Postscript

 Had a very interesting session with Fetter today, ending up discussing Lyndon Johnson and Rose Kennedy. I was sure to open up and tell him about that time in 2017 when I was outside on mom’s patio in my red Scotch plaid L.L. Bean robe, smoking a cigarette and drinking Starbucks coffee, and a big black helicopter swooped down right over me (true story!)—I looked up in glee, wasn’t scared at all, I thought it was an Army General come to visit me for awhile…

After our talk, I went for a scenic drive down through OSU’s campus, making sure to do a hat tip to the law school which rejected my application, despite Dad’s loyalty to the school for decades. Sure, I’ve taken note of classmates who made it into OSU Law, and I wonder wistfully how they are doing now. Me, I’m just a disabled weirdo trolling the alleys and humming rock songs to myself and the hounds. My bright light though is my husband and family, dear, sweet Michael he cleaned up most of the outside today, including both porches and most of the patio. He did all this with his injured left hand, an injury that won’t heal (unless he gets another surgery).

But let’s not dwell on the negatives, tonight my beloved Blue Jackets are off to an amazing start against Anaheim! Goals by Olivier, Roslovic and Blankenburg so far, with hits and a fight and it’s only first intermission! But let’s not jinx the game, Anaheim just scored, so I’ll bid you adieu for tonight. Sleep tight!

Inchworm

Good morning, dear reader(s), so I come to you extremely well-rested, after yesterday’s painful early morning wake-up. Many things are swirling through my mind, as I work to piece together why I got so, erm, “confused” (according to the hospital) last October/November. As I relayed previously, I now have a pretty bad “fear phobia” (for lack of a better descriptor) of Facebook, the national televised newscast at 6:30, highway driving, I’m slightly suspicious of YouTube (though it gives me good laughs), NextDoor, and also a few other things that I’m inching along trying to figure out as I continue on my recovery journey.

Something hit me like a lightning bolt yesterday morning, when I recalled how frightened I got back in 2020 when I was on a California AA Zoom meeting and was exposed to a Zoom bomber revealing his genitals during our meeting. It completely traumatized me, and I’m convinced this started the chain reaction of my fear phobia building inside of me. I’m finding myself right now extremely angry with the perpetrators, I don’t know who they are, I don’t care if they are bored, alienated teenagers from broken homes, how dare they violate the safe space of recovering alcoholics! I think someone should be studying all this, maybe fining Zoom (who raked in all that cash during the pandemic), I really, really want to know if there are other bipolars out there who have been traumatized like I have…

Let me tell you that right before I completely crumbled and had to beg Michael to take me to the hospital this last time, I slumped on the toilet in our tiny bathroom off the kitchen, feeling like I was with John McCain in a pit in Vietnam, it was so bad, so awful, I wanted to howl out for help but I knew no one would understand what I was going through. This, my friends, is why I feel so at home at Vets Memorial, why, although I have never formally served in the U.S. Armed Forces, I feel like I belong right there with the men and women who went through combat, some imprisonment, some death.

The twisted reality of bipolar psychosis/delusions/hallucinations/even “confusion” (probably anxiety-related) is in my opinion, probably similar to weaving your way through an explosive mine field. Maybe this is why now,  in sanity once again, I’m weaving my way through these Columbus streets, looking for answers to a long, strange trip I’ve traveled. In my basement are three or so large pieces of art that sit on a table directly underneath our dishwasher where the rats chewed through the water line—the cascading water almost destroyed them completely yet there are still moldy remnants of what I was trying to capture: a primal scream out for help. I to this day am frightened to look at those pieces, yet don’t ask Michael to throw them in the trash. Perhaps I will get up the nerve to take my trusty iPhone down there and shine the flashlight upon them…but not today.

