Day 79: Saturday, Valves and the Miracle of Crud Cutter

Old hot cold washer valve that was leaking
New valve replaced and new hot and cold tubes that go into the back of yh

Today was fixing the on/off valve for the washer to work as it had been leaking. Luckily I live with a “plumber” who ordered the new parts a while ago. I helped switch valves. I now know about tape and sealant that you put on before you screw both sides on with an adjustable wrench. And that turning it counter clockwise closes it and clockwise opens it, when you’re screwing the hose to the washing machine. That was after I sat watching the washer to see if there were other leaks. Then we hung up the clothes so as not to use the dryer while turning off the water. We also filled the bath and a sink and took showers and filled water bottles in case something went wrong and we had to go without water for a while.

It’s good to be prepared for all eventualities during a pandemic when dealing with plumbing and water. Anyway, it all went smoothly. The new valve doesn’t leak and the tubes were sealed properly on the other end into the washer. No more going to the laundry room to empty a tiny bit of water in a bucket and hopefully not in the bathroom the small container under the cold water turn on which was leaking a tiny bit.

Then I removed a tarp that was on the shelves in my office/closet and decided to clean the fan that I’m using in there. A white fan that works well but was extremely dirty and very satisfying to clean. It would not have been fun if I had not heard of crud cutter, a magical cleaner that will get dirt off when nothing else does. I don’t want to know what kind of crazy chemicals are in it.

I came across the magic of crud cutter in the fall of 2012 or 2013. We were going to the party for probably kindergarten parents I think. Both years the party was at the same apartment. I know I’d never been there. I was wearing a Betsey Johnson dresst that was white and at the top half it was black and white pattern, sleeveless, back when there were places to dress up for. I remember putting it on thinking, it’s stupid to wear a white dress to an event when you know you like red wine.

This is the dress but a few years later in 2016 at my parents’ 60th anniversary party

Anyway I was nervous as we didn’t know these parents and I’m not great at parties. I felt intimidated by them. When we got there there was plenty to feel intimidated about, starting with their incredible apartment. They had “Art” on their walls. They had three kids; their son the youngest was in my kid’s class. I got some red wine to help with my inability to connect with grownups who have one thing in common with me – our kids being in class together. Everyone was nice but it wasn’t the kind of vibe where I expected to make any new friends. Then I spilled wine, on my white dress and their white carpet. Before I could feel too terrible and fall through the floor, one of the people working for them or the party got this stuff – go get the Crud Cutter. NExt thing they had it on the carpet and put it on my stain. I ran to the bathroom. The stain went from red to black to grey and then it disappeared. Magic. The same thing happened with their perfect white carpet. I remember talking to the teacher and she was giving us one word that she would use for each child. I wish I could remember what she said for mine. I think it was kind or creative. The teacher was super young but quite experienced and had perfect social skills. We didn’t stay long. Or maybe it seemed short because a lot of people were still there. I was exhausted.

That week I ordered Crud Cutter on Amazon before I forgot what it was called. We’ve used it on a lot of stains. Usually you have to get it on quickly and then you can leave it and throw it in the wash and the stain is gone. Another stain trick is hand sanitizer which of course now is not an option.

So I went at the dirty all over white fan with crud cutter and got it completely as clean as it could be. It was like magic. Fans bother me when they’re dirty, because you look inside and want to clean the actual fan pieces but they seem so out of reach.

Dirty
Clean!
All clean! The whole thing was covered in dirt and grime…

There should be a Crud Cutter for ghosts, like I put it on a picture of my dog and the picture melts and then I see his ghost. I still haven’t watched the Youtube video to get the box of ashes open.

