Steamed

I haven't been doing much of anything lately, I'm in a bit of a funk. It doesn't help that Scarlett has started peeing on the furniture. I clean the couch and recliner everyday, it's like Groundhog Day, but with cats and pee and without Bill Murray, so maybe a little bit better than Groundhog Day.

In trying to clean up the pee, I turned to steam. My Shark steamer decided to stop working entirely, so I got  out my My Little Steamer. Steam is steam, right... well, not really, but in this case it would do. I filled it up, added a bit of vinegar to help with the pee smell and my very hard water, and fired it up. Now, I've added vinegar before, it's like cleaning out a coffee maker. I did not expect it to start shooting out boiling water (I would have expected that from a coffee maker, however).  It burned my feet a little, and nearly got Emi, who has a fascination with steam that I really don't understand.

Because I don't learn, I assumed that the issue was vinegar related, and tried it again the next day (maybe not so much better than Groundhog Day) and again burned my toes with the fountain of boiling water that spewed forth from my little yellow steamer. And, again, Emi was nearly caught in the line of fire. I did have enough sense to scoot her out of the way, but not enough to move my feet.

Determined that steam would be my ultimate weapon against pee, I decided I needed a new steamer, though I did contemplate using the steam mop on the couch. My nocturnal nature meant that it was after 9 PM when I made this discovery. I struck out at Wal-Mart, but was able to find a garment steamer at Kohl's, plus I got some Kohl's cash and a cute dress. The steamer is great, but I'm having trouble keeping up with Scarlett.

I've started taking her to the litter-box a few times a day, because I think the issue is that Jasper and Emi like to watch her. I'm hoping it will work, because I'm really sick of cleaning up pee, and I like my furniture and can't afford new. Furniture protection and cat transport has been taking up all of my energy. It's an exciting life.

I'll Follow Me Wherever I Go

I know it looks weird that I'm following my own blogs, because it is weird. I'm aware of that fact. I am being a self creeper* for a reason though (not just to up my followers number). I tried to send a message to someone who follows my other blog (she won a giveaway), and Google Friend Connect said I needed to sign in, or that I wasn't recognized, or some such thing. On my own frelling blog! (I paused the Farscape marathon a while ago, not sure why that's stuck with me.) I've probably done something wrong, but so far as I can tell (from that one incident), I have to follow myself, and look a bit odd. Fortunately, I'm used to it.

*I consider anyone who follows my blogs to be awesome. I'm only calling myself a creeper.

Struggling

I am not a social person by nature. Most of my time is spent in a solitary state, and I'm okay with that. My mind races, and there are incredible adventures to be had, even if I can't be bothered to step outside. Unfortunately, in order to sell the things that I create during my time alone, I apparently need a rich social network. In order to get people to read my blogs or to look at my shop I need people who know me to do these things first.

I'm becoming increasingly convinced that most initial success on Etsy is driven by close personal relationships. Close friends and family members make the first purchases, comment on treasuries, promote their loved one's shop. I don't have that kind of support system. I never have. More importantly, I have no idea how to create it, or if I even want to.

I've always been stubborn. I am used to getting my way, not because things are given to me, but because once I decide I want something, I am relentless. I also get things done my own way. I won't take the easy route, but insist on making things work the way I want them to. But, I think social networking has me beaten. I'm not social, I can't network. While my creative ideas have been met with criticism and rejection since I was a child, for the first time, I am feeling beaten. I don't know if I can do this. I put in so much effort, and get nothing in return. Hungry and tired, the only things keeping me going are a sheer unwillingness to accept failure, and a desperate need for accomplishment.

It is hitting me harder because I'm also in the midst of accepting the fact that I may never be a scientist. I know this may seem silly, but it is what I've always wanted. While most people gave up on their childhood dream jobs years ago, I've held on to the tatters of mine. It is all I am, all I've ever really wanted. It is my identity, my future, my happiness. But, I am not sure I am physically capable of reaching my goal.

Everything is spiraling away from me. There is nothing for me to grasp on to. My sense of self is so tied to two things, my creativity, and my intelligence, that with the loss of both, or the illusion of the loss of both, I am nothing. As I try to maintain one, I lose the ability to nurture the other. I can't make a decision on which is more important to me, so both slip away. Then, I have no meaning, no individuality. I am not myself, I am lost, and I am struggling.

Breakdown

I finally broke down today and decided to create a Facebook account. I've resisted for years, but I thought it would be good for business. As I was inputting my information, I had a panic attack. The idea of having my personal information so readily accessible to so many people, the flood of pictures of people I never thought I would see (and never wanted to see) again, and the knowledge that my hermit-like nature would be judged and somewhat destroyed was more than I could handle. I broke down.

I deleted my account and began to breathe more easily, the albuterol inhaler helped, since the panic attack triggered a broncho-spasm. It seems silly that I can blog about things that are incredibly personal,  yet couldn't bring myself to share superficial personal information. There is comfort in the quasi-anonymity and seclusion provided by this blog. So, I'll work a little harder to network sans Facebook. I'm no good if I can't breathe.

I Can't Feel My Foot, But It Itches: Adventures In Sickness

I haven't been feeling well lately. The symptoms are vague (except for occasionally not being able to feel my foot, save the unmerciful itching, but I don't think there is a name for that), but I am miserable, and spend most of my energy trying to sleep, trying to stay awake, or trying to eat. This feeling (not the foot part) overtakes me several times a year, usually just after I have started making progress toward a goal; the dragging end to many of my beginnings. I think this is coincidental, as it happens so often, by the time I have regained some kind of human functioning and stepped toward progress, it returns.

I have semi-joked about having Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (the "Sick and Tired" episode of The Golden Girls pretty much sums up my life with doctors, except for the end where Dorothy finally finds someone competent), but have dismissed the notion as hypochondria. Every time I get into this state, the idea resurfaces. Having an already diagnosed chronic illness makes it far less like that I will be diagnosed with another one, even if it makes it more likely that I have one. Autoimmune disorders like company ( and migraines seem to be their BFF). Doctors don't believe women with unverifiable symptoms.

I can deal with the pain, I spend almost every moment of my life in pain. The issue is the lethargy. My brain races with things I want desperately to do, but there are days I cannot get out of bed, and nights when I can't get up off of the couch to go to bed. The situation has become downright Proust-ian, except that I am usually too tired to write, and I'm not a literary genius. Overlooking those small details, it is uncanny.

Fat

As much as I try to be a good fat acceptance-y type person, I struggle with it. I truly believe that being fat, just as being thin, is simply a state of being. It's just the way some people are. I am intrigued by the variations produced with only tiny changes in our genetic makeup; it is something we should celebrate, because it is really pretty amazing.

While I am quick with the rhetoric,  I am unable to accept my own body. Which makes me a bit of a hypocrite, well, a massive hypocrite, actually. I want desperately to be one of those people who truly loves her body, but have no idea how to get there. I have never considered myself pretty, or even average. I am somewhere between plain and slightly grotesque. According to every magazine I've ever read, confidence is the sexiest thing any human being could posses. But, that one little line thrown in every couple of months does not make up for the avalanche of perfection thrown in my face everyday, and the smug and disgusted attitudes that insure I know that it is complete crap; nothing more than a patronizing parting line thrown to a pathetic loser searching desperately for validation.

My Life Through Interpretive Shopping

Beanforest has a wide selection of snarky buttons to choose from, but this one fits me perfectly.

My Life Through Interpretive Shopping

Check out Drywell's shop for more.

Happy VD

Nothing says, "Happy Valentine's Day!" quite like my foot, Bieber, and what I believe to be Miley Cyrus.

Be Mine, Please...

I'm pathetic,


but endearing.