naamah_darling: Still from The Last Unicorn animated movie of a springtime forest with a path leading through it. (Road Home)
Bought myself a laptop on Monday, and immediately the car broke down. Somehow I was not tremendously surprised by the timing, which sucked.

I was also sick for two days, which sucked more. Nothing actually happened, like I didn't barf or anything, but man, I felt like shit. I was too shittily tired to game.

Anyway. I'm much better now and I want to come back inside.

For an actual topic, something [livejournal.com profile] onceupon and I were talking about on her journal is house stuff.

I am truly happy with this house. Not perfectly happy, not in throes of ecstasy every day happy, but content in a way that I have never before been with someplace I lived.

As I said to [livejournal.com profile] onceupon, other people have these aspirations about their homes that baffle me completely. They want it to be clutter-free, or they want art around that really doesn't mean anything to them but looks cultured and expensive, or they want the big picture windows and the swimming pool and the perfectly manicured yard so that it looks "respectable" from outside, or they decide to box up all their books and put them out of sight because their interior decorator told them to, and so on, and I just don't get it.

I want a house so awesome you would have to tranquilize a 9-year-old with a dart gun to get them out of there.

I want there to be books from floor to ceiling, magical stuff everywhere, and a story behind everything you see. There should be scary stuff to find squirreled away in shadowy corners, and hidden surprises of the wonderful variety, and beautiful things in every room, and almost everything is something that yes, you can touch.

And while I would have more of that kind of thing if I had money falling out of my ass, it's at least an aspiration that doesn't always require money for me to accomplish because I am just talented and imaginative enough to be able to make or fake a bunch of interesting things. I am filling this place with things that have no purpose but to tell a story, to be beautiful, to be strange. I have a cat's heart in a bell jar, a dead and mummified fairy, a mimmoth tusk, a clock that tells you when you are having a good time, a deer skull with fangs. Some I bought, some I modified, some I made.

I know I will never have the awesome creepy old mansion I really want, but I am content to weird up the place I have. My friends are happy here, or I like to think they are, and my cats are happy, and there is always something to look at or play with, and I can spend a week here without even going outside and still be completely happy. I think that's way better than the Better Homes and Gardens kind of house.

I thought I would never get here. To a place that didn't make me feel like jumping down a well. I hope it gets better, but even if it doesn't, I can live here. I turn down my street and think "I love this neighborhood." I get out of the car to come up to the house and I pet the stonework as I go past the corner of the garage and think "I love this house." I wake up at night from a bad dream and the darkness is comforting, not scary, and I think "I feel safe here." And those are things I have never felt before all together, even in the place I lived as a child (the darkness there was distinctly threatening).

The last place we lived . . . it was doing something to me. I was becoming a worse person. The stress from living there was making me sicker inside, making any healing impossible. It also made me not want to do any work on the house at all. It felt like being forced to shine the shoes of some assface who kept kicking me in the cunt. I am a shitty housekeeper, but it's much easier here, and I'm learning, and the house doesn't piss me off which makes things about nine times less ball-bustingly painful.

I'm not always doing so hot these days, I am still crazy as a shithouse rat, but this house is not part of that, and I can't say how grateful I am about that. I really can't.
naamah_darling: Still from The Last Unicorn animated movie of a springtime forest with a path leading through it. (Road Home)
Bought myself a laptop on Monday, and immediately the car broke down. Somehow I was not tremendously surprised by the timing, which sucked.

I was also sick for two days, which sucked more. Nothing actually happened, like I didn't barf or anything, but man, I felt like shit. I was too shittily tired to game.

Anyway. I'm much better now and I want to come back inside.

For an actual topic, something [livejournal.com profile] onceupon and I were talking about on her journal is house stuff.

I am truly happy with this house. Not perfectly happy, not in throes of ecstasy every day happy, but content in a way that I have never before been with someplace I lived.

As I said to [livejournal.com profile] onceupon, other people have these aspirations about their homes that baffle me completely. They want it to be clutter-free, or they want art around that really doesn't mean anything to them but looks cultured and expensive, or they want the big picture windows and the swimming pool and the perfectly manicured yard so that it looks "respectable" from outside, or they decide to box up all their books and put them out of sight because their interior decorator told them to, and so on, and I just don't get it.

I want a house so awesome you would have to tranquilize a 9-year-old with a dart gun to get them out of there.

I want there to be books from floor to ceiling, magical stuff everywhere, and a story behind everything you see. There should be scary stuff to find squirreled away in shadowy corners, and hidden surprises of the wonderful variety, and beautiful things in every room, and almost everything is something that yes, you can touch.

And while I would have more of that kind of thing if I had money falling out of my ass, it's at least an aspiration that doesn't always require money for me to accomplish because I am just talented and imaginative enough to be able to make or fake a bunch of interesting things. I am filling this place with things that have no purpose but to tell a story, to be beautiful, to be strange. I have a cat's heart in a bell jar, a dead and mummified fairy, a mimmoth tusk, a clock that tells you when you are having a good time, a deer skull with fangs. Some I bought, some I modified, some I made.

I know I will never have the awesome creepy old mansion I really want, but I am content to weird up the place I have. My friends are happy here, or I like to think they are, and my cats are happy, and there is always something to look at or play with, and I can spend a week here without even going outside and still be completely happy. I think that's way better than the Better Homes and Gardens kind of house.

