Supercute

We got through another week
I am so wiped out from this week.
It's been so strange. I definitely need a weekend.

Here are some supercute ratlets Branwen has been fostering and socializing.

Even if you don't like supercute ratlets....remember we are all God's creatures.

Because we all want to know.....

....other peoples' bank account balances.

Daya and I went to Mitsuwa with Branwen last weekend.
There is an ATM there.
It gives receipts.
People leave them.

Me myself personally, I always choose to never get a receipt.
But I had fun looking at others' bank balances.

Here, you can look at them, too.

I felt encouraged that most of them were less than my pitiful balance.

Except THIS ONE!  WOW! If this was my account I would get a receipt too.

Whoa!!!

There is a Difference

There is a big difference between not being able to go any further, and not wanting to anymore.

And each day gets just a little bit harder until the cumulative effect is too heavy.
But there is nothing to do about it, because you have already tried everything.

It's difficult enough when the people who are, in theory at least, supposed to care definitely do not.
It's ok to not be liked by everyone too. I sure don't like everyone, and not everyone has to like me.

But what is really difficult is when people who DO like you- a lot- by their own words- still have no interest. And that's even worse somehow. It's the same story over and over. A bunch of nothing.

I have such a deep and strong sense that I have no place.
Too often I am seriously wondering "What the hell am I doing here?"
It's nothing new- a lot of it has to do with a complete lack of basic foundational relationships.  I have no idea what having those is like. But these years, it is more than that because I am older. It is the total lack of "sticky" factor in relationships in general..

Especially when people who say outright they really like me don't have interest in sticking around.
What to do with that??

I have no roots. I have tried to root myself but it didn't work.

I'm not afraid to get hurt, I'm just tired of it.
There is a big difference between being afraid and being tired.

Just because you leave the proverbial door open doesn't mean whatever you are inviting will actually show up. And this is not something that can be controlled.
Just because something *can* happen does not mean it *will*, or that it *does*.

I'm exhausted and completely disheartened.
And it's not that I can't anymore, I just really don't want to.

I can, but I don't want to.

My Cat Lucky

This is Lucky and he is my cat.
He lives with Branwen, but he is still my cat.
He has a thyroid problem, and no teeth.

Apparently he is a finicky eater but he sure eats everything *I* give him.  I even shared my matcha cream puff with him.

Anyhow he is my cat and I don't care what anyone else has to say about it.

Mad: Finished

This week I thought I would be smart and choose "Finished" as the theme so i could finish my lobster and maybe even that cloud landscape from forever ago.

Because I didn't want to start something new.

I haven't been doing all that great lately, and that makes painting really difficult.

So I did not finish the lobster or the clouds, but I have this misty lake little aceo oil pastel.

Because I could not post something unfinished for a finished theme.

Carey finished something here.

A Small Old Cemetery

People think I'm a bit odd because I absolutely love cemeteries. The older the better. There is so much history, beauty, and serenity.

We went with Branwen to a small old cemetery in Clinton NJ. The oldest dates were from the mid 1700s, and the latest date we found was 2004.

There were Revolutionary War veterans, Civil War veterans, WW1 veterans, and WW2 veterans.

I love the history.  I like to think about these people and their lives.

Carded!

I! Got! Carded!!!

The waiter carded me, and when he looked at my ID he said, "Wow, what do you eat?"
I said, "I drink a lot of tea."

Seriously though, good skincare goes a long way. This includes good hydration, sunblock, good diet, and peptides.

And I was not wearing foundation or even bb cream...normally I do not. I just spot cover here and there. Actually, I don't like wearing a lot of makeup on my skin at all.

I! Got! Carded!

Let's Rant

Melissa wrote a really good rant post.

In the comments, she invited us to share the Things Which Piss Us Off.
Since I couldn't think properly at the time, I decided to do a blog post instead.

It should be mentioned that I really don't anger easily. I get sad.  Really, really sad.
But I do get irritated at some particular annoyances, which tend to make me instantly batshit crazy.

* People who sit next to me on the subway when it is crowded who don't settle down and keep jostling around and elbowing me
* That fucking piano next door
* The person who sits next to me at work.  She is incredibly yappy and spends most of the work day socializing, gossiping, and yapping on personal calls.  No joke, she starts with the personal calls every single day around 2pm, and it goes on until after 4 when I leave.
* Whistling
* People looking at their phones instead of ahead of them when they are walking
* Intentional rudeness and/or inconsideration
* Ice chewing
* Gum chewing

(you might notice at this point that a lot of my annoyances are sound-related. I have a bad case of misophonia combined with really good hearing.  :( It sucks. I love earplugs.

