladder - a ladder which, when getting off, you must really know what you're doing, so you don't slip and fall and at worse break your neck or at best, break both legs in four places. There is a moment between sitting on the high mattress edge and then bending, slipping down and having to catch one of the lower handles with your toes. It is never pleasant or safe. You only have one chance, as the body starts slipping. I have to think about something completely different so as not to imagine myself missing the handle and falling. There was an occasion when I just jumped off, holding onto the handle, during an earthquake panic, and it wasn't as pleasant as it sounds.
Yesterday, I was excited and my brain was abuzz. We were going shopping for silicon and epoxy and new protective gear and all kinds of fun stuff for my upcoming hobby. So I just sat there, trying to remember the choreography for getting down, while the brain failed to remember. It's when a sense of panic and being trapped sets in. I was almost in tears, waking up G, saying "I can't remember how to get off the bed."
Ye. It was one of those moments.
I got to give it to G, he'll just grunt and whine and mumble from under the covers: Right leg on the first rung, right hand on the rail, lean back, lean left, slide, left hand finds the left edge, left leg touches the second rung, straighten and find balance.
I have to say I like the posters for the upcoming series. I can only hope it won't completely and utterly suck.
I must be ovulating, as I just saw a trailer for a romantic comedy starring Jennifer Lopez (Isn't she, like, 52?) and thought awww, now I could totally watch a movie like this, I am sure it ends lovely!
In between watching Yellowjackets and Lamb, I suppose.
It's been almost sunny, almost almost, but with intermittent bouts of blizzards, strong winds and some rain. I wanted to go on a longer doggy-walk, a mini hike, up the river to the lakes a few towns over, say fifteen miles or so, and the General wouldn't let me, worried I might get eaten by a bear. Neither of us has ever seen a bear, but you know what they say about being killed by a cow: chances are very small, but never zero.
Had an almost nice dream, too. Did I mention I found a tiny fossil?