I thought I would never get here. To a place that didn't make me feel like jumping down a well. I hope it gets better, but even if it doesn't, I can live here. I turn down my street and think "I love this neighborhood." I get out of the car to come up to the house and I pet the stonework as I go past the corner of the garage and think "I love this house." I wake up at night from a bad dream and the darkness is comforting, not scary, and I think "I feel safe here." And those are things I have never felt before all together, even in the place I lived as a child (the darkness there was distinctly threatening).

The last place we lived . . . it was doing something to me. I was becoming a worse person. The stress from living there was making me sicker inside, making any healing impossible. It also made me not want to do any work on the house at all. It felt like being forced to shine the shoes of some assface who kept kicking me in the cunt. I am a shitty housekeeper, but it's much easier here, and I'm learning, and the house doesn't piss me off which makes things about nine times less ball-bustingly painful.

I'm not always doing so hot these days, I am still crazy as a shithouse rat, but this house is not part of that, and I can't say how grateful I am about that. I really can't.

FINALLY.

Oct. 9th, 2009 04:43 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lucian Wags)
We just closed on the old house. It's sold, we're shut of it, we're done. Knock on wood.

Sargon went over this morning to have a last look at it. I didn't. I will be happy if I never see the place again. Ever.

This is huge happy news for us but it's not necessarily of interest to anyone else, so I will move on.

All packages from the last batch of Etsy orders were shipped yesterday. Shipping freaks me out so bad. I'm always scared I'm going to pack the wrong things in the wrong boxes, or that it will get lost or break open or something. Anyway, I'm preparing another update.

Tazendra's thyroid test results came back normal, so we're just medicating her for her crazy high blood pressure. We've been medicating her for four days now, and she is taking it pretty well. She doesn't take it personally when I take her to the vet, but the shoving a pill into her mouth, that she does take personally, and she sulks about it every time. I hope she gets over it. We do give her treats right after, special treats the other cats don't get, so hopefully it will sink in that if she just behaves, she gets something special.

Also: stay tuned for another Secret History entry. Miss Someday wishes she could write more often, but apparently they're keeping her really busy at the Salem Institute. She's been back to Thuringia at least twice since the last entry to help catalog some deceased warlock's effects, and apparently things in the special collections department always pick up this time of year. She has alluded to two particularly delightful and gruesome specimens she hopes to examine very soon, however, and has been making vague enquiries about setting up her own LJ where she could talk about stuff besides the Secret History entries. I asked if it would make her write more, and she said she wasn't sure, but she felt like she maybe should. I told her I didn't mind loaning her my readers, but she still feels a little shy about it. She's very strange. She may travel a lot but I don't think she gets out enough.

FINALLY.

Oct. 9th, 2009 04:43 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lucian Wags)
We just closed on the old house. It's sold, we're shut of it, we're done. Knock on wood.

Sargon went over this morning to have a last look at it. I didn't. I will be happy if I never see the place again. Ever.

This is huge happy news for us but it's not necessarily of interest to anyone else, so I will move on.

All packages from the last batch of Etsy orders were shipped yesterday. Shipping freaks me out so bad. I'm always scared I'm going to pack the wrong things in the wrong boxes, or that it will get lost or break open or something. Anyway, I'm preparing another update.

Tazendra's thyroid test results came back normal, so we're just medicating her for her crazy high blood pressure. We've been medicating her for four days now, and she is taking it pretty well. She doesn't take it personally when I take her to the vet, but the shoving a pill into her mouth, that she does take personally, and she sulks about it every time. I hope she gets over it. We do give her treats right after, special treats the other cats don't get, so hopefully it will sink in that if she just behaves, she gets something special.

Also: stay tuned for another Secret History entry. Miss Someday wishes she could write more often, but apparently they're keeping her really busy at the Salem Institute. She's been back to Thuringia at least twice since the last entry to help catalog some deceased warlock's effects, and apparently things in the special collections department always pick up this time of year. She has alluded to two particularly delightful and gruesome specimens she hopes to examine very soon, however, and has been making vague enquiries about setting up her own LJ where she could talk about stuff besides the Secret History entries. I asked if it would make her write more, and she said she wasn't sure, but she felt like she maybe should. I told her I didn't mind loaning her my readers, but she still feels a little shy about it. She's very strange. She may travel a lot but I don't think she gets out enough.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Warning: Scorpion)
We signed up for COBRA coverage. Thrilling, I know. It is not costing as much as we had feared, but it is all in one lump, back-due to the date of termination, so that's not real fun.

I have a doctor's appointment for the 16th at 3:00. Don't you all let me forget.

I don't really expect he will know what to do as -- despite having ten children -- ladybits are not his area of expertise, but it's amazing the amount of comfort that comes with knowing I will be able to dump this into someone else's lap for even ten minutes and say "fix this."*

It would feel better if I knew that he wasn't double-booked on top of double-booked. I have a lingering fear I will get bumped. Yes, it has happened. It's a mess, y'all.