* When I speak to Daya and she ignores me instead of responding
* Cy Twombly
* Naming storms other than hurricanes
* Constant stupid emails about absolutely every major and minor holiday being a reason to go out and buy something
* Christmas in September
* Christmas in October
* Christmas in November
* The entire month of August
* Married women whose husbands go away for a few days and they say it is like being a single mom
* People who equate having a dog the same as having a child
* People who think all women want babies just because we are women
* Taking a bath and the hot water goes out (happens too often in this building)
* Captivate (it's software) bugs

Did & Did Not

*Today = yesterday=Thursday. Blog is a day behind.

*********

Today I Did Not:

*Meet anyone new
*Get sick
*Paint
*Go to the art store
*Blast the neighbors
*Get to take a nap

Today I Did:

*Drink a lot of tea
*Work late
*Wear green eyeshadow
*Go to Sephora twice*
*Copy Dru and Branwen because they went out for Mexican.  Daya was at dance til late, and between working pretty late and my Sephora trip, going home wasn't really worth it.  Well, it wasn't until Dru sent me a text of her margarita with Branwen. So I took myself out for Mexican.  Me and my kindle. I am reading a very strange book.

Mexican was such an excellent idea

*I just bought a new UD spot concealer to replace the ones I used up. Apparently I got the wrong shade, which Daya pointed out to me at the bus stop. Crap.  Sephora stop #1 was an exchange before work.

Sephora #2 was after work to use my VIB Rouge 15% off coupon.

So, today was like a Sephora Sandwich.

Cannoli Cat

Daya wrapped Isis in Animal Blankie.
Isis is a bit odd and she likes this kind of thing.

Daya thought Isis looked like a cannoli all wrapped up.

Mad Mascot

Carey said our theme is mascot.  This is good timing because I actually have a mascot.
It is a lobster.
A plush lobster, to be exact.

It lives at work. The Lobster (I forgot his name) lived on a former co-worker's desk for years.  The co-worker left and someone else in the office adopted the Lobster as the team mascot.

I thought the lobster was not being properly cared for so I stole him.
He now lives on the window sill at my desk.
He is much happier.

Here is a painting, a NOT FINISHED painting.....sigh.... I need another evening with it.
Acrylic on illustration board 9x12
He will look cool when he is finished.

Pretending is Worse

Sometimes it happens that the people who are supposed to care about you...... a parent, for example, doesn't.

But they pretend. Kind of.

They do just enough- actually not even enough but you are so used to nothing that scraps seems like a goldmine. And you believe it, sort-of, until you grow a little older and things aren't properly congruent.

And it is very confusing.

So you think it is your fault somehow, because you're getting things wrong- because that's what you are told directly and indirectly.

So you try harder. You try to say all the right things and do the right things because somehow if you get it right, it will work out. And it doesn't because it cannot, because there is a big lie happening. And you are the one being lied to.

And then you grow up a little more and have a bit of a freak-out because the confusion and hurt is finally too much and you have to know- what is true and what is not true? And you are willing to face it either way.

And when you learn once and for all that your parent does not, in fact, actually care about you- AND THIS IS A VERY, VERY DIFFICULT THING TO HONESTLY FACE- it is almost the last time they can inflict pain upon you. They might keep half-ass pretending, but they aren't lying to you any more. They are lying to themselves so they can feel like a good person and sleep at night.

You stop trying and just give up because there is nothing else to do.
And you feel really silly for actually having thought they cared.

Because you see through it, the dynamic of getting hurt over and over slowly stops. The few "first times" that are left- forgetting about birthdays, for example, happen.  The first time is bad, even if you are expecting it.


***********
Daya, however, still gets hurt.

I told her not to expect anything from them.
I told her not to expect a visit over spring break, even though she mentioned it to them last December.
I cautioned against calling and asking, though I can't stop her.

Of course they are unavailable.

She spoke with her grandfather for about 5 minutes.
I think it is the first time they have spoken this year.
He asked if I was home.  She said yes.
He did not ask to say hello to me.

Daya cried after the phone call, but less than she did when she asked to see them last summer.
She is starting to hold onto it inside.
I told her not to, but we all know that isn't always possible.

My heart absolutely breaks for her. Because I know. I know exactly what it is like.
She has already been completely abandoned by her father.
And she will figure out that my so-called family doesn't care.
Until then, she cries.

I think it will not be too much longer until she stops asking to see them, even if she still wants to.

Discussion

This sign requires serious and immediate discussion.
Seen at Target.

1. Pizza Hut serves "pizza-reminiscent" food which is not actually pizza. It is mass-produced nastiness. If I am going to have pizza I'm doing it for real, from the local pizzeria. Where you can get a pie or a slice and they make the sauce and the dough right there from scratch.  And they sell the dough, too, in case you don't have time to make your own, which I do regularly.  I digress.