Perhaps I will never get my retribution against those who have harmed me in days long gone by. I guess I have my sessions with Fetter to sift through all the wreckage and baggage I now carry. There is also my continuing art projects (note to self: do not miss the exhibit of veteran’s art at the museum!), plus continuing to push myself to read all my beloved books in my bookshelves here (starting with “Walker Evans: The Hungry Eye”). My healing process is going to take some time, but fortunately I’ve got family and a few good friends and acquaintances helping me along the way. I did get a reply from The New York Times that they are intrigued by my (subtle) suggestion of a story about influential cook books for young (at heart) minds. I hope they publish something—might finally get me to pay for a digital subscription to their newspaper!

Here’s to all those healing and recovering today. One Day At A Time.

The Usual Suspects

So I was awoken at 2:00 a.m. this morning by the most terrifying dream—I’m blaming Jimmy Kimmel, YouTube, that old run down (yet entirely enticing) Ohio Oil & Gas station on Parsons, the Puppet Master, Netflix, probably Bally Sports is in on the action, and let’s not leave out Columbus City Council (more on those ghoulish characters later). I have never, to the best of my knowledge had a terrifying nightmare startle me awake like the one I just had, replete with angry, male thugs trying to take my house, property and dogs away, storming through my house as I fought to cry out for Michael, who was somewhere off warming up the red VW GTI to take us on errands. And now, here I sit, up in the dead of night trying to recover, while Jimmy has his Monday night monologue about NextDoor tucked away in his pajamas, and he’s slumbering peacefully. Thanks for nothing.

The gas station ties into all this because I stopped in there yesterday (always knew I’d end up there some day) after my dental appointment and run to CVS to get my thyroid medicine and outrageously priced Progesterone. I had a most telling conversation with the attendant inside, who told me the United Methodist Church downtown has been busy buying up the old post office on Whittier, as well as several houses in the vicinity. The plan, already rubber-stamped by City Council (without telling nearby neighbors) is to put low-income housing right smack up in Schumacher Place. I found myself actually laughing when I heard the news, cause Kimmel effectively cut me off from bitching about it on NextDoor (though I may still go there to rile the neighbors up, after all Wastebook is only for amateurs these days).    So it’s a no-brainer that I should have a nightmare that someone wants to steal my house, and YouTube’s latest video for “Enter The Sandman,” yesterday morning’s feast, just put me over the edge.

Not sure what Bally’s is up to, but I fell asleep in my chair during last night’s hockey game, and I know from the October/November “incident” that my subconscious picks up what I’m hearing through the television and Michael’s iPad. Bally’s was calling the game, and I don’t know what Jeff and Jody were up to…normally, they are safe for the entire family, so perhaps Bally’s Sports is not a guilty culprit in my Sleep of Demons. Maybe I’m just fooling myself, I’m completely off my rocker and totally insane (always a distinct possibility) but no, Fetter assured me I’m fine and he, of all people, knows what I’m like when I’m nuts. Michael of course does too, but he’s quick to jump the gun and lightly gaslight me, from time to time. Fetter never, ever does that. I don’t feel crazy, I know psychosis, I’ve recently had flashbacks to it, that just doesn’t happen if you’re in psychosis. I guess I’m just really upset by this nightmare, and I know without a doubt the seed was planted by Kimmel’s show Monday night. Note to self: never watch ABC again.

I’m sitting here wondering how in the world I’m going to get through the day. I have a coffee date with Julie Schottenstein Saar at 10:30 a.m., then lunch with Arlene and Carol at 12:30 at Panera. I’m going to be exhausted, how in the world am I supposed to cook dinner? It would be one thing if I was one who could take naps…maybe, just maybe, I can somehow get a few hours rest before dinner time, oh please God, let me fall asleep when I get home from lunch! Absolutely no more drinking caffienated beverages from Starbucks in the afternoon (a tactical blunder made by me yesterday). Maybe no more talking to strangers, am I to be denied that fun as well? I feel horrible, under-rested, scared, kinda miffed, yet kinda wondering who’s also up at this hour besides me and the train conductor whose trusty horn I heard upon awakening.