This is not to give the impression that I am okay with what is going on. I am not okay at all. I am really worried – not even about bleeding to death from my snizz. I mean, I'm used to that. It's old meme, uterus. Old meme. I'm worried about Medicine, worried that nobody will agree to help me, or that they will take too long and I will become sicker and/or will go crazy, that they will try to help but it will not work or will make things worse. I'm afraid, in short, of suffering a lot more.

It's really sad when there's unauthorized exsanguination going on in your pants and your main worry is that the people who are supposed to help you fix that little problem are, in fact, the bad guys. I've been fucked over before, so I'm not laboring under the happy illusion that these are helpful or well-meaning people I will be dealing with. Even the best doctor I've ever had is inaccessible nine tenths of the time, and even the best doctor in the world can have staff members who are incompetent. I put up with it because finding someone who will listen to me is rare. Dr. C could be wholly unqualified and I would probably still go to him because he treats me like a human being.

But that is as much as I am going to say about it because people I know are going through far worse, and complaining thus is simply unseemly. I just wanted to say, I'm getting help, but I'm still plenty freaked out.

Went to the old house today to throw shit out. I don't know how long I lasted. Not long. I had to bail, which I feel bad about. The downstairs room has been marinating in rainwater, of course, so the smell was awful, and I kept finding vermin, which kept freaking me out. I don't mean furry vermin, either. Whatever my flaws, I don't fear mice. I mean beetles and slugs and suchlike. (Shut up. It's not fear, it's full-body revulsion.) Then I got a faceful of hair and dust and sort of freaked out because my hands were already so filthy there was no way to get it off get it off get it off. The old place has no running water, and there were no paper towels or anything. Ugh.

I have to go back tomorrow (with water and washcloths for my face) and go through a bunch of stuff to see what I want to keep and what I want to pitch. Not fun. I don't do nostalgia. Finding birthday cards my mom gave me, letters from people I really miss and can't find, my grandmother's jewelry, childhood photos, pictures of me when I was all skinny and belly-dancery, that kind of shit. That's brutal, man. I would throw it all away because it hurts to look at it, but that would be so dumb, because in ten years I'll be glad I have it. So it goes back into a box and gets hidden away. A much better solution.

Just so things are not epic in their suck, I will say that I wrapped up two gaming characters this week. Okay, that's not actually happy. But the gaming was fun: vampire Don Juans and teenage pseudo-supervillainesses. What is happy is moving on to the next character. If a "paladin" in RPG parlance is a badass fighter who derives special powers from divine favor, what would it be like if you had a blood-drinking lioness for a patron goddess?

I think it would be like that fight between Hector and Achilles in Troy, only at the end Achilles would turn into a butched-up Smilodon, tear his way into the city, and make the streets run red with blood. And they would be bad guys, of course. Not Trojans, who didn't really do anything but have gates that opened the wrong fucking way. But you get the idea. Epic carnage and bloodshed, and prehistoric mammals!

I will miss Sam and Meg, though. Fun characters. I always say "Yeah, we'll get back to them," but this doesn't usually happen. (That is not a criticism, just an observation.)

There. That's a completely boring and mundane me-type update. I am going to go fool around with stuff in my studio and hope that inspiration strikes me on the two commissions I have been stuck on for over a year. Yeah. It's that bad. If this continues much longer, I'm going to have to give the money back and then some and declare myself closed for the forseeable future, because this shit is unacceptable, and if I can't be reliable I need to find something else to do.

* That's what doctors are for. Belay the medical advice unless I ask for it, like I did here. Thank you all for helping with that.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Warning: Scorpion)
We signed up for COBRA coverage. Thrilling, I know. It is not costing as much as we had feared, but it is all in one lump, back-due to the date of termination, so that's not real fun.

I have a doctor's appointment for the 16th at 3:00. Don't you all let me forget.

I don't really expect he will know what to do as -- despite having ten children -- ladybits are not his area of expertise, but it's amazing the amount of comfort that comes with knowing I will be able to dump this into someone else's lap for even ten minutes and say "fix this."*

It would feel better if I knew that he wasn't double-booked on top of double-booked. I have a lingering fear I will get bumped. Yes, it has happened. It's a mess, y'all.

This is not to give the impression that I am okay with what is going on. I am not okay at all. I am really worried – not even about bleeding to death from my snizz. I mean, I'm used to that. It's old meme, uterus. Old meme. I'm worried about Medicine, worried that nobody will agree to help me, or that they will take too long and I will become sicker and/or will go crazy, that they will try to help but it will not work or will make things worse. I'm afraid, in short, of suffering a lot more.

It's really sad when there's unauthorized exsanguination going on in your pants and your main worry is that the people who are supposed to help you fix that little problem are, in fact, the bad guys. I've been fucked over before, so I'm not laboring under the happy illusion that these are helpful or well-meaning people I will be dealing with. Even the best doctor I've ever had is inaccessible nine tenths of the time, and even the best doctor in the world can have staff members who are incompetent. I put up with it because finding someone who will listen to me is rare. Dr. C could be wholly unqualified and I would probably still go to him because he treats me like a human being.

But that is as much as I am going to say about it because people I know are going through far worse, and complaining thus is simply unseemly. I just wanted to say, I'm getting help, but I'm still plenty freaked out.

