Passed the 100 page mark yesterday.  Now lurking on page 106. The rewriting is a little bit slower here, as chapter five deals with Nikki's impregnation and abortion.  Not exactly pleasant reading, or writing, or reliving.

 I'm almost done with the Portland section, one more chapter to go.  Katie suggested going to Portland at the end of August.  That would really be fun, but I don't know if I could afford it with current finances being what they are.  But to revisit these places with her, to see my sister and cousins and old friends, would be amazing.

In other news, Katie got a new tattoo. