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.

Emi's Whiskers

I was sitting on the couch with my laptop, trying to figure out how to add a simple, but customized follow button to my blog (I gave up, as you will see if you scroll down) and heard Emi over in the corner rustling paper. I thought she was playing with the light box I no longer use, but when Jasper got interested, I decided I should be too.

Emi loves tape, so much so that she will pull it out of the trash to play with it. Hanging from the side of her mouth was a piece of tape at which she was pawing. When I got closer, and tried to remove it from her mouth, I discovered that it was actually attached to her whiskers. I brought her out into the light, so I could remove it. The tape was folded over, with her whiskers stuck in the middle. Unable to come up with a good way to remove it, I ran to get my phone, in hopes that two people could come up with a solution more quickly.

As I raced back into the room (my house is tiny, it didn't take long) I heard a ripping sound and a squawk. She sprinted off leaving the piece of tape, still sandwiching her whiskers, sitting on the ottoman. She had panicked and ripped out her whiskers to remove the tape. When I went to check on her, she hid and hissed at both Jasper and me. Apparently, we are now both connected to the tape ripping incident, in her mind.

I feel like the worst pet parent ever. Not only did I allow her access to the tape, I didn't check on her immediately, allowing her to struggle, then I left her to panic once I had discovered the problem. She looks unbelievably pathetic, and not just because of the missing whiskers, she is scared. I hate seeing her like that.

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.

Happy Birthday, Chuck

Charles Robert Darwin was born 202 years ago today. I adore Darwin, not as the father of evolution (others would have, and did come to similar conclusions), but for his meticulous dedication to problems and ideas he found fascinating. Also, he was a bit of a failure at first, at least in the eyes of his father.

I've just started Brian Switek's Written in Stone, and plan to spend Mr. Darwin's birthday reading about the fossil record, and the people (men, I'm guessing) who shaped it. After, of course, I hear Alan Bean  speak at the opening of the NASA/Art exhibit at the Clay Center.

Happy Darwin Day! 

I'm pretty sure he would have appreciated my overuse of Piknik stickers in decorating his portrait. Darwin was nothing if not festive.

Not A Hypocrite

I am a vegetarian who wears leather, therefore, I am called a hypocrite. The people who say this seem to misunderstand either vegetarianism or hypocrisy. There are no rules to vegetarianism, it is just a catch all label for people who do not, under certain circumstances, consume meat. People who call themselves vegetarians have all made different decisions, for different reasons, about what they will and will not eat. Some consume fish, some eat eggs, milk, or animal by-products, and others still consume meat on rare occasions, but all of them can be labeled as vegetarian. Personally, I've found it to be the easiest way to convey to people that I may be inspecting my food, and questioning the ingredient list.

A proselytizing vegan who wears leather may be considered a hypocrite, but a person practicing her own brand of vegetarianism, while minding her own business... well, that's not a hypocrite, that is a person living her life while making personal judgments. Hypocrisy includes a note of dishonesty or disingenuousness. Since there are no set rules to vegetarianism, the vegetarian in question would have to define rules, then go against them, to be a hypocrite.

Someone claiming to be a vegetarian for animal rights reasons, but who sports leather, feathers, or fur is likely a hypocrite, but those items could be from his pre-veggie days, or vintage items, or gifts from well meaning loved ones, or any of a hundred other scenarios. With such a complex, and personal issue, it is difficult to accurately call someone a hypocrite, not impossible, but there will likely be a high level of error on snap judgments. But, that's pretty universal, isn't it Mrs. Darcy.

Genius

I decided I needed another henna tattoo since my first attempt had faded. I learned from the first try that it was not a good idea to start at 2:30 in the morning, and that I should plan out a pattern in advance. So, I started at 4:00 AM with the very specific plan, "I want a peacock on my hand." Genius. I finished shortly after my neighbor left for work.

It didn't turn out awful, but it looks a bit like a duck in a psychedelic swirl of paisley. Not exactly what I was going for, but interesting and kind of nice. Because of this, I am positive I have not learned my lesson.

From the Tube

For most of my life, I have been on some form of antihistamine and decongestant. My allergies are epic. Recently, however, I decided to stop taking the decongestant. The reasoning behind this maneuver is a bit muddled and long-winded. The important parts are that I stopped taking it and that I am now able to sleep for several hours a night/day (like I'm a person!) and I have had lots of sinus drainage that is filling my digestive tract. Yummy.

Because of the copious amount of snot, I don't feel hungry, ever. This has been a problem all of my life. Everytime someone says some variation of "I only eat when I'm hungry," with the requisite accompaniment of pretentious snobbery, I secretly hope they get to experience my lack of appetite some day. Several times a week, I become light headed and weak, because I haven't eaten enough. Not that I don't want to eat, but that I just don't feel like it. I often just  forget to eat. And, when I remember, it is hard to find something I can force down. My relationship with food is much like that of someone looking at a dessert menu at a restaurant with giant portions; I want to have something, but I'm just too full.

So, when I do feel like eating, I more than make up for the lean times. (My grandma would be sure to point out that I've never been lean, and that I should probably have used a different word. It's amazing I don't have more issues, really.) Tonight, for example, I had an incredibly strong craving for cookie dough.  A monstrous craving that would not be subsided with cookie dough ice cream or chocolate chips -not that I had either- it was of the specific and unyielding variety. Since I did not have the ingredients to make cookie dough, I decided that I must run to Wal-Mart to acquire them immediately. I had to go to Wal-Mart, because this particular craving hit me at about 2 AM. It is well below freezing, and a 20 minute drive one way, but, I reasoned, I also needed ink for the printer, and I was completely out of vinegar. Mika (see below) had just peed on the closet door, and I needed the vinegar to clean it up.

Liza Did It Better

Is it normal to have a complete nervous breakdown every couple of years? I started these mid-life crisis style meltdowns when I was about fifteen. Generally, I start by questioning what I am doing with my life, where I'm going, how I'm making a difference. Then, I look at all of the people who are my age or younger, who are far more accomplished, so I can accurately gauge my level of utter failure.

The other day this manifested in my watching Cabaret and wondering how old Liza Minnelli was when she made the movie. An internationally known superstar, who also happens to be the offspring of one of the most well known actresses ever, it seemed to me, was an accurate measuring stick of where I should be in my life. I have since turned 25, and have a year to star in a film that will become absurdly popular and earn me an Academy Award. Even my delusionally optimistic self can't come up with a scenario that would make that a reality, so I am obviously not where I should be developmentally.

This stage is followed by self-loathing, and a complete inability to recognize any personal accomplishments. Also, ambition, what's that? I am such a failure because I have not reached the very simple goals that every other person (as portrayed by Liza) has reached, that I will never be able to accomplish anything, ever, and I should really just give up on my dreams already and how did I ever think I could be a normal, functioning human being, and... Yeah, it's incredibly rational.

Currently, I'm in my "I need a plan" phase. This is where I decide that I'm going to be responsible for my destiny and come up with a multi-pronged solution to cure me of my epic suck. Unfortunately, I can't decide what I want to do with my life, which is obviously step one, as it is a very easy question to answer. After copious time spent thinking and weeping, I will eventually lose interest and have to clean up cat puke or something. Then, I will dive back into my marathon viewing of The Muppet Show,  dream of how awesome it would be to be a puppeteer, and realize that I may have missed my calling, as I am obviously far to old to learn such a skill. The Liza Minnelli episode is coming up soon, maybe I'll have a complete breakdown and decide to actually do something with my life rather than just thinking about it. It's unlikely, but a girl can dream.