Went to the old house today to throw shit out. I don't know how long I lasted. Not long. I had to bail, which I feel bad about. The downstairs room has been marinating in rainwater, of course, so the smell was awful, and I kept finding vermin, which kept freaking me out. I don't mean furry vermin, either. Whatever my flaws, I don't fear mice. I mean beetles and slugs and suchlike. (Shut up. It's not fear, it's full-body revulsion.) Then I got a faceful of hair and dust and sort of freaked out because my hands were already so filthy there was no way to get it off get it off get it off. The old place has no running water, and there were no paper towels or anything. Ugh.

I have to go back tomorrow (with water and washcloths for my face) and go through a bunch of stuff to see what I want to keep and what I want to pitch. Not fun. I don't do nostalgia. Finding birthday cards my mom gave me, letters from people I really miss and can't find, my grandmother's jewelry, childhood photos, pictures of me when I was all skinny and belly-dancery, that kind of shit. That's brutal, man. I would throw it all away because it hurts to look at it, but that would be so dumb, because in ten years I'll be glad I have it. So it goes back into a box and gets hidden away. A much better solution.

Just so things are not epic in their suck, I will say that I wrapped up two gaming characters this week. Okay, that's not actually happy. But the gaming was fun: vampire Don Juans and teenage pseudo-supervillainesses. What is happy is moving on to the next character. If a "paladin" in RPG parlance is a badass fighter who derives special powers from divine favor, what would it be like if you had a blood-drinking lioness for a patron goddess?

I think it would be like that fight between Hector and Achilles in Troy, only at the end Achilles would turn into a butched-up Smilodon, tear his way into the city, and make the streets run red with blood. And they would be bad guys, of course. Not Trojans, who didn't really do anything but have gates that opened the wrong fucking way. But you get the idea. Epic carnage and bloodshed, and prehistoric mammals!

I will miss Sam and Meg, though. Fun characters. I always say "Yeah, we'll get back to them," but this doesn't usually happen. (That is not a criticism, just an observation.)

There. That's a completely boring and mundane me-type update. I am going to go fool around with stuff in my studio and hope that inspiration strikes me on the two commissions I have been stuck on for over a year. Yeah. It's that bad. If this continues much longer, I'm going to have to give the money back and then some and declare myself closed for the forseeable future, because this shit is unacceptable, and if I can't be reliable I need to find something else to do.

* That's what doctors are for. Belay the medical advice unless I ask for it, like I did here. Thank you all for helping with that.

Studio!

Apr. 22nd, 2009 07:23 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lucian Awesome)
I have a serious update brewing, and I will probably be scarce over the weekend because it's time for Conestoga, but for now, I must share news. News and pictures!

The studio is done!

The whole thing has been a load of work. Remember that this room was the one with the pink shag carpeting and the Pepto-pink walls under a single coat of white paint.

Studio 01

That's the door to the hall and the door into the bathroom.

You must click this. )

Studio 12

My happy little plant.

Sargon deserves major cred for helping me with this. He cut the molding and helped me lay the floor and moved the ladder around for me occasionally. He also put up with me taking a two-month vacation in the middle because I "didn't feel like" painting. Sorry.

Okay, now here's the part where I go all infomercial on you. The walls in my house are knockdown plaster, which severely limits my choices when it comes to paint techniques. I finally settled on a kit from Murals and Faux Painting Inc. Specifically, the Poofy Pad. I could not have done this without it. Going up on the ladder to paint the high spots, the foam palette was indispensable. I did the entire greatroom, I did the master bedroom, I did the studio. It is fast, it is super easy, and it's pretty damn cheap. If you are stuck with butt-ugly knockdown and want to add some depth to it, this is not a bad choice at all.

I also used Sherwin-Williams paint because I could not get the darker greens in Olympic, which I prefer (S-W is better, but it's also way expensive.) Stay away from Valspar if you can, at least in the deeper colors. The smell of formaldehyde is truly profound, and unlike the cat pee smell of the S-W, it doesn't go away in an hour or so.

Studio!

Apr. 22nd, 2009 07:23 pm
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lucian Awesome)
I have a serious update brewing, and I will probably be scarce over the weekend because it's time for Conestoga, but for now, I must share news. News and pictures!

The studio is done!

The whole thing has been a load of work. Remember that this room was the one with the pink shag carpeting and the Pepto-pink walls under a single coat of white paint.

Studio 01

That's the door to the hall and the door into the bathroom.

You must click this. )

Studio 12

My happy little plant.

Sargon deserves major cred for helping me with this. He cut the molding and helped me lay the floor and moved the ladder around for me occasionally. He also put up with me taking a two-month vacation in the middle because I "didn't feel like" painting. Sorry.

Okay, now here's the part where I go all infomercial on you. The walls in my house are knockdown plaster, which severely limits my choices when it comes to paint techniques. I finally settled on a kit from Murals and Faux Painting Inc. Specifically, the Poofy Pad. I could not have done this without it. Going up on the ladder to paint the high spots, the foam palette was indispensable. I did the entire greatroom, I did the master bedroom, I did the studio. It is fast, it is super easy, and it's pretty damn cheap. If you are stuck with butt-ugly knockdown and want to add some depth to it, this is not a bad choice at all.

