augggghhhh, coffee pot posts, depression/anxiety

An anxiety interlude

I skipped a day blogging. Every day brings its own set of hellish news, but yesterday’s news struck very close to home. For the first time, I am really nervous about losing my job to budget cuts. I am worried about MANY people I know losing their jobs and (because we’re “‘Murica!”) health insurance to budget cuts. In a PANDEMIC that is rocketing.

PW Exclusive: UNC System Exploring Worst Case Scenario Budget Cuts of Up to 50%

The hit to our economy from these budget cuts would be massive at 25%.

Yesterday morning my main concern was when my work laptop would be available because my personal one is so rickety slow, and whether I would be able to avoid the bathrooms when I go back to work.

Late yesterday I sent a form to HR with permission for us to hire a staff member to teach a class for us. He has done it before and I see this form as a big waste of time but, whatever. He waited a few weeks to send it to me. HR sent me an email last night that there is a personnel hiring freeze. There wasn’t one three weeks ago. His online class is full, and we accounted for it in our budget.

Ominous.

My reaction to anything since Twitler was elected has been pretty numb. Yes, I’ve been to protests and spoken up, and contacted my congressional reps (knowing that it was pointless). But the atrocity waves of 2020 are wearing me down. The main reason I am at the lake is to get my mental health back to a more functional place. I cannot shut down.

From now on I will save the rest of my vacation days in case I lose my job. If I can manage to keep my job until Feb. 17, 2021, I believe that I can retire with my pension at 85% and hopefully keep my health benefits. The health insurance is key. Thank God Sandy is on Social Security and Medicare.

Of course, who know what might happen with all that, with an increasingly authoritarian government who gets away with doing almost anything they want, and voter suppression active and in the open.

Down here at Lake Waccamaw, where people held a 100 boat flotilla parade flying Twitler/Putz flags on July 4 on a STATE PARK lake, where few people wear masks inside the local grocery store, I am for the first time more afraid of these fanatics than I am of the natural predators. I backed in my car so that my Bernie bumper stickers can’t be seen from the road. This is why I could never live down here in rural eastern NC again.

Coronavirus Chronicles, depression/anxiety, Lake Waccamaw

Lake Waccamaw, Ch. 2, Day 4

It feels like I have been here longer than four days. I had to work for a little while this morning – seems like something unexpected happens whenever I go on vacation – but that’s fine. At least I can do it from here!

Yesterday felt like somewhat of a waste because I went back into anxiety mode after being so relaxed on Monday. The painters came and painted the outside of the house a dark bluish grey. It looks so much better, although they didn’t do a great job. The front door will need another coat and a few touch-ups and trim fixes will have to be done. One of the guys did not wear a mask and the only time he made me nervous was when he painted the front door because he had it open. Also, I didn’t like it when he talked to my sister closer than six feet away. I pretty much holed up in my bedroom for most of the afternoon.

I am fascinated with these little burrows in the sand. My guess is that they are mollusks, but I have no idea.

I will take a photo of the house tomorrow morning when it is not in shadow so much.

Lisa came over late that morning and we sat by the lake for a little while when the breeze picked up. That evening I walked to her house where Tim grilled burgers and hot dogs and we sat together inside to eat. We went out to the end of the pier at twilight and visited in the cooler breeze over the water, Tim in the hammock and Lisa and I in rocking chairs. It is a lovely place to spend an evening.

Lisa just called and they are about to pick me up in the pontoon boat for a ride. It is super hot and humid so that will be a great way to get outside!

Hopefully I will be able to post photos of masks by tonight or tomorrow morning.

art, collage, Coronavirus Chronicles, crocheting, depression/anxiety

Catching up with some art

Although I am sunk pretty badly, I am not in the hole so I’ve been able to laugh from time to time and do a little bit of art-making. Between Crystal Neubauer and Roxanne Stout’s online classes, I’ve been encouraged to doodle and follow my intuition. I would like to do more but I have almost accepted that my brain is gonna do what it’s gonna do, or not do anything at all. The main thing I’ve been able to do is work on this Tunisian crocheted weather scarf while we watch Doc Martin. Combining Tunisian knit and purl stitches has kept it from rolling up, but the edges are pretty awful. Practice makes perfect, I guess, and I’ll go around the whole thing with a slip stitch or something to firm up those edges.

For Roxanne’s “Notebook Journeys” class, I needed a spiral bound watercolor paper book, but all my watercolor paper is in pads. I do have quite a few spiral bound sketch books, so I am using a 9×12 landscape book and folding and pasting the pages to make them heavier and convert it to a 9×6 portrait oriented book. I’m trying very hard to use up what I have before buying more supplies. This studio space is still bursting at the seams.

It’s been fun to doodle in, especially with ink washes and Pitt brush pens. I’m going to do some sewing and writing, maybe a little more collage. Cutting some pages and seeing how they interact with the pages before and after is an interesting exercise.

As for the collage – well – my plan to make one 4×4 collage per day fell apart 3 days in. I love collage but I don’t love glue. I mixed up some Yes paste and Golden acrylic satin glaze according to Crystal’s method and I hope that will help with the papers curling so badly. The consistency is very thick and I might have to mess around with it some more.

When I am awake at 3 a.m. I keep thinking about cloth. So eventually I will be playing with that again. I could not explain to you why I am not doing it right this minute.

coffee pot posts, Coronavirus Chronicles, depression/anxiety, fiber art

Saturday Morning Coronavirus Chronicle Chapter

With coffee and hot cocoa mix.

