Daily Notes- October Eight

Art Propelled

Rust.  Ink.  Thread.  On my "to try" list.  Which is getting longer.

Changed the calendar page and added what remained important to the journal pages.  I still write, but not as often.  But if I were to write ...it would be how that book about the alcoholic dysfunctional family has caused me to be moody, have troubling dreams (again after so long of not dreaming at all) and return to what I consider "disturbing behavior".  The book or the family visit?   Both?

This why I keep to myself.  A disturbance in the continuum is never good.

A Reader commented that they had not remembered me mentioning a visit from anyone to my home.  Pretty much.  Our son.  He visits as a "wellness check" and because he is a kind man.

When we select friends (and family) there are those who come to you and there are others whom you must be the one doing the traveling.  We ended up with being the ones who had to pack up and go--always.  I just got tired of it.

I drew a two page "spread" of line drawings of chairs in my journal.  They have personalities.  If I could find the set of drawing pencils I purchased for drawing---well, the drawings might be even better.  But the pencils are lost.  Right now.

A large pot of garden vegetable soup is simmering--using the last of the tomatoes and green beans.  I am cooking it in the pot where I steamed cloth and rust water that one time.  If I poison anyone--it will just be myself. The pot itself has been scrubbed many times and I boiled water and baking soda in it for over an hour. It is either clean or it isn't.  I have to move on.

That cloth at the top is so evocative of my mood.  Little circles (bubbles) of anxiety.  Lines of tension. The rust.  The black the rust turns into when in contact with plant material.  The black of depressed thoughts. .........I'm going to take a Benadryl.