My Shit's Fucked Up
Well, not really. There is potential for things to be much, much worse than they are now. I just haven't processed this redundancy very well. It's my second nature to narrate a situation, as it's happening, for future use and I will mine this shit for something. As is, I've painted a bit but no where near where I would feel any degree of alacrity. As is, it's stopish-and-startish, in a loop. But I've developed a new passion for jewelery, always a good idea when you're on the dole. My new favorite things are old old drippy bead earrings, which I was delighted to learn are also known as Cha Cha earrings (although the term 'cha cha' seems adaptive to things overblown and well, oh shut up). On Christmas day, I had my best friends over and made them endure a Cha Cha earring show. Well, I made them dinner, too.
The chicken sisters are well. I finished the Autumn version of Ester (pictured above) and am now working on Winter, along with a commission from a friend who is doing me a favor with the business, but she keeps hiring me to do things I've moved on from. In this instance, a dog. Commissions are always a source of much shitfuckandpiss with me, which demonstrates to me that I was always meant to have a day job of some sort. The lack of a job, day or otherwise, is a big black hole that sucks my attention and renders me enert.
I also fell off that delicate little Queen Anne chair of a wagon, again, and drank back on all the weight I'd lost the previous months. I've now quit - a-fucking-gain - and am slowly deflating, as well as being able to stay up past nine o'clock. I let it slide, but that slide has been arrested.