My new cussword insult list

"Cocksucker" is one of those insults that hits hard, but it hits in the wrong direction. Culturally and historically it has been used as a put down that basically says "You are a homosexual and thus you are worthy of contempt". It drags a whole group of people who never did a thing to me into a fight they were not part of. It punches down, not out. Once I actually looked at the word instead of just using it for the sound, it stopped feeling sharp and started feeling lazy...

Insurance SUCKS, Free Luigi!

I did SO much today

First I dealt with health insurance for several hours, found out that no, they DON'T cover my online psych care like they said they do before I switched to them (it's United Healthcare. Luigi did a GOOD fucking thing, and I wanna put money on his fucking jailhouse commissary account!). So after about four hours dealing with them I said: "Ya know, take your UHC bullshit and get royally fucked, okay? I'm going back to Molina SOONEST, motherfuckers!" And yes, I DID swear a blue streak. Then I hung up, and I miss the old fucking phones you could slam down in anger. Jesus, the things we miss.

Called 211, switched back to Molina which is effective April 1. My psychiatrist sent my scrips in even though he didn't get paid for that. Don't think I need any refills on body meds until next month, but we'll see. I am covered under United Hell Care for the month of March, so my meds should be covered...

Creating, Growing, and Returning to Life

For a long time, I thought my creative life had gone quiet. Not dead, just sleeping under a pile of exhaustion, pain, and the everyday grind of being a human with a body that doesn’t always cooperate. But lately something has cracked open again. I’ve been wandering back into the arts like someone returning to a house they used to live in. Everything feels familiar, but also new in ways I didn’t expect..

The Voice I Thought I Lost

 

Me, 17 years old

All my childhood and teens I sang, sang all the time. Played guitar. Music was the thing that brought me to life, and I wanted nothing more than to buy a PA system and join a band. The singers I listened to shaped my style. Grace Slick, Tina Turner, Ann Wilson, Janis Joplin, Janis Ian, Joni Mitchell.

My dad always encouraged me in my music, always asked me to play and sing for him, always got happy when I learned a new song or wrote one. He especially loved that. He gifted me my Harmony Sovereign for Christmas when I was twelve and paid for guitar lessons twice a week for several years. He was my biggest fan.

When I was fourteen I won a school wide talent show singing the 59th Street Bridge Song by Simon and Garfunkel and accompanying myself on my Harmony Sovereign guitar. That was the kind of kid I was. Music was where I lived...

A fantasy... Donnie Is Gonna Learn Today!

The following is a purely fictional account that is not about any real person, living or dead, I promise. 

It resulted from a ChatGPT prompt that David Gerrold had used just to pass the time. I took the idea, ran it through Copilot, refining it as we went through several iterations and laughing my ass off and shaking my head all the way through.

Since it was David's idea, I got his permission before bastardizing it.

Really, this is fiction, and bears NO resemblance to real people, seriously!

New Art

 

There's a WHOLE bunch of new art inside...

When Bipolar Disorder Takes Another Life, The Stigma Should Be What Dies Next

 

Image courtesy Unsplash.Com - work of Paolo Nicolello

Robert Carradine died by suicide today after a long fight with bipolar disorder. The news hit me harder than I expected. Not because I knew him personally, but because I know the illness that took him. I know what it feels like when your own brain turns into a battlefield. I know what it feels like to lose the fight for a moment and still be here to talk about it. I have been there. I have survived it. And I am tired of pretending that bipolar disorder is anything other than a medical condition that deserves compassion and treatment.

Every time someone with bipolar disorder or another mental illness dies, the world reacts with shock. People ask how it could happen. People whisper. People speculate. But very few people talk about the truth. Bipolar disorder is not a character flaw. It is not a weakness. It is not a failure of willpower. It is a brain chemistry disorder that can be brutal, unpredictable, and exhausting. It deserves the same seriousness and empathy we give to heart disease or cancer or any other life threatening condition.

But that is not how society treats it...

SCOTUS Overturns Trump’s Tariffs and Trump Loses His Mind About It

SCOTUS finally did what everyone with a functioning frontal lobe knew was coming. They looked at Trump’s tariff stunt, checked it against the Constitution, and said no. Not maybe. Not sort of. Not later. Just fucking NO!

According to the reporting, the ruling was simple. A president does not get to rewrite trade law because he feels like playing Tough Motherfucker. Congress did not authorize the kind of free for all Trump tried to pull. The Court reminded everyone that presidential power has fucking limits. That is their goddam job. That is the whole point of the fucking judiciary.

And Trump reacted exactly how he always reacts when someone refuses to kiss the friggin' ring...

Spammers should have to shampoo my crotch

Fee fie foe fammer, boy I hate a spammer!

The other day I put a contact form on the blog. Thought it might be a good idea, ya know?

Tonight, I got about a dozen emails that were clearly from spambots.

Fucking hell. Assholes wreck everything.

Who has time to be bored? Not me!

Today was not really an art day. I diddled around with the Gimp for about an hour, then my writing muse slapped me upside my head. I have written six articles for my blog today about all kinds of things:

• Impeaching Trump 
• Chicago and Music being in my bones
• A bit about a portmanteued proverb I love 
• One about nicotine addiction
• One about god, or the idea of god, or whatever
• And this one, which only kind of counts

It was a productive day.

I really am an eclectic freak. Playing uke and recorder, doing digital art and zentangle and making jewelry, and writing from my gut. Between all that, I talk to people, make new friends, share a gazillion memes, play computer games, and more. And when I go to bed, I read for at least an hour before turning out the light.

I don't have time to be bored. Considering that I'm basically housebound and can't really leave my bedroom due to the difficulty involved in hauling my carcass from room to room, my life is incredibly rich and full.

I am a very fortunate old crone.