We’re watching the series on Chernobyl as a family. My child loves Jaws and shark movies and has seen all kinds of murder and horror and for some reason, she finds this series very scary. She went through a Titanic phase, obsession with it, no fear. I said, this is like that except the bodies don’t freeze and turn blue, they burn up and turn red. I think Chernobyl feels more real to her. I can’t figure out if I just missed visiting the Soviet Union at that time. I think I was in Moscow, Kiev, Leningrad, Odessa in April so I must have just missed it. I think it would have been a big deal if our school trip had happened while it was going on. It was my first trip to the Soviet Union. My grandfather was born in Moscow and my grandmother in Odessa. His family was rich, hers poor, but the communists came and threw his family out of their grand apartment and they were homeless for a while. The trip was run by my English teacher Mrs. Rinden and her husband came too. It was not the whole senior class, just a small group of us. There’s a lot more to that visit but this post was supposed to just be about plumbing and cleaning appliances.

Day 78, Second Post: Prompt

My child and I just did a thirteen minute writing prompt, basically about the extreme cold. I found a prompt about thread, so I “weaved” it into mine. We both ended up writing about people in freezers!

The Red Thread

I just woke up and realized I wasn’t sleeping. There was a bump on my head. It was freezing cold. I felt the realization where you feel a big rock in your stomach and the floor opening up into an endless hole, that I was in a large freezer of what seemed to be a hotel. How did I get there? A series of unfortunate events is usually what causes a person to wake up locked in a large freezer. It hasn’t been a part of a reality TV show as far as I know, but you might as well call it a Panic Room. The cold helped me feel calm. Also, I’m not the type who starts yelling and banging on the door “Let me out. Help! Help! “I tried to think of some songs about being locked in a freezer. Hey, hey cold fingers, hey, hey shivers, hey, hey turning blue, hey, hey where are you.” I couldn’t get much further.

I knew I probably had only a few minutes at most to get out of there. I reached into my pocket and found a spool of red embroidery thread and a needle. I was shaking but did a breathing exercise I read about that monks do to walk over hot coals or survive extreme temperatures. It did start to work. I basically convinced my body that I wasn’t freezing and that the cold could not penetrate me. I felt warmth emanating outward from inside me, and my hands stopped shivering. I threaded the needle and managed to find some bottle with a label on it.

I took the label off ; it only came off because it was not stuck hard on the bottle. I sewed letters into the label. There was no time for poetry. “Open the freezer. I’m locked in”. I sensed it might be a time when the kitchen workers were back in the kitchen. I slipped it out from under the door.

Then I waited and continued the breathing exercise where you heat your body with the power of your mind. I knew I should be dead by now, but maybe I had a few more minutes if I could really concentrate. I had forgotten about the Ativan in my pocket. They took away my phone but didn’t find the pill. I swallowed it after I warmed my lips with my mind sending the signal that I was not cold. A few minutes later, I heard a bunch of noises. And the door opened. I was free, for now at least.

I opened my eyes. I wasn’t sleeping. I was still in the freezer. Turning blue, still holding a label and a threaded needle in my frozen hand. I felt the cold consume me. I would be found sitting like this, stiff and cold.

(Obviously you can’t pass a note through or under the door of a big freezer, which is the give away that the narrator is hallucinating, a symptom of hypothermia that probably helps the brain close down and die peacefully? Plus, nobody can sew that many words that fast into a piece of paper that is most likely wet…)

Day 78: Shut Up and Listen

The thing to do when poeple of color are being oppressed is not to talk about it from your own priveleged outsider point of view but to “shut up and listen” to the people going though it. I’m putting some quotes sort of randomly as they occur to me, that say a lot of what needs to be said, some said long ago and some more recently. A range of points of view but a thread going through all of them, which goes with the German writer, Gunther Grass: “The job of a citizen is to keep their mouth open.”

I’m sure there are many more calls to action. Add them in the comments. I will find more said by a bigger variety of genders and more current.

But I guess, we all look the same
A goddamn shame, you don’t know my name
Must-a just been two blacks so the payback
Fit the ID for someone like meLast line:

Now who’s to blame for the hate that hate made?

From Paris, “The Hate that Hate Made”

“We didn’t land on Plymouth Rock, Plymouth Rock landed on us.”
— Malcolm X

“Concerning nonviolence, it is criminal to teach a man not to defend himself when he is the constant victim of brutal attacks.”
— Malcolm X

“I believe that there will ultimately be a clash between the oppressed and those that do the oppressing. I believe that there will be a clash between those who want freedom, justice and equality for everyone and those who want to continue the systems of exploitation.”
— Malcolm X

“The revolution will not be televised… no rerun. The revolution will be live.” Gil Scott-Heron.

When the color of your Skin is seen as a weapon, you will never be seen as unarmed. “Black Lives Matter”

There comes a time when silence is betrayal. MLK Jr.

When civility leads to death, revolting is the only logical reaction. Colin Kaepernick

“It’s also about Oscar. 
Aiyana. 
Trayvon. 
Rekia. 
Michael. 
Eric. 
Tamir. 
John. 
Ezell. 
Sandra. 
Freddie. 
Alton. 
Philando. 
It’s even about that little boy in 1955 who nobody recognized at first—Emmett.” 
― Angie Thomas, The Hate U Give

(And George Floyd and Breonna Taylor

But it falls on all of us, regardless of our race or station — including the majority of men and women in law enforcement who take pride in doing their tough job the right way, every day — to work together to create a ‘new normal’ in which the legacy of bigotry and unequal treatment no longer infects our institutions or our hearts. Barack Obama

Day 77: Door Knobs and Magic

In my current closet office there is a door, the kind with panes of glass in a grid, light wood. Apperently that door will not fit on this closet. When I began working here, I put a gold fabric on the door to make a background for remote therapy. We had bought a ton of big long fabric like this years ago, including Sari fabric. I think it was for using partitions to separate places in the loft. We build one of those yerts in the middle of the loft.

Anyway the gold backdrop was too dark and not working, so I put a green bed sheet over the door which was fine. It took me a while to realize the door itself was the perfect back drop and I unclothed it and kept it there (not that it was going anywhere).

I’ve always loved doors, all kinds. I got to see all kinds of doorknobs in our apartment growing up. There were a lot of glass doorknobs, also metal, kind of bronze colored with some kind of design on them, and just metal doorknobs.

On a side note, the entrance “hall”, about 4 feet square when you got out on our floor had mirrors going on both walls in both directions. It was awesom to look at your self down all these mirrors. The floor was black and white checked like a chess board, very fun to play on too. I don’t know what posessed my parents to redo that hallway that was so Alice in Wonderland with the padded flowery wallpaper and no mirrors.

Glass doorknobs are weird. Find one and look at it for a while. We have a few in a box that I want to put maybe on our bathroom door. If you stare at one long enough, something happens. It looks like a rattle for a very large baby when each one is connected with the bar. Maybe I will bring one to my studio.

In my current studio I have several doors. I have the door to get in,the door to the closet, and the door between the two rooms that are my studio. As one point I had to put a new doorknob in my closet but I did it wrong so they don’t close the door completely. A client who knows a lot about all kinds of things noticed right away that it was on backwards.

There was a glass doorknob on a closet at the end of a very long hall dividing up the rooms in our apartment. There were bedrooms on both sides. I developped a strange fear of the glass doorknob at night, so going down the hall to go to bed was a big deal. I can’t remember if it mattered whether the light was on or off or why I didin’t turn on the light if it was off. THe long hallway was kind of scary on its own. It reminds me of the hallway in Yellow Submarine, there’s this long hallway wtih all these doors on it. I didn’t realize Yellow Submarine is the same age as I am. My sister ha the luck of it being the first movie she ever saw, must have been age 4 or 5.

I would go down the hall looking down to avoid looking straight at the menacing doorknob. ,

In Bewitched, my favorite character, the weird aunt witch who messes up all her spells, Aunt Clara. Funny that Clara is from the word clear. She also has a weird habit of collecting doorknobs, which is of course fabulous and I wish I could see her collection. When I was a kid, I was into collecting for the sake of collecting and wanted to have a collection of collections. I collected travel toothbrushes, postcards and music boxes and of course stickers.

One day I would like to have a room made only from doors, but I’m not sure it’s possible. When my kid was playing Minecraft maybe age 6, she loved building houses and built me a house made of doors.

In my studio my interior door has changed over the years. I had started painting it and one of my clients started painting a mermaid on the door. Then one of the other clients found it disturbing mostly because it was made by a different client. I think I painted over the beginning and made the mermaid myself and assured the client she ddidn’ have to look at another client’s painting on a door.

Many other therapists probably wouln’t have told the client anything abou tthe painting on the door to begin with and would have just explored what was bothering the client and left it that way and made her just deal with it. I processed her feelings about it and why it disturbed her and then changed it; I gave in to her and did something she knew was for her. It was therapeutic for her but probably seems not very therapist rule ish. In art therapy you can get away with doing weird thigns like that. At some point a few years ago, I got annoyed at the half finished mermaid painting on the door and painted over it white adn then an abstract pattern. Everyone loves that door. It looks better than an unfinished mermaid. I had another client say that my studio was like a messy garage with old used paintbrushes in it and wanted to work in a room without all the mess and just two white chairs. OBviously that was not a wish I could or would have granted him, although if I had witch powers, it would be fun to change my office into weird places, the way people change their zoom backgrounds.

There’s one by a well known Japanese anime cartoonist and it has a fish coming through the side walk as well as an open door. I’ve never seen a fish coming through a floor, and I wonder what it means.

Day 76

I always have the good ideas for writing when I’m not writing and can’t write them down.

I should be doing more reading, but I can read a blog but not a book. I know when you read, it helps you write. It’s weird that way. I don’t need to look at art to want to make art or help me make art, although it could do both.

Maybe writing is a way to free myself and go somewhere where mice aren’t shocks. I often think of this scene in a weird Cinderella type movie that is part animation and part live action. She’s in this apartment in NYC and has never been in this world. She wakes up and thinks she should clean the apartment so she starts singing her usual song that brings all the birds and creatures running to her to be around her. These pigeons fly in through the window. In the cartoon I think there are mice and in another similar movie she has three mice who are her tailors and make her a ballgown. When the pigeions flew in, I felt sick and couldn’t watch it. I think there might have been some roaches helping her too. It was a creepy scene I would not watch again to see which animals were involved. I’mfreaked out by pigeons, especially flapping their wings and coming really close and the idea of them touching you. I’m one of those people who could still be totally freaked out by Hichocck”s The Birds movie even though it’s proobably now very fake and obvious to most people.

Actually I am easily freaked out by lots of things in movies. Birds are fun to draw but scary. I grew up in NYC and would run away from peigeons, even as a kid. Once in Venice, I walked all the way around under the archways near the buildings while the others crossed the square. Lots of peigeons potentionally flapping right near you and too many on the ground bobbing with their beaks.

Yesterday I was wishing for a cat but we are all extremely allergic. I visited people with hypoallergenic cats and could barely breathe all weekend.

I won’t let the wish for a cat go back to where I started. I really wanted a dog as a kid but it wasn’t even considered, I’m not sure why. Once my brother who is 9 years older than me, snuck a kitten into the house to my room. We thought I might be able to keep it for a while and I guess assumed we would win over our parents. I think I had that kitten for one day and then she had to go.

We now have a hamster named Trismegistus. He’s actually named after the cat in my friend Jenny’s book, The Explosionist. My kid loved the book and couldn’t wait to have a hamster and give him that name. She is very good at naming creatures. She had a monkey named Coocoo Latte. She named a stuffed bird won at one of those claw machines something like Cheapspere, sounding like Shakespeare. Her current stuffed moose is called Bluebelle and once won the presidential election over all the other stuffed animals.

Day 75: Fight Club and Living

I just got inspired to write about this topic of leveling up from Kit Troyer’s blog post, “Wait. Say that again.”