I also used Sherwin-Williams paint because I could not get the darker greens in Olympic, which I prefer (S-W is better, but it's also way expensive.) Stay away from Valspar if you can, at least in the deeper colors. The smell of formaldehyde is truly profound, and unlike the cat pee smell of the S-W, it doesn't go away in an hour or so.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Bitch)
Fucking insomnia can go fuck itself, seriously. I need an insomnia icon.

Is this, like, the House of Never Sleeping? Because I am okay with that if it means never having to go back to the other house. I just may have a psychotic break. I mean, another one. But no two are quite the same!

I remember talking to my eleven-year-old nephew when my sister was moving out of that house (she lived there before I did). He said "We are finally leaving that house. That House of Despair." The deliberate melodrama with which those words were uttered has stayed with me. I now feel much the same way. That was, indeed, a House of Despair, and so shall it henceforth be called.

This house is much better. We have the underpainting done in the studio*: green below, greenish-white above. Now all that remains is for me to do the wall treatment, because right now it looks like either a schoolroom or a hospital. Ew.

The cats are happier about the move than we are, I think. And that's saying a lot.

Sif, the perpetual scaredy-cat, the shrinking violet, the wallflower -- carpetflower? -- the cat who seemed almost mythical in her scarcity, has been out more than we have ever seen her. She has become a fixture of the loveseat. Not just underneath it, with her yellow tail poking out, but on top of it, begging for pettins. She even lets me rub her tummy -- unheard of! -- and has allowed me to groom her with the Furminator three days in a row. She's like a different cat.

Okay, she's like the same cat, just 60% less neurotic.

If I spend any time on the loveseat at all, I find myself with orbiting cattelites, and tonight they were all three on the loveseat with me. These cats hate each other.

Right now, Tazendra and Fish are sharing the bed with me.

This would be great, except one of them is farting copiously. This, combined with the paint fumes from the other room, is truly overpowering.

On the other hand, if it makes me pass out, at least I'll be asleep.

* Because it is boring, I will spare you the saga of why it took so goddamn long to find the right paint. I'll just cut to the chase and say that I had to bust my ass and pay through the nose to get no- and low-VOC paint in the colors I wanted.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Bitch)
Fucking insomnia can go fuck itself, seriously. I need an insomnia icon.

Is this, like, the House of Never Sleeping? Because I am okay with that if it means never having to go back to the other house. I just may have a psychotic break. I mean, another one. But no two are quite the same!

I remember talking to my eleven-year-old nephew when my sister was moving out of that house (she lived there before I did). He said "We are finally leaving that house. That House of Despair." The deliberate melodrama with which those words were uttered has stayed with me. I now feel much the same way. That was, indeed, a House of Despair, and so shall it henceforth be called.

This house is much better. We have the underpainting done in the studio*: green below, greenish-white above. Now all that remains is for me to do the wall treatment, because right now it looks like either a schoolroom or a hospital. Ew.

The cats are happier about the move than we are, I think. And that's saying a lot.

Sif, the perpetual scaredy-cat, the shrinking violet, the wallflower -- carpetflower? -- the cat who seemed almost mythical in her scarcity, has been out more than we have ever seen her. She has become a fixture of the loveseat. Not just underneath it, with her yellow tail poking out, but on top of it, begging for pettins. She even lets me rub her tummy -- unheard of! -- and has allowed me to groom her with the Furminator three days in a row. She's like a different cat.

Okay, she's like the same cat, just 60% less neurotic.

If I spend any time on the loveseat at all, I find myself with orbiting cattelites, and tonight they were all three on the loveseat with me. These cats hate each other.

Right now, Tazendra and Fish are sharing the bed with me.

This would be great, except one of them is farting copiously. This, combined with the paint fumes from the other room, is truly overpowering.

On the other hand, if it makes me pass out, at least I'll be asleep.

* Because it is boring, I will spare you the saga of why it took so goddamn long to find the right paint. I'll just cut to the chase and say that I had to bust my ass and pay through the nose to get no- and low-VOC paint in the colors I wanted.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Christmas Fuck You)
Well. Since I've been promising, here's pictures of the house and some Christmas stuff and some cats.

I can tell you are all just enthralled.

Let's start with the paint job in the master bedroom:

Master Bedroom 01
That's with the blinds closed, at about ten in the morning.

Master Bedroom 02
With the blinds open the room transforms. It's impossible to convey in photos, but the golden color in the walls just glows. The metallic chair rail doesn't hurt, either.

Below the cut are more pictures of house stuff and Christmas stuff. Including a couple of pictures of Fish. )

Anyway, hope you enjoyed. We're settling in here, though it's a long process. I don't know how people can move and just . . . make a place home, just like that. I was a really settled kid, we traveled but didn't ever move our home base, so I always spend several months really disoriented every time I have to move. It's worse than it used to be, too. Maybe it's the time of year, I don't know.

Anyway, happy new year, guys. I hope it's a better one than the last one, which was really unkind to a lot of you.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Christmas Fuck You)
Well. Since I've been promising, here's pictures of the house and some Christmas stuff and some cats.

I can tell you are all just enthralled.

Let's start with the paint job in the master bedroom:

Master Bedroom 01
That's with the blinds closed, at about ten in the morning.

Master Bedroom 02
With the blinds open the room transforms. It's impossible to convey in photos, but the golden color in the walls just glows. The metallic chair rail doesn't hurt, either.