Absolutely had an emotional meltdown last night. Part of my problem is that I am addicted to playing games when I am depressed. It keeps my mind occupied without the overwhelming reality of the world intruding. But it is wreaking havoc on my body – my right arm is burning, my muscles are turning to fat, my hips are begging to get out of bed. I want to sleep more than anything in the world now. Even if I was one of those lucky people (cue my husband) who can fall asleep as soon as they close their eyes, my body is preventing it because it is in pain.

After this blog post, which I’ve promised myself to write at least once a week, I am going to try to go offline and no games or e-books for two days. I’ll allow myself TV, but no news.

It is going to be a beautiful weekend outside and I am going to get out in the fresh air and put my hands in the dirt. I do have to be careful because this is the danger time each year when I get so happy in the garden that I overdo and really hurt myself. I don’t have my massage therapy available, although I could still go to a chiropractor. I transferred my sad little seedlings to pots mid-week, only to find them dug up by squirrels. Guess I will be buying my tomato and pepper plants this year, other than the volunteers that I found in the garden.

I am also going to drive someplace new and walk. Sandy wants to walk too, but he is having some kind of painful ankle issue. We have been walking around the block once a day. One of my neighbors built a little free library which she and her neighbor also stock with a few food items. We have enjoyed some good conversations with our neighbors on the other side of our block.

I made a prototype mask last week that worked pretty well. It has a pocket for an extra filter, and I found a pack of cheap masks in my art supplies so pulled the elastic off for other masks and tucked one in. I found that I couldn’t breathe well enough with the filter in though, maybe for a few minutes but after that I’d be in danger of passing out. Allergies, I guess. So I took it back out. I made the patterns for the next ones longer so that they will cover the chin more, and have room for Sandy’s beard.

That forked stick I am holding is one on which I’ve been weaving shells with holes in them. I’m calling it my magic stick.

The elastic for this one is a long hair band that never worked well for holding back my hair. I’m glad I kept them anyway with the shortage of elastic! It measured 19 inches and the instructions called for 11 inches on each side. No problem – a safety pin took care of it.

As for the rigid heddle weaving, it is too painful for my hands/arms right now so I am not going to finish the wedge weave. Sometimes you got to know when to quit. I am sick of those colors anyway.

I think it is time to get back to doing collage. Probably it is the easiest on my hands, since I have a lot of pieces already cut and torn up.

“Bridge of Sighs” by Richard Russo is a wonderful book.

It looks like I might be returning to work on May 8. Sandy says this is too soon, but in my circumstances I think it will be okay, and maybe better for my state of mind. I have my own office, and all the summer classes are online. Hardly anybody is in the building. I am tempted to take some vacation time later anyway if Lake Waccamaw opens to non-residents, and go down and do art at the lake house for a week. The problem would be getting someone to feed our cats for that long. Sandy does not want to try to take them with us. I think it would be okay. They would be too freaked out to try to escape.

Still longing for Ireland. Sandy says, think of all the good things you have here. That is true. I am lucky. I still long for Ireland. Travel in general, really. The anticipation of it has been my saving grace for almost twenty years now. Thinking of the awful circumstances of other people only worsens my depression – it is not a suffering contest and if it is I don’t want to win it.

Coronavirus Chronicles, depression/anxiety, weaving

Yesterday

Earlier in the day I started over on the Macomber loom with the warps that I had not cut the cross on. I have enough to do another set of curtains, and I spent SO MUCH time winding that warp that I can't stand to see it go to waste. Besides, I am not in any hurry and I could use another straightforward pattern weaving project. I promise myself that I will never ever wind a warp this long again.

I had originally started tying this warp to the old warp so I wouldn't have to rethread, but the knots were not being cooperative as they were pulled through the reed and the heddles. I decided that it would be less of a pain to just rethread the whole thing.

And it will be something that I will have to concentrate on without thinking about other stuff.

Ready to finish up that collage video workshop now.

Allergies seem better today.

Later I spent several hours in my bedroom, door closed, dealing with the emotions that bubbled up as I missed my mother, then I started grieving for the situation as it stands now. My husband is driving me a little crazy at this point. He means well but I am used to having more solitude and not having my reading or writing or art making interrupted so often. Thus I finally closed my bedroom door after snapping at him. He has never understood how to deal with my depression, or with my grief. After my mother died was THE WORST. He was just awful. I finally ended up going to the lake house by myself for several days. I was so angry! I suppose that is what is starting up now. I will have to get out into the garden and pull some weeds. That is always good therapy for me.

I was meant to be a hermit, I think. The other day I told someone that if this had happened when I was a teenager living with my parents, I would have been out in the woods all the time. Probably riding the roads on my bike or in my old car too – we didn't have much to do where I came from. I had my secret places where I would take my journal, my sketchbook, and a pack of cigarettes. Multiple hideouts that I built out of logs and mud or scrap lumber that I found. One of the best was in an old schoolhouse back in the woods. Someone used it store hay in at one time and it was probably full of mice and rats but I never saw any. It burned down when I was an adult and I remembered all the teenagers who used to smoke in there around that old hay and I was sad but not surprised. Another was at Page's Mill Pond in Lake View, South Carolina. I would slip under the barrier that said no trespassing, DANGER, and sit on top of the dam out of sight of everyone. I was so invincible.