I’m sitting here getting a taste for Math Rock—which is pretty chill and reminds me of how I would pick at my cello in school. With rhythm but arpeggios throughout. Fun stuff.
I’ve had a mixed episode from coming off of clonazepam early because I got the dosing wrong for a couple of days which happens when I get ill. I start to get confused and agitated without realising it. Made for a couple of lousy days with my Partner as she has to deal with me and I can be grumpy or even nasty when I’m sick. I do apologize though. But she can take it to heart when it’s not meant as such, which is my fault.
So my family decided, after both confirming that they would come to my house this year for our last Thanksgiving together, to go to California—after I told them both that I can’t travel because it literally makes me sick every time I do, and I only do under family emergencies or if I suppose when I do, moving home. It’s not a simple choice of I don’t want to. I can’t—especially at this time of year when I first got really ill all those years ago. My mother pulls this shit all the time and I finally stood up for myself and told her not this time, but that she was no longer welcome in my home—because honestly she’d just get drunk and throw up everywhere and call me a freak like she did at her place while I was trying to look after her for the two month stretch the illness had her down the last time. They say to cut toxic people from your life and I think I just did, even though it may cost me a lot later on in life—she doesn’t get to do whatever she wants whenever and get away with it just because she’s my mother—not that she’s acted like it growing up. She really just spent it drinking and getting high, and then complaining about her life when she had anything she could ever want—and just chose to hate everyone around her and everything about her life at that point when the family had finally made it.
The reason for her visit back there? To have yum cha (dim sum) at a restaurant that’s now closed, and visit dad’s work—who worked him literally to death. So that’s how little I’m valued by this person, who if you’re not doing things for each day repeatedly, you’re not worth talking to. My therapist calls her a whirlwind of chaos, haha. There was nothing stopping her from flying to my place, and then driving down to California afterwards—though she acts as poor as I am, she’s well off.
Anyway, enough bitching about my life.
My brother gave me these books for my birthday, which blew me away and I’m quite thankful for, but I’m only 50 pages into the first one, and one’s a literal text book on the matter, as is the other one in density of material. It’s intimidating but I know once they’re parsed and read I should be good to go with at least starting out with the Asmovian Comic. Plus I’ve got to reread Scott McClouds Making Comics book again which isn’t shown for whichever reason.
My pups are chattering away while I type and the music is getting intense. Now it’s onto the Rocky Horror Picture Show soundtrack because it reminds me of my father in a good way. It was one of his favorite movies.
So I’m off to read Colour and Light and get to work again until I’m feeling my old self again.
Best of luck to you all,