Well I guess dear friend Katie will be up around 6:00 a.m., so that’s only oh, around two hours to wait for some conversation. Yes, yes, the 7:00 a.m. AA First Things First is a possibility—maybe I text dear sponsor Shawn (and good member of the United Methodist Church) before the meeting to inquire what’s afoot in Shumacher Place. But of course he knows, probably figured I wouldn’t find out this quickly, but won’t be surprised by my rooting around in matters perhaps best left to others.

Wearily, I bid you adieu, in this dark, inky night. Perhaps I’ll peek outside to see if there are any stars in the sky, and of course check on what that Devil Moon is up to. Seize the day, I’m going to feebly try to.

Smokin’ In The Sandbox

 So hello again, dear reader(s), I come to you this morning feeling a little fickle, like the sun is behaving here on this strange day in Columbus. Temps are supposed to be in the mid-50s (after a chilly, rainy day yesterday) and as you may or may not know, my moods can fluctuate with the weather. I’m feeling a tad cranky, what with continued political strife in this country and just a small handful of people jockeying to control the National dialogue on important matters. Alas, how I’m longing for a print newspaper to guide the day—perhaps there is one in some small, quaint town somewhere bringing the good, correct news we all so desperately want to hear…

I did have a great day yesterday visiting the National Veterans Memorial Museum on W. Broad Street. Good ole Q-FM 96, they played AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” as I was maneuvering my MIL’s car into a parking spot. I just sat there, listening to my favorite song, surveying the Columbus skyline, seeing Dad’s Army flag blowing in the wind, and had a wonderful belly laugh—I’m sure if someone saw me they would think I was nuts, but I didn’t care, I felt free, I felt happy and yes, I felt like I was home. I definitely took note of the POW flag underneath the American flag at the entrance, remembering back years ago when I was nuts and driving around downtown in the dead of night, and took a POW flag I had purchased at Cousin’s Army/Navy store and put it in an entryway to one of the Federal buildings (?). At the time, it made perfect sense to do so, and given today’s current state of affairs I’d say that “message” was entirely accurate!

Later on, Michael and I went to the Jackets—Rangers game, and although we lost I chuckled to myself for I knew early on that Andrew Peeke (No. 2) was going to make a big play and sure enough, he scored our only goal in the 3-1 loss. We did get a free shirt and Moo Moo Carwash, and the only SNAFU was in the Chestnut Street parking garage, where the owners were too cheap to just let us all out of the garage by opening up their broken gate. Note to self: find out who owns the garage and send an email!

Today I go to the dentist for a pricey crown to be put on one of my molars…I’m definitely not looking forward to it, but it’s the first of three procedures I have to have done on my teeth this year. I’m pacing all of them out throughout the year to ease the strain on our finances. I’m worried some of the meager monies from my art sale may have to go on my teeth, not the steak dinner. Oh, fingers crossed maybe the stock market will improve, or maybe mom can help, or perhaps I can use my $200 birthday check in May for some of this. It all makes me extremely nervous. Perhaps if Michael would tell me exactly how much money we have I would feel better, but oh, I just don’t want to know. It scares me too much.

I know why I’m scared of money, it goes back to long, long ago when I came back from Kazakhstan broke, unemployed, drunk, rejected by a lover, every employer in Columbus, it’s a tawdry tale maybe someday I will elaborate upon when I’m in a better mood. Just suffice to say we shall not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it, and yes, but of course, the lover’s name was Michael.

So here we go, into the cloudy blue yonder, come fly with me to the dentist’s office where maybe we can get some laughing gas. Catch ya later!

Hunting High And Low

 

Good morning dear reader(s), I am beginning my day with a little harmless investigation as to whether YouTube has a psychiatrist on staff—being one with a fairly good memory of the proper lyrics to songs I know and love, I may have come across some tracks that seem to be altered ever so slightly? I know the videos are now downright strange, replete with men dressed as women, actors standing in for the actual performers, it’s a real mess, if you ask me, and hopefully someone there at Google is trying to right this ship! Ah yes, everyone has their agendas these days, including of course myself. I’ll be working on an art piece commenting on the goings on at Google, Apple and Amazon, maybe throw in some commentary on Monsieur Bill Gates, who is busy buying up farmland as we speak. Has he come Back to Ohio? Gracious, I hope not. I’m happy with the current prices of my beef, chicken and pork, thank you very much.

