year end, fasting mostly

It's not quite new year's.  Tomorrow I plan to visit a new friend while she recovers in hospital.  Unless she's swamped with visitors I'll try and be there daily.  Even if I just sit and spin yarn, or arrive and leave soon after, just providing the stability of someone who has the time and will to come round is valuable when you're in there.  Most folks really do have lives to get to. 

So I don't know if I can get the room number at front office but it used to always be that way and I'll try it. I know her name amd what's been done, they can send me round to the right nursing station.

I've been eating more than I should but less than I would.  Christmas Eve I broke down and bought more chocolate, having been very sparingly doling out the bits of some small bars from the mall.  See, the cocoa has iimportant fats in it, but the sugar in the chocolate undermines the fasting.  Then I went out on the 24th to a snack shop with a small variety of odd  import snacks.  Two massive oversweetened bars and a pack of chips later saw me pretty much binging for 3 days on choclate after a feast of chips.  Then 2 days later, seeing my licorice sticks running out as I used them to cope with the dearth of chocolate, I disovered a licorice store.  I went yesterday and had a nother high calorie day with candy alongside the sticks.  Plus to balance all this idiocy I bought a juiced watermelon drink at the transit place.  It was just watermelon in a blender.   

I regained a good 5 pounds hereby, and a lot of energy, but it's only december, it's not that big a hindranceon the whole anorexic thing. STill, my craving for eggs is going mad, absolutely nuts, if anyone presented eggs to me in any form I'd snap them up.

Dan has not tried to make me eat anything. He has not discussed it.  He isn't checking on me.

Now we can make excuses as well as he can, but is that really what we should do? He neglected me the last time down to 110 lbs and it took me lamabasting in him in a final explosion of sheer outraged for him to act. 

Dude's neglectful. 

Fourteen years. Putting up with swearing.  putting up with yelling.  Putting up with just awful attitudes and eplosions of rage and neglect and insult and patronizing and arguing and nitpicking and financial manipulation and emotional manipulation and WHEN will someone bend some of this country's resources in my service for a change?  When do I get back the kindness i've put in?  I know, I got kindness as a child, but surely that's been paid and more by now.  Plus which, I'll never stop giving now, so I'll pay it back again and again. 

I walk around with pruning shears so I can attack blackberry canes and climbing ivy. For example. Because I give back like that.

So this dog I called a longhaired chihuahua is growing back her body mass and hair after suffering malnourishment, alopecia, and emaciation.  Know what? She's a pomeranian, not a chihuahua.  She was just that thin and her hair was that thin. She's so damn gorgeous. She's the dog I would order from heaven, in my heart, that i DID order from heaven as a child, and forgot about. Pomeranians were always out of reach! But here she is.  Free and loving me.

I actually don't want to die. I want to chase the challenge of making a career in local theatre. I smply can't bear the thought of seeing everything on the back of a mitchel's truck driving away.  To the point I'd rather die.  My alternative, giving power over everything to Dan, again, rather die.  i've wanted to die to get away from him on more than one occassion, tried to die, and failed.

Oh, hey, i think Dan absconded with a handful of paper including my university transcripts but it's triggered the finally getting my name changed and reissued so I can take credit for my education under my current name.  It's also significantly cooled me off towards him, especially him being inside my bus. But then he stopped handing over money to me weeks and weeks ago, and I'm pretty much subsisting on the welfare with him changing out propane and paying the phone bill. poorly it seems.  Not regularly enough.  

Well it's still in my control and it's him loses most without it. I could retract my phone from the contract and go with something local any time I choose.  Given how much that man has harmed me, and that this is the only leverage I have, I aim to keep it going as long as I can. 

Anyway.

I'm trying to fill out my housing registry application and it's making me cry too much.  I haven't had my testosterone shot in ages either.  Dan was doing it.  Now I'm scared of doing it because I worry my skin is too filthy for an alcohol wipe to be sufficient, and I'm also afraid to see a pharmacy around here to do it because the persians seem really gender binary queerphobic.

Speaking of which, I wonder if relocating East Vancouver is an option?  It's warm enough , pretty enough, old enough and the commercial drive strip pleases the hell out of me. There's a lot more queers there and whites and frankly it matters to me.

I don't want to hear about my racism. I study it and watch it and I think I have alternative valid reasons besides "I like white people.' 