Below the cut are more pictures of house stuff and Christmas stuff. Including a couple of pictures of Fish. )

Anyway, hope you enjoyed. We're settling in here, though it's a long process. I don't know how people can move and just . . . make a place home, just like that. I was a really settled kid, we traveled but didn't ever move our home base, so I always spend several months really disoriented every time I have to move. It's worse than it used to be, too. Maybe it's the time of year, I don't know.

Anyway, happy new year, guys. I hope it's a better one than the last one, which was really unkind to a lot of you.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Emo Icon)
Christmas was really nice, if exhausting. I have pictures of the gifts I made that I will post soon – the painted cat skull, the pirate box, the time machine.

I got some great stuff. I think it's a toss-up between the tapestry of Mont St. Michel and the box of X-rated fridge poetry.*

Mostly I just feel sort of guilty. I wasn't able to finish presents for all the people I had planned to, and I flat-out forgot that I'd bought pretty things for two people way ahead of time, so I need to go get those from the old house tomorrow and give them to the appropriate folks.

I wish I'd had an extra month to prepare for everything and enjoy the anticipation. But what the hell do I know? My internal clock thinks it's . . . the very beginning of October. At least it's catching up. In September I thought it was April.

Actually, that's something that I don't see people talk about in regards to being bipolar or living with depression: the disrupted time sense. Emo-lag? I seem to completely lose the weeks that I'm mixed or really deeply depressed, and my internal clock takes a long time to reset itself. I strongly doubt that's unique to me.

Anyway, the cats are so happy. They spend most of their time lounging on the furniture or on me, or any other available human surface, and not in a clingy, fearful way, but in a happy way that means they purr if you so much as look at them sideways. Sif likes to hide under things to sleep, and during quiet moments you can sometimes hear the left side of the loveseat purring to itself like a leaky cauldron full of crickets.

Tazendra has spent most of the day glued to my thigh. Every time I go to pet her, she lifts her hairy leg and exposes her overheated belly, and I sink my fingers into her dampish, moldy fur. She purrs and it's like burbling soup.

I'm still uncomfortable – massively so. I can't work. I haven't had time to work on my studio space, so I'm still crammed into an extra bedroom with my computer and mattress on the floor. I don't have energy or space to work on way-late outstanding commissions, I'm having the devil's own time getting anyone to answer other business email, and I've got writing deadlines coming up. Normally I'd be okay, but I'm just so tired. I slept most of Christmas day. Everywhere we went, I'd just fall asleep on a couch or a chair. I missed all the conversation, barely got to socialize. I still took multiple naps when I came home.

It's been a mixed bag this year, probably because moving has uprooted everything and I feel very vulnerable and raw. I am missing . . . not people, but a time and a place that doesn't exist anymore. My world back then was far from perfect – I was not a happy child – but at least it was consistent and I understood it. There were rituals. I had a place, a role. I was--

Oh, hang on, Tazendra's twitching in her sleep and I'm going to see if I can pull her tongue out for the third time tonight.

. . .

Oh, Jesus. I just got an epic six-minute video of me playing with my cat's tongue. Excuse me, I have to upload this to YouTube right now.

* I am very, very amused that this set includes the word "dog."
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Emo Icon)
Christmas was really nice, if exhausting. I have pictures of the gifts I made that I will post soon – the painted cat skull, the pirate box, the time machine.

I got some great stuff. I think it's a toss-up between the tapestry of Mont St. Michel and the box of X-rated fridge poetry.*

Mostly I just feel sort of guilty. I wasn't able to finish presents for all the people I had planned to, and I flat-out forgot that I'd bought pretty things for two people way ahead of time, so I need to go get those from the old house tomorrow and give them to the appropriate folks.

I wish I'd had an extra month to prepare for everything and enjoy the anticipation. But what the hell do I know? My internal clock thinks it's . . . the very beginning of October. At least it's catching up. In September I thought it was April.

Actually, that's something that I don't see people talk about in regards to being bipolar or living with depression: the disrupted time sense. Emo-lag? I seem to completely lose the weeks that I'm mixed or really deeply depressed, and my internal clock takes a long time to reset itself. I strongly doubt that's unique to me.

Anyway, the cats are so happy. They spend most of their time lounging on the furniture or on me, or any other available human surface, and not in a clingy, fearful way, but in a happy way that means they purr if you so much as look at them sideways. Sif likes to hide under things to sleep, and during quiet moments you can sometimes hear the left side of the loveseat purring to itself like a leaky cauldron full of crickets.

Tazendra has spent most of the day glued to my thigh. Every time I go to pet her, she lifts her hairy leg and exposes her overheated belly, and I sink my fingers into her dampish, moldy fur. She purrs and it's like burbling soup.

I'm still uncomfortable – massively so. I can't work. I haven't had time to work on my studio space, so I'm still crammed into an extra bedroom with my computer and mattress on the floor. I don't have energy or space to work on way-late outstanding commissions, I'm having the devil's own time getting anyone to answer other business email, and I've got writing deadlines coming up. Normally I'd be okay, but I'm just so tired. I slept most of Christmas day. Everywhere we went, I'd just fall asleep on a couch or a chair. I missed all the conversation, barely got to socialize. I still took multiple naps when I came home.