So tonight Michael and I head to the Arena to see the icecapades of our beloved Columbus Blue Jackets against the mighty New York Rangers. I’ve got a good feeling about the game, I think it will be a very good match—we’ve got players back on the roster, and the boys are really playing with gusto (just need to play hard all three periods!). It’s Martin Luther King Day, so maybe special things are being planned for the night? I know there is a MLK March going on this afternoon, which I would really like to photograph but alas, we will be getting ready for the game. I’m remembering I did a drawing of MLK back in 2017, but I’m fairly certain I threw it out in the trash—must have been because I knew it was important and needed to “get it to the City of Columbus.” That’s how my psychosis plays out, anyways. What goes in the trash or away to someone, I consider the most important of all.

I saw that today Vets Memorial is offering a $1 admission to the museum and I’m really tempted to head over there. Last time I was at Vets it was in 1979 or maybe 1980, I went with Stephanie Skestos to see the AC/DC Back in Black tour and man, was that an incredible concert. I noticed Vets has a gift shop and I reallllly want to go there and purchase something! Oh joy! Michael said it was OK for me to go there today. So off I will go on another adventure, we shall see what awaits me this afternoon…

Yesterday I decided to contact the Food Editor at the New York Times to thank them for all the wonderful recipes that I have enjoyed preparing over the years. I also queried if perhaps someone could send me a list of the early cookbooks that inspired each of the staff to start cooking themselves—I’m most curious to see what books were most influential on them. Me, it was “Joy of Cooking” (of course) plus lesser-known Helen Corbett, and Barbara Longfellow of “Make It Now, Bake It Later” fame. I’d also throw in the “Cooking With Campbell’s” book I found at Ohio Thrift (I think the one near the old Cooper’s Stadium on the West side).

Temps are still on the cool side here in Columbus, so I’ll be bundling up soon to take Legs and Lily on their morning walk. Dear, sweet Legs, he is definitely slowing down, and I worry so about how we are going to handle losing him…but I know I’m strong, so is Michael and so is Lily. This is just Season’s Circle, moving round and round. Legs is still here, so we will enjoy every day we have left with him. Precious angel. Awroo I love you.

The Hungry Eye

 

So yesterday turned out to be a very interesting day, what with going to mom’s with Michael to meet niece Alexa—she showed me how to French braid Michael’s hair, which is getting very long indeed. I showed everyone the two artworks I am currently working on, and made note of young Parker’s comment that my found McDonald’s French fries container should be replaced with a wrapper from Wendy’s. Ah, what children can spy these days…I continue to be amazed by my grand niece (who reminds me a lot of myself at her age. Keep an eye on that one!)

Then Michael and I came home, I prepared some tacos and Rosarita’s refried beans, and we settled in to watch the beloved Blue Jackets win against Detroit! The game of course included a hat trick from Patty Cake Laine, which was a beautiful thing to see. What I most enjoyed was seeing Elvis our goaltender interviewed after the game, for he always tells it like it is—the team is struggling mightily this year, but still managed to get last night’s win. Preach on Elvis, we are with you!

It looks to be blue skies today in Columbus, though winter’s chill is here. I plan to bundle the hounds and myself up most likely this afternoon for their walk (I’ll let Michael take the morning shift). I think I’ll make avocado toast with poached eggs for brunch, followed by a Sunday roast for dinner. I’m feeling much more in sync with the NYT recipes now, which is good as I had such trouble with them last year. Speaking of New York, the Jackets take on the Rangers tomorrow night and we are going to the game. I have a good feeling about our chances, given that Captain Boone Jenner is back in the line-up. I’ll have my eye on several players (not saying who!) and I am curious if young Sillinger is out of the dog house and allowed to play? We shall see!

