Here’s a foil taxidermy I made for no particular reason. I don’t like how it turned out. I wanted it to be cute but it isn’t at all, and making it out of foil rather than a darker matte finish was a poor choice. So I think this is a failure (trust me, this is a good picture of it — it really doesn’t look very good).
Today we went to the Royal Winter Fair and looked at all the animals and then the halls filled with people selling stuff that they’d imported from China masquerading as local craftsmanship (I got a gorgeous wooden bowl that I was a lot less happy with once I realized it was made by slave labor, which is my fault for once again falling for a too-good-to-be-true price), as well as lots of people selling preserves and other skills that are much more satisfying to do oneself at home. I’m probably grumpy from the difficulty and discomfort of walking so far (admittedly I spent much time sitting while Caitlin took Nefarious around the halls), but I’m really struck every time I go to the events at the CNE grounds what a horrible crowd of gelatinous ugliness I find myself surrounded with. Most people are just horrible, and maybe I forget that because I’ve spent most of my life surrounding myself with beautiful people, both in my real life and with BME, which is, to me, the very definition of self-actualized beauty. But the bunnies sure were nice.
Anyway, I used the last of my leftover silicone to try and cast a mold over a sculpture that I’ve grown less happy with over time. My drive is to make complex and detailed masters, but really for soap, it’s better to just keep it simple in terms of the design. This is not. But it didn’t matter because I didn’t have enough silicone to make a proper mold, and the front half broke apart (so the nose is all messed up) and this was a one-time-deal because the bits of the mold are now in the garbage.
In a couple days I’m back at the hospital’s pain clinic and I’m dreading it. If it wasn’t for needing to stick through this long enough to discover whether I’ve passed this curse on I wouldn’t bother because it’s been such a continual betrayal by a healthcare system that I desperately want to believe in. The last few times they’ve treated me like a drug-seeking addict and done nothing to help me. Not that prejudiced profiling is ever OK, but I suppose I understand how they could do that back when I had no “medical evidence”, but I’ve had diagnostic proof that something was going very, very wrong for a long time (ie. the CT scan, the nerve/muscle conductivity tests, strength tests, and so on) and it didn’t do a bit of good convincing them to help me. All I have now that I didn’t have before is a name for the disorder. Why should that make a difference? And if they don’t help me, what then? I mean, do I sue them? At what point does what they’re doing become so obviously cruel that it’s as wrong as any wartime torture? How is it OK to allow someone to live like this? I can sympathize with my family doctor, who is not an expert in either pain management let alone exotic muscle diseases saying that she’s afraid to lose her license — doctors have been criminally prosecuted for being too generous with pain treatment — but what is someone in my position to do? I have done everything they’ve asked and it sure feels like it’s never enough for them… We’ll see what happens, but given that they’ve already misplaced the paperwork with my diagnosis (thankfully I had the sense to take a photo of it before leaving), I’m more than a little worried.
Some more work has been done on the dollhouse, but it’s being played in now so it’s more like living in a house and renovating it at the same time. Much of what’s left is stuff that Nefarious can do on her own as well which is nice.
Oh and in more interesting news, Nefarious starts — after much begging (from her, not from me) — her BJJ classes in a few days. Should be a better outlet for all that energy than the ambitious and committed [but all in good fun] play fighting at school which is surely going to get someone hurt and/or in trouble eventually. It’s nice to have someone — two people really, as Caitlin has become a junior gym rat this year — to live vicariously through.
Well, as always I’m not bothering to proof read this rambling nothing, so I hope I have at least not reversed any meanings. And don’t think it’s all sadness and pain here. I’m sure I’m just off-loading my exhaustion and hatred of my physical experiences into this keyboard. Caitlin and I spent an hour last night laughing over my pronunciation of “alumimum” (to say nothing of “pronoun-ciation”). I guess those are the things that get you through. Oh and I’ve been liking streaming Netflix too. Unless I’m missing something it’s an awesome deal being able to watching any movies I want, non-stop 24/7, for under $10 a month.