2. "Artisan" and Pizza Hut NEVER go together.  NEVER. (see point 1)

3. I am SO FREAKING SICK of the new trendy marketing words ARTISAN and ARTISANAL
It is hipster marketing and it makes me mad.

4. The current mis-use and overuse of ARTISAN and ARTISANAL have taken all the meaning out of the word, kind of like using curses in every single sentence takes the power out of the curse. It becomes ordinary and dis-empowered.

5. NO.  Just........NO. (see point 1)

A Nice Stranger

Pebbles needed more Prozac so I made a quick trip to the vet.
I can walk to the vet or take the bus.  Since it was rainy, I decided to take the bus.  It is a short ride; under 10 minutes.

I tracked the bus and left so that it would be there when I got to the bus stop.
I arrived at the vet and got the Prozac, which has unfortunately jumped in price.

The bus I have to take is notoriously terrible; it usually takes forever. So I was glad to see when I tracked it for the return journey it was only two stops away.

I got on the bus.
Stunningly, my metrocard wouldn't work.
Now, I have a Transit Check unlimited metrocard.  My transit is deducted before taxes from my paycheck, and the card never runs out.  I get a special card from Transit Check which says Transit Check on it......it looks different on the back than the normal metrocards.

Unlimited cards, unless it is a transfer, require 17 minutes between swipes.

I could not believe it had been less than 17 minutes.
Seriously, it was probably 16 minutes.

The driver wouldn't let me on the bus.  I asked if I could swipe when I got off.  I told her I had just come around to get medicine from the vet.

I showed her the Prozac.
I showed her the unlimited metrocard.
I asked really nicely.

She said no.

I could not believe it. Usually they are nicer about it.

It was still raining, but I prepared to just walk home.

But then- a nice stranger lady who was sitting in the front stopped me from getting off the bus and she gave me a metrocard that had one fare on it. I told her I had no money to pay for it, she said don't worry.

That was really, really nice of her.

It's true that I swipe strangers through all the time on the train, usually when I am exiting, but I don't pay for it because my card is unlimited.

So, thank you very nice stranger!!

Literal Signage

Daya: Mom, that sign says happy and healthy.  Why is that huge chocolate peanut butter egg here? That's not healthy.

Me: It's the "happy" part of the sign.

.

Finally....

Thank goodness it is Friday.

And April. Stupid March.

That's all i have to say. 

Those Strange Artists

My friend Teresa is a cellist for the Bronx Opera. I met her through cat rescue a long time ago.
She is giving a concert in a few weeks, one she does every year at the Roerich Museum in Manhattan.

We wee chatting a little about it and she said it is a special performance because she has rearranged her relationship to music.

I said "Artistic transitions are dreadful."
She said yes, and no one really understands it.
They think it is a gift, a blessing.

Most people, non-artists, really have no idea.

I'm not talking about sometimes-hobbyists.
I'm talking about those of us sorry souls who have been thrown into the artist's life from the very start.

*********
Our art, and it doesn't matter what it is- music, dance, painting- it drives and defines us in all ways.  It is so central in our existence that it is impossible to separate from it. It drives us and consumes us. We know ourselves and the world around us through it.  It is with us whether we are in the process of physically manifesting it or not. It occupies a stupid amount of our mental space and our resources.

Sometimes, the presence of our art is the only consistent thing which has been with us for our entire life.

It isn't something we can just shut off or stop doing. It isn't a choice.

This is what non-artists do not understand.
It isn't a choice.

Our art is linked to our stability or instability- and sometimes both at the same time.
We are constantly seeking it out, even as it seeks us out.

*********
Art takes us to strange places, and makes us do what may appear to others as strange things.
We do go where others don't.
We know strange things, too.
As artists, we do absolutely experience life differently than the non-artist population.
We are very complex internally.
Everything is in relation to our art.
It is present in everything.
We see everything and feel everything through our art- it cannot be separated.

It drives us to strange thoughts and life experiences.
We tend to like other strange souls. Lots of us like cats, for example.

If you come into our home you will see the presence of our art has been given prominent space.
It is central, integrated. It is part of everything. It is so much more than the painting we are painting or the music we are playing.

********
Every artist has at some point been given Life Advice by a non-artist who thinks they understand their artist friend. We immediately know how wrong that advice is for us, though it might be ok for a non-artist. And we think, "Wow, they don't understand me one bit." And we know it is because this person means well but they are not an artist so they cannot understand.

We have to accept that but it is lonely.
And so we become our own best advisers, or if we are fortunate enough to have another artist friend, we might ask them. We tend to be very self-aware.

*********
Especially for painters, but I think this applies to all true artists, it is a brutally lonely existence.
Not just because we require so much solitary time-- our art is in many ways our primary relationship and it is very demanding-- but because all through life, we do not find people with whom to relate. We are the odd one out. The strange one.  The fringe-dweller.

And sometimes it really fucking sucks.