Hmmm….it looks like Phil Kientz has repaired one of the windows on his father’s place? Second story, I have a good view of it. If only that house could talk! What stories it must have. Some greedy buyer, they would raze it in a heartbeat, throw up some luxurious place for some wealthy manager of one of these mysterious corporations popping up in Columbus these days. I know Phil wants to sell, I just find that old house comforting to see. So few old, imperfect homes left in the Village. Aren’t they the most beautiful of all?

Had an interesting talk with mom yesterday about how I had, in the past, just given away the art work, drawings, and journals to people (or the Columbus Refuse Department) and what that was about…I’m a little intrigued that Colleen Duffy returned my self-portrait Manic Quilt, which I hope to show to the folks at Lindsay Gallery (if I get up the nerve!). Andi got some extremely important stuff, “Remain Calm All Is Well” and a piece with broken coffee mugs that is most intriguing (where is that now?). I’m chuckling because I really have no idea where most of my art is, who has it, is it at the dump, what’s in my attic and basement, etc. I do know “It’s The End Of The World (As We Know It But I Feel Fine)” is in the basement so that masterpiece (lol) is safe. I’m not sure whether I’m going to show that in May—no one seemed to get it when I displayed it years ago, and they probably won’t understand it now. Oh well.

Feeling good today, so off I go to my routine. Phone call to mom. Etcetera, etcetera. Have a great day, dear reader(s). Hat tip to you!

A Duel With the Puppet Master

 Good morning dear readers, I write this morning feeling kinda sour—Michael inevitably couldn’t keep away from that “Monster: The Jeffrey Dahmer” movie on Netflix so I was exposed to many hours of that, and subsequently now have a touch of concern that maybe the cops I have been seeing around here lately are somehow involved in my alley treasure hunting escapades. I don’t feel paranoid, nor grandiose, just wondering if my artistic freedom is being messed with, something that could potentially make me upset. Don’t get me wrong, I have always, always loved the cops, supported them, they helped me when I was totally off my rocker in 2017 and ended up at the airport and approached a kind female police officer who I told I was sick and needed to get to the hospital. She called the squad and they got me to Mt. Carmel East, then eventually to Dublin Springs hospital, which was so much better than this last go around there in November 2022. But I’m sitting here this morning wishing I had never seen this Dahmer movie, wondering if now my writing and art is gonna go in a direction I don’t want it to go. 

I need to be free!

I’ve been getting irritated with Michael and I don’t know why. Well, let me take that back, I know why. He is not being respectful of my need to fully heal from this last, err, “experience” that got me hospitalized. He bombards me with his iPad noise, stereo noise and television noise all at once (normally that wouldn’t bother me) and all it makes me want to do is run up to my bedroom and hide in solitary confinement. No, I’m definitely not recovered, and it frustrates me to no end. I can just only hope that if history does indeed repeat itself that I will be completely stabilized by early summer. 

Well I just texted with friend Katie and she assured me I’m going to be OK, I’m doing fine, and if I wish to collect dirty items tossed along the alleyways for my art that’s perfectly AOK (though I should probably tell Dr. Levy, and I will). Funny, when I was in that prolific art period in 2004 (or around there), I walked the alleys with a black Glad trash bag, picking up trash which I brought back to the porch—don’t think I used it in any of my pieces, I think Michael threw it out? Speaking of throwing out, whatever happened to that piece I did in acrylic paint of the Seven Deadly Sins with a Masterlock padlock affixed? Who has that one? I know it isn’t here at the house, and I don’t recall having it when I had my art show here that one Trash and Treasures Day community yard sale years ago. So many pieces missing…where are they?

Ah yes, I’m thinking the Puppet Master (lol) got ahold of my loot so I will have to get into a little duel with him (it’s always a man) to win them back (or at least get my fair share of the proceeds). But who, pray tell, is the Puppet Master? There are many suspects, me thinks. I think I’ll ask Fetter, maybe he knows…and note to self: invite Fetter to my art show here in May and afterwards maybe we can watch “Idiocracy!”