I used to have as part of my ADHD an automatic opposition to any wisdom or advice passed to me. If you told me to do it that way, I’d do it the other way. I was an idiot. Now I notice that moment in my brain where someone has said something helpful and I hear myself with the opposite but it’s more like a tic and I proudly am able to say, Yes thanks. Good idea. I was really a pain in the ass especially as a teenager, rebelling against everything, which isn’t that original.

Not listening to wisdom is stupid. I’ve also done things over and over expecting different results, another example of stupidity.

Right before we had our kid, my parnter said the best book about parenting would be called, “Prepare to Fail”. I think that’s about the best “advice” I’ve heard on parenting.

I often have this image of a very stern person who knows how to be a good parent and do the correct thing all the time, and this person tortures me and says things like, you just did the thing that your client said their parent did and they’re sitting in therapy dealing with it. Every once in a while, I get this whiff of freedom that says, I don’t have to do things even 60 percent the right way. Mostly the important part is that my kid – I just saw a flash that seemed like a mouse. Yes it was and I screamed, It’s a cruel joke that the mice are still here and seem to be enjoying our quarantine. Once in a while I remind myself that my kid is having her own experience and the things I think I am fucking up may not be the things she talks about in therapy years from now. Let her childhood be hers isn’t hard, but let her judgment of me as a parent be hers as well, is a big one.

All those people who go on about the smell of warm whatever reminding them of their mom’s cooking and having all these people over on the holidays; I could list right now the rotation of dishes that we make for her and it’s a repeat of a few things I’m too embarrassed to list. Yes we do broccoli.

Anyway this had nothing to do with what I was going to write about except for the parenting thing. It’s like everything else; you think you fucked up but you didn’t; you fucked up when you had no idea you were doing it.

We have a heavy golf club for hitting intruders and now it’s supposed to be for killing mice, but it would be impssible unless you found a drunk mouse.

The scene in fight club is where the Brad Pitt guy holds a gun to the head of this dude who owns a bodega and tells him he will shoot him if he doesn’t answer honestly the question what do you want to do with your life. He keeps pushing him and finally the guy says a veterinarian. He’s sweating and shaking with the gun touching his head. Then Brad Pitt guy says I’m returning next week and you better have enrolled in a veterinarian class.

I often think about the gun to your head action. That life should be lived like you only have a few days left; it’s a cliche but it’s true. Not that you can do whatever you want and get the results you want and not waste time, preciely the opposite; that if you can show up in the moment and be awake you’re doing something ok, even if some of your life choices feel like huge mistakes and even if you feel stuck.

I always thought the gun to the head scene was about going for it and making the choice to follow your dreams but now i’m wondering if maybe the deeper meaning was the gun to his head was saying wake up and live your life. Don’t sleep through it. Be more awake. Easier said than done. Is the moment the mouse ran by and I screamed a moment of being awakened to life? Are these mice a form of shock treatment? It definetly feels like it gives me a small heart attack, a jolt of fear and shock, feeling revved up. I wish I could say it’s a kind of high, but it defintiely isn’t. If I think too much about it I could start getting depressed about what should have been done.

And I just saw one run across the kitchen floor. It defintely is hellping me get to bed early. I’ll edit this in the morning. I look forward to being unconscious and not freaking out about mice.

WAIT, SAY THAT AGAIN

This is very inspiring. I was looking for something to write about. Now I have an idea.

Kit Troyer Blog

Did someone ever tell you something potentially very useful, but you just … let it float past?

One night years ago at a restaurant in Beverly Hills, a woman said to me, regarding her own experience raising children: “I made things too easy. I solved things they should have” tackled themselves.

I remember being surprised. Her kids went to Ivy League colleges, one was already in the workforce and excelling. But I heard real regret and sadness in her voice.

I didn’t follow up. I didn’t ask her to elaborate. More importantly, I didn’t pause to consider whether her words might apply to my own parenting.

Another time, even longer ago, a commercial fisherman in Maine told me, “It took me three careers before I figured out what I wanted to do.”