It's been a mixed bag this year, probably because moving has uprooted everything and I feel very vulnerable and raw. I am missing . . . not people, but a time and a place that doesn't exist anymore. My world back then was far from perfect – I was not a happy child – but at least it was consistent and I understood it. There were rituals. I had a place, a role. I was--

Oh, hang on, Tazendra's twitching in her sleep and I'm going to see if I can pull her tongue out for the third time tonight.

. . .

Oh, Jesus. I just got an epic six-minute video of me playing with my cat's tongue. Excuse me, I have to upload this to YouTube right now.

* I am very, very amused that this set includes the word "dog."

Long Night

Dec. 22nd, 2008 02:04 am
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lucian According to Whom?)
It seems like a simple operation, stuffing everything you own into boxes, cramming it onto a trailer, and hauling it to the new place. It would not be moving without mishaps.

One of our snake cages, a custom lockable plastic number by Jeff Ronne of Boaphile, blew off the trailer and got smashed up. Did I mention those are expensive? They are. And it will take at least a month, probably more, to replace it, as each is made to order.

We were supposed to get a new stove this weekend, but I got a call on Friday explaining that the stove came in very badly damaged, and they were sending over a loaner until next Saturday. I thought that was really cool of them. The loaner arrives, but the gas connection is cracked, so it's not useable either. The good delivery gentlemen haul the ancient electric stove that came with the house out of the garage and re-install it. Hello, there. I believe we've met.

We got a chimney service guy to come out and clean out our fireplace and chimney and restore the cracked back of the firebox, which was expensive but necessary to prevent damage to the outside of the house. The bad news is that the wonderful iron fireback my husband got me for Christmas doesn't fit, and we will have to exchange it for a smaller one. It's not Morningstar Hall yet. Not until we have the pirate ship fireback!

There is more, but I'm too scattered to remember all of it. I'm tired, all my stuff is in boxes or scattered all to hell. My innards are upset, and I'm constantly tired and edgy at the same time. I am behind on everything, and I wanted to make things or write things for people who will now have to wait because, well, I'm fried and beyond fried, and that hurts because it makes me feel like both a bad friend and a weakling.

But I woke up this morning in the bedroom I had painted myself and I saw it for the first time in the morning, the dawn of the shortest day of the year, and the room was filled with golden light. I stared up at the beam in the peaked ceiling, the room glowing all around me, and I was happy for that moment. We decorated the primary tree, and that was pleasant, too.

Tomorrow I start painting my studio, my study. It's going to be green below, and a sort of pale green above, with wooden trim and a gold chair rail. Because I like chair rails.

This has been a bad year for many of you, and a hard year for me.

The new light is coming in, though. Things will turn. I wish you all the best, all the warmth, all the fire that is yours to claim.

Long Night

Dec. 22nd, 2008 02:04 am
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lucian According to Whom?)
It seems like a simple operation, stuffing everything you own into boxes, cramming it onto a trailer, and hauling it to the new place. It would not be moving without mishaps.

One of our snake cages, a custom lockable plastic number by Jeff Ronne of Boaphile, blew off the trailer and got smashed up. Did I mention those are expensive? They are. And it will take at least a month, probably more, to replace it, as each is made to order.

We were supposed to get a new stove this weekend, but I got a call on Friday explaining that the stove came in very badly damaged, and they were sending over a loaner until next Saturday. I thought that was really cool of them. The loaner arrives, but the gas connection is cracked, so it's not useable either. The good delivery gentlemen haul the ancient electric stove that came with the house out of the garage and re-install it. Hello, there. I believe we've met.

We got a chimney service guy to come out and clean out our fireplace and chimney and restore the cracked back of the firebox, which was expensive but necessary to prevent damage to the outside of the house. The bad news is that the wonderful iron fireback my husband got me for Christmas doesn't fit, and we will have to exchange it for a smaller one. It's not Morningstar Hall yet. Not until we have the pirate ship fireback!

There is more, but I'm too scattered to remember all of it. I'm tired, all my stuff is in boxes or scattered all to hell. My innards are upset, and I'm constantly tired and edgy at the same time. I am behind on everything, and I wanted to make things or write things for people who will now have to wait because, well, I'm fried and beyond fried, and that hurts because it makes me feel like both a bad friend and a weakling.

But I woke up this morning in the bedroom I had painted myself and I saw it for the first time in the morning, the dawn of the shortest day of the year, and the room was filled with golden light. I stared up at the beam in the peaked ceiling, the room glowing all around me, and I was happy for that moment. We decorated the primary tree, and that was pleasant, too.

Tomorrow I start painting my studio, my study. It's going to be green below, and a sort of pale green above, with wooden trim and a gold chair rail. Because I like chair rails.

This has been a bad year for many of you, and a hard year for me.

The new light is coming in, though. Things will turn. I wish you all the best, all the warmth, all the fire that is yours to claim.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Morningstar)
First they got their claws clipped, then they got their claws capped with Soft Paws, then they got stuffed in weird-smelling boxes and taken out into the freezing cold and on a ride that lasted forever and were dumped in a huge place that they don't recognize, with furniture that smells all wrong, and ceilings that are way too high.

