I hate having to take any kind of pain meds, especially Vicodin because I had successfully weaned myself off of them when I found I was beginning to take them recreationally, not in any great amount, but once a night was enough for me to know I had to get my butt to a meeting. I asked my dentist if there was anything else he could give me -- something non narcotic and non addictive but he suggested arnica and other herbal things. When you're hurting so bad you can't even think of doing much more than laying in bed moaning, or writing in your Live Journal, arnica aint going to do it. Help???
I think I'll take another half of a Vicodin and then put myself to bed. I'm already making silly mistakes, hearing things wrong, opening the wrong programs...
I changed my AOL welcome sounds so now when I sign on I get to hear the deep soothing sound of Barry White reminding me to read my mail.
Oh shit, Honey, (sweet but klutzy Siamese mixy cat), just jumped on my dresser and knocked a whole bunch of my precious and super expensive perfumes down. And now she just jumped to another dresser and knicked a perfume off of that one and is eating my hair accessories and knocking more things down. I smell perfume -- this can't be good -- be right back.
After I went to the dentist and before my tooth started screaming out in pain, I went to our local copy store and made some more copies of the flyer for my friend Atra's upcoming knit show. I made a new design cause I was sick of the old one and our new crap printer was too slow so I thought I'd just ask my pals to let me owe them for some copies. While I was there I saw Joni Mitchell going into my friend's store next door. I've seen her around a lot, she must live nearby. I've never spoken to her although I've had so many chances. I don't want to intrude even though I do. Does that make any sense?
Anyway she gave my friend Ron a poster that Rhino made for her with her painting from the cover of Dreamland and she had signed it to him. It has three of her paintings on it -- self portraits from different stages of her life. She is amazingly talented. I don't know why people assume that an artist in one field of endeavor can't cross over into another but if anyone is proof of this being untrue she is. She told Ron that someone offered her a million dollars for one of her paintings and she wouldn't take it because she likes it so much. She also told him that her cat needed a ton of surgeries, (she has three cats and one dog, or is it three dogs and one cat, damn), and she said and I quote, "I'm lucky I'm rich." I'm going to hunt around and see if I can't find a copy of this poster to share with you. If not Ron will loan it to me so I can scan it and put it up. He would have given it to me right there but she was sitting in her car just outside and that might have seemed a bit well, rude.
Oh and I just got Beau's report card thing in the mail. It's not like a traditional report card. At his school they use these two page forms that each of his teachers fill out. The kids are on a kind of pass or fail system with reservations being the worst, credit being the middle to okay ground, and honors being something that is rarely earned.
We have all being trying so hard to pull Beau up and help him improve his school work and it's been working. I was looking forward to opening this envelope and seeing all of the glowing praise. I knew it was going to be good -- he was the only kid in his entire class to ace this test last week and all of the teacher's progress reports have been terrific, so when I opened the envelope and saw reservations my heart sunk. Reservations? An F? That means he's out of the school. I had a mini-freak-out moment before I scanned the packet and realized that someone had inadvertently sent us another kid's report card. Poor kid, he's really not doing well. Now I have to figure out where Beau's reports went. Oooh not good, but I'm not going to say anything to anyone in authority because I know whose fault this is and I like her and don't want her to get in trouble. She's overworked, overwhelmed and stressed out enough as it is.
Hey, this is me writing on Vicodin, I wonder how goofy I sound or if I'll regret this later, eh, doubt it, I'm a cheap drunk but with meds it takes kind of a lot to knock me out. I wouldn't want to drive or take an achievement test on this stuff though.
Okay, off I go to rest. Thank God I've stopped having to communicate with anyone orally, that was the worst, talking really makes it hurt. But I promised I would put some of Atra's flyers up in strategic locations. Everyone was pretty nice for Brentwood, my sweet pals at the bakery let me put two in their window, and Ron put one in his store and even Jennifer put one up. Everyone else just took them from me and said thanks. Then I stopped at stop lights and taped them to phone and light poles.
I so need money, how did I let myself get like this?
Love you guys,
Here's a cool story with photos about a visit Joni's web master had with her at her home, and some quotes.
"Of all the painters I felt most kindred to, I felt most touched by Van Gogh. Van Gogh was impulsive. For him, art was like sex on the kitchen table."
"The art world has a problem with my day job. The main trouble with showing my work is that people have a hard time, knowing that I am a musician. They say I am a folkie, a rocker, whatever. This is not a renaissance culture. This is a culture of specialists."
"I am a lonely painter
I live in a box of paints
I'm frightened by the Devil
and I'm drawn to those ones that 'ain't afraid...'"