He and I were sitting in a public library watching underwater footage of fish-trawling nets. I was interviewing…

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Day 74: How do I open the box? (5/25/20)

I just looked up at the photo of my poodle from years ago and remembered that I keep thinking about getting his ashes out of the box and using some of them in a painting. I have mentioned it here.

“Write about what you know.” How many people have said that. If I were to do that, what would it look like?

I made a painting during a two weeks ago session and when I put it up on the kitchen wall with my other Covid paintings/drawing to see what it all looked like, it was kind of annoying and depressing. It said “Every day is the same” on it. I usually don’t put writing in paintings. I had put a lot of coffee grinds and soil in with the paint so it was hard to cover the canvas board with ripped up pieces of paper and mod podge. I am editing this and literally it said, “mod poodle”. Mod podge is this stuff you use a brush with to collage over things. Rip up paper paint mod podge on the surface, stick the paper in the mod podge, put more layers on. It’s white like runny glue and dries clear. Mod Poodle; that’s what I want, my poodle’s ashes mixed with Mod Podge!

Covering up a painting you did that you don’t like is hard unless you happen to have one of those electric sanders, which I will buy one day. I use a lot of texture in my paintings so if I paint over the whole thing white or black, I still have to deal with all the bumps and old paint lines that are annoying. It does feel good to change a painting the middle of it. For the first part of the quarantine I had one canvas board I kept changing and painting over.

I also think about how worked on that altered book daily for 63 days. It feels strange to know how much energy and work I put into it, like physical work. DOing an altered book involves a lot of energy. Especially making it into two volumes and using all that duck tape. Destroying it took a lot of energy too. I’m thinking about it because I’m using parts of that book, like pages ripped out, on the top of this canvas board and in the new book. Like I said, its’ a metaphorical burial mound and the body is the whole book, the book I made two volumes of and the book to begin with. I guess it’s all about destruction and transformation. I am a kind of violent painter/artist. I have to engage with the materials and really feel like I’ve exorcised something.

I just got the box with Edie’s ashes in it from my dresser and realized I have no idea how to open it. There is no obvious opening. THere’s a place to put a photo. I’m sure I don’t have a clue where the letter that maybe came with it is. Why do they make it so hard to open. Are you supposed to break it when you’re ready to spill the ashes? Am i really supposed to find a tiny screw drive and open the little screws on the botttom of the box? OK. Like everything else, there is a video on Youtube for it. I guess I will have to watch the video.

Day 73:

This new writing tool in wordpress is very annoying. Anyway I was thinking of this poem with the repettive line of for the loss of this, the that was something or other. I remembered a horse.

I searched around and finally found this poem by Benjamin Franklin. I know little about him as I forgot all that I learned in high school but random stuff. I was excited to finally find this rime I kept hearing in my head with no words.

For the want of a nail the shoe was lost,

For the want of a shoe, the horse was lost,

For the want of a horse, the rider was lost,

For the want of a rider, the kingdom was lost,

and all for the loss of a horse shoe nail.

Here’s my attempt to describe my day and earlier hardships of quarantine:

For the want of catching a mouse, holes were found,

For the want of filling holes, the sink was removed.

For the want of the sink moved, the washing machine was moved.

For the want of putting back the washing machine with much labor,

A leak was found,

For the want of fixing the leak of the water on/off switch to everything,

A part was ordered and a bucket used,

And all for the want of a dead mouse, which magically appeared under the stove.

End of my attempt at the poem

So the triad of terribles in quarantine were: still having mouse/mice after months of work at getting rid of them, the dryer wasn’t working already, then the washer stopped working.

I wrote a bunch of stuff and erased the wrong stuff. Oh well. Things keep happening that continue to mean the kitchen is filled with stuff that goes in the laundry room. One thing gets fixed, then another suddenly stops working.

I’m going to say that there was a day in quarantine when I was in a terrible mood and really also angry as hell. I was dying to kill the mouse. I wished I could hit it over the head with something.

You have to understand that these mice started to appear in mid November. I won’t get into too much detail, but if you hire an exterminator they just put poison around and do not fill holes, at least the ones the Management Company was going to hire.

