Wednesday, October 29, 2014

negative, but the truth

Oh boy, I thought, today I can lie around and feel sorry for myself. I will not answer the phone, no matter who calls.

Nothing remotely occurred like I thought. Brother brought the iron table and chairs from mom's house. The House could sell anytime. I talked to Connie who has a nasty bug. And called to wish mom a happy birthday again.

Since I do not seem to contribute much, I wonder why anyone cares. I spend much of my waking time wishing someone cared. From what my PHriends say, they care. Somehow I cannot convince myself. Former co-workers tell me they care. I do not believe that either.

I do not want to be miserable anymore.

Miss you, dude.

Monday, October 27, 2014

How to have an anxiety attack

I like to surprise people anonymously with little gifts or something I know will make their day. I do not like to venture away from home. So I create a problem for myself -- how do I get the surprise to the suprisee? Sometimes a relative of the surprisee can help out. But nine times out of 10, the idea only causes my anxiety meter to rise past the safe limits. Then the whole surprise idea collapses on itself and I must fret over another method to accomplish what I had intended to be fun and mysterious.

I sometimes agree to do something (for my own good). The closer the time nears for me to act, the more I start looking for excuses to back out. Anxiety rises more than before. When I try to explain why I cannot go do so-and-so, most people believe me. You can hear the disbelief in their voices and see it on their faces. How do you explain to someone my unease when I leave the safety of my house?

I want to have friends and have fun, but most people do not understand. When asked what I am feeling or how you can help, I am unable to tell you. Yet I am lonely.

Sunday, October 26, 2014

Let's try this again

OK, I do not know how long this time will last, but with your blessing, here I go.

I have wasted a lot of time sleeping or lying down. Knowing my life could be only minutes longer, I should try my best to enjoy the rest of my time.

To that end, I discovered a need to have what I consider art on my walls. Art, being personal, can mean one thing to me and a bunch of garbage to someone else. I "met" a couple of artists on FB and after some negotiation, I picked up three works for my apartment.

The disparity in styles says this represents me. Two of the works evoke American folk style. Lots of color and do-dads. They have an air of family portraits from the 1600s, yet a modern twist. The vivid colors come from the paint. (You know, I find myself forgetting words more and more. The file cabinet of my brain rusts.) Ah yes, I remember now -- acrylics. Oh yes, the portraits are of cats.

The other piece is pencil, I think. The Marvel comic-type drawing shows a woman with a large hammer. This heroine bears the name Harley Quinn. Harley's size makes the lighting crucial to see the detail. I think the situation calls for one of those museum lights. She has the gold nameplate at the bottom of her frame.

I am talking with a photography artist I know on another piece. I love to buy art from people I know.

· · ·

Somehow yesterday, Pogo locked himself in a lower kitchen cabinet. Sometime after Momo's nap, he wandered into the kitchen. We hear a meow and Momo walks over to the cabinet door, stands on his hind legs (no easy feat for my pudgy one), grabs the top of the door with his claws and walks backward, thus opening the door. Pogo gave Momo a look and ran out of the kitchen. Momo stood there a second or two, then moseyed over to the food dish. Rescue work is hard, you know.

Miss you, dude.