The chorus of howling in the car was truly piteous, and the weight of guilt positively crushing. I have "video" footage. It's dark, so you can't see anything, but you can hear the three of them: Sif with her regular squawks, Fish with her tuneful, plaintive mews, and Tazendra with her intermittent but strident bleats.

Sif drooled all over herself in the box, and has now disappeared completely. If she holds true to form, we will not really see her again until next Thursday around five. Tazendra and Fish are doing better, but neither are what you would call happy.

We have a surfeit of litterboxes to forestall the dreaded vengeance pooping, and I hope that works. The last thing I need is a carpet that reeks of cat piss. I love my cats dearly, but they are the reason I am so adamantly anti-carpeting.

Anyway, we have our computers and the beds here at the new place. I am utterly exhausted, and was so close to freaking out today because of all the crap we had to do and all the running back and forth and unfamiliar things and spending of money and torture of my hairy children and frustration at the enormity of the tasks before me. I hate this highly sensitive shit. Hate it. Even relatively resilient people have a hard time with moving. I've felt like throwing up for three days now, and I have no idea when that will abate.

I may be scarce, y'all. I'm very tired, and most of my energy is going toward not losing my shit, because suddenly all of my crap is, like, twenty minutes away through the freezing cold.

But we have a Christmas tree (not decorated, just lit) and a brand new ginormous TV, and [livejournal.com profile] bat_cheva brought me a Lava Lamp -- she even ventured out to the mall to get it. That is true devotion. So overall, I am happy. Give me a week, I'll be in ecstasy. This place is wonderful. And yes, there will be pictures, I promise. I just want some of the boxes out of the way. Jesus.

Right now, I need to try to sleep, even though that's the last thing on my mind.

ETA: It's not the lighting or the sounds or anything. It's that this room smells like someone else. I should not have washed my bedding. I can't sleep yet. Goddamn. Time to hit the sleep drugs.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Morningstar)
First they got their claws clipped, then they got their claws capped with Soft Paws, then they got stuffed in weird-smelling boxes and taken out into the freezing cold and on a ride that lasted forever and were dumped in a huge place that they don't recognize, with furniture that smells all wrong, and ceilings that are way too high.

The chorus of howling in the car was truly piteous, and the weight of guilt positively crushing. I have "video" footage. It's dark, so you can't see anything, but you can hear the three of them: Sif with her regular squawks, Fish with her tuneful, plaintive mews, and Tazendra with her intermittent but strident bleats.

Sif drooled all over herself in the box, and has now disappeared completely. If she holds true to form, we will not really see her again until next Thursday around five. Tazendra and Fish are doing better, but neither are what you would call happy.

We have a surfeit of litterboxes to forestall the dreaded vengeance pooping, and I hope that works. The last thing I need is a carpet that reeks of cat piss. I love my cats dearly, but they are the reason I am so adamantly anti-carpeting.

Anyway, we have our computers and the beds here at the new place. I am utterly exhausted, and was so close to freaking out today because of all the crap we had to do and all the running back and forth and unfamiliar things and spending of money and torture of my hairy children and frustration at the enormity of the tasks before me. I hate this highly sensitive shit. Hate it. Even relatively resilient people have a hard time with moving. I've felt like throwing up for three days now, and I have no idea when that will abate.

I may be scarce, y'all. I'm very tired, and most of my energy is going toward not losing my shit, because suddenly all of my crap is, like, twenty minutes away through the freezing cold.

But we have a Christmas tree (not decorated, just lit) and a brand new ginormous TV, and [livejournal.com profile] bat_cheva brought me a Lava Lamp -- she even ventured out to the mall to get it. That is true devotion. So overall, I am happy. Give me a week, I'll be in ecstasy. This place is wonderful. And yes, there will be pictures, I promise. I just want some of the boxes out of the way. Jesus.

Right now, I need to try to sleep, even though that's the last thing on my mind.

ETA: It's not the lighting or the sounds or anything. It's that this room smells like someone else. I should not have washed my bedding. I can't sleep yet. Goddamn. Time to hit the sleep drugs.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Thane Gold Tooth)
I've finished packing all the bones, claws, and related curiosities and animal bits. Err, shit. I think I forgot a few in the front room. But I've got almost all of it packed.

Seven boxes. SEVEN. And two of them are huge. I will take pictures when they're in a pile at the new place.

I still need to pack my breakable art, my boxes and glassware and suchlike, so that's probably another two to four boxes.

I also wanted to let you know that our cable is getting switched over any day now, so I will be without computer access or email for who knows how long, starting who knows when. Probably starting tomorrow. I should be back online by Saturday.

I'm getting back to packing, despite feeling really pretty crappy. It's kind of satisfying to put things into boxes.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Thane Gold Tooth)
I've finished packing all the bones, claws, and related curiosities and animal bits. Err, shit. I think I forgot a few in the front room. But I've got almost all of it packed.

Seven boxes. SEVEN. And two of them are huge. I will take pictures when they're in a pile at the new place.

I still need to pack my breakable art, my boxes and glassware and suchlike, so that's probably another two to four boxes.

I also wanted to let you know that our cable is getting switched over any day now, so I will be without computer access or email for who knows how long, starting who knows when. Probably starting tomorrow. I should be back online by Saturday.

I'm getting back to packing, despite feeling really pretty crappy. It's kind of satisfying to put things into boxes.

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