Anyway the get rid of the mice problem campaign began in erneast. It was good in that we stored all food out of the fridge in plastic containers and eating popcorn on the couch had a whole new risk to it.

If you had someone who for half a year came into your house, ate your food, ran around hiding from you and pooping everywhere and worst of all, darting out to run across some area of your house with no announcement or calling card, after that long a time, you’d be happy to have that person dead.

So it’s been an anoying day but a dead mouse was found, only the second one since the big mouse issue began. I’m hoping we patched up the holes well and will not see one again, but I’m not stupid. A battle has been won, important holes have been filled, but these creatures are relentless and are happy to quarantine with you after they’ve overstayed their welcome for four months of battle.

Anyway as much as I’m constantly imagining moving and living in a great house with a big garage work room and all sorts of other lovely specific office type rooms, I am still aware of being grateful for the small things.

I

Day 72: Glitter and Satan

I first wrote this whole post starting with the word glitter. Since then, I just realized maybe I haven’t written about it, but I’ve reached the part of day where you’re waiting to go to bed, not because you are tired or want to sleep but because the day has been wrung dry and there’s nothing left of it.

This is the familiar feeling of quarantine. I don’t want to watch a movie. Amazon took away Six Feet Under so I can’t watch it. I started reading an audiobook. Maybe I’ll listen to it or do word searches to “pass the time”. Having lived through life up til now, I know that passing the time is an insidious form of depression or maybe not that strong. It’s being half asleep in your life, waiting for something but waiting for nothing. Waiting to go to bed sounds like how it feels to be on a psych ward after visiting hours. Just waiting to take your night meds and go to bed. Is my home now like a hospital? Going outside feels like I’ve waited for a day pass and have a certain amount of minutes.

I had good things today, an art time with a friend talking of many things, making this drawing I posted here, playing Phase 10 with my family and winning, feeling calm and not too much indulgence into vague sadness. All good things. I ate an apple and even some broccoli. I didn’t do any cleaning. I feel relaxed and mostly not bad. My writer friend even told me about finding a huge black snake in his house and I read one of his short stories, a good one about a monster in a town. A pretty good day for not going outside even at 7pm to make noise. And I wrote basically two posts in this one.

Glitter turns out to be symbolic of joy during hardest of times, among other things. So being drawn to put glitter in my paintings lately when I usually don’t use it, may make sense. A burial mound may be filled with layers of dead bodies but also other things. Glitter is sometimes associated with magic although it turns out to be terrible for the planet. Something magical that seems made by fairies at the same time choking the earth.

In the show my kid is watching about vampires and witches and sirens, the devil character is named Cade. Maybe a reference to Cain and Abel. This Cade wants helpers and traps a vampire into a contract. (The devil loves contracts. How interesting that the God character doesn’t make contracts, just despotic pronouncements and hidden tests. I think if I was in an Old Testament myth I’d probably trust the devil who at least makes things clear from the beginning: “give me your soul and you get these things.” I’m not even sure the devil appears much. Well it looks like the devil is complicated but more like a lawyer than “God” who simply judges people and tells them what to do and punishes them.

Anyway Cade says he wants this guy to find the most potent of souls/people, those who are good by nature and do some evil trusted things. The good gone bad. Supposedly in another episode things get simplified. I guess quantity over quality.

Glitter would be the kind of thing Cade would want in a person. Someone who spreads joy and appears magical but is actually poisonous. it kind of describes most people who do their best to be good. They’re unaware of all the bad effects of their actions.

Now is the perfect time for testing lazy ethics. Oh I won’t put on a mask over here. I don’t see any people. The people over there aren’t 6 feet apart… on 5/18 32 people in nyc died from Covid. I was looking at this chart and mixed up cases with deaths. Then there’s the whole state vs just the city.

I don’t know what I’m saying except this drawing I did has messed up numbers unless I figure out which high numbers I was looking at but I still want to make a painting out of it

Probably number of Covid cases reported…