I don't like them specifically for some reason.  I don't dislike it when people have their own culture and I am sympathetic that they keep to their own. But I certainly am sensitive to when I'm being regarded as an unwelcome outsider and this has been the case with the persians.  I think it's fair to say they've taken over the north shore, it's them and the rich selfish people on the hill, many of whom are also of persian look and style.  It's a groove, a sort of collection from iraq and syria and afghanistan and lebanon and they're all just alike enough to relate and connect over the same groceries and restaurants and cultureal values.  One of which appears to be class consciousness and I'm not in their class. Ergo, should go away.

But I need help with the housing registry application. Not just the 3rd party verifier part but the "select your preferred building" section which looks like a sudoku to me for all the sensee it makes.  

Well the woman I'm visiting begged me to visit her local sally ann church for help. Swore they'd be useful to me. Said she donates all the time.

I really didn't have the heart to explain why I avoid the organization so deeply.  I even don't like using their thrift stores, although I do.  

But ok, I promised the possibly dying woman, what could I do?  

I don't honestly know if she's alive tonight or died during surgery.  Shrodinger's friend.  Do I still have a new friend or is it already over?

So I've been agonizing, how do I ask for help from them?  How do I stand out without acting like a drama queen? 

Well, get help with the housing application.  Let them read what I've already written. Let them interview me for details.  Let them hear what I've been through.  If they're transphobic, it'll come out. Then I can tell the friend who can stop giving them her money. 

Or they'll be compassionate people with resources to offer.  Anyway, nothing before the end of the week.  I need to speak with the nurse practitioner again and see if he's had any progress or can I please get some kind of disability assessment started?

I need the extra income and support.

I am spinning yarn so fine and regular and beautiful that I am feeling incredibly proud of that.

I've been doing great work at the theatre and people are ever so praiseful.  It's not "Great Work."  It's just bits of scenery and help with basics.  Wall papering, painting a flat or woodgraining a door, or the background of a set piece, and so on.  But i guess I'm fast and sure and they've never watched Bob Ross and how he dabs his way from a kindergarten finger paint mess to a brilliant landscape without so much as a blink of the eye.  

I think I've seen them all.   I've done a bit too, and now quite a bit, of painting with unblended paint. Whether watercolor or acrylic or something else again, unblended is the shiznit, I tell you.  You can get the full blend of colors in a single petal with a single brush stroke if you load the brush right.  For example.  And of course, the tool leaves itself in the texture, so if you want this, that or the other effect, you pick the right tool.  Then there's your stick handling. That's just experience.  It can't be taught.  I have held so many different types of brushes and made them do so many different things, it's like second nature to know what my tool and material will do.

Yet I want to transition.  LOL

No, not really to wardrobe, but to props, but yet I know I have to do sets and wardrobe too in order to get enough work anyway.  Plus props will pull more from wardrobe than from sets.  

I finally met the elusive unretired wardrobe manager.  He's supposed to be hard to get along with but I found him very personable and comfortable right off the bat.  He seems low on BS and straight to the point.  I told him what I want and offer, and he said he was in fact in the union and employed, as if to suggest he wasn't against the idea of seeing a newbie elbow his way into the scene. So but unless he has outsourcing for me earlier on something else, it's not till march, the last show of the season, that I'm wanted for wardrobe.  I find that frustrating.

Employment, lucrative creative employment, is the other thing that would make me eat anddo what I had to do to save my bus.  See, being able to earn enough to afford housing would absolutely make up for giving up control to Danfor a year or two. I could buy 5 years grace for $452.  But he would be the owner of the bus in which my belongings sat, a vulnerability I do not need to add to my life right now. Earing income enough to ignore if he helps me or not would make a massive difference to my power base allowing me to tolerate the short term giving up of ownership. And it would be short term if I were getting into the union and working frequently in theatre around here. They support their workers well enough to live in homes.  I have the chops. I'm dead sure.Not to be in charge, but to be an assistant of great value.

I get so tossed between sorrow and hope, momentary joys of flowers and beautiful views, despair over how my life is.  Whether it will flower or rot.

I love all the weather.  All of it here.  The only weather I don't like doesn't happen here. 

Snapdragons are still blooming.  Flowers in December. Flowers on New Years Eve.  There are trees budding into flowers which will bloom by next weekend I'm sure.  I want to live here. 

Oh and I changed mailboxes and immediately am having trouble. The store owner appears to be "losing" electronics shipments after signing for them. 

I mean, what excuse is there for losing the package?

Now I'm in dialog with the head office because her responses were way too suspicious and not nearly effective enough.  It wasn't "Oh, I will look for it, it must be here, and I am sorry I havent' found it, can I get back to you by ... day?"  Nope, it was "I don't know, someone must be mistaken, I have to call he delivery driver"  

Ok, well, been at this too long, dogs need to go out, toilet needs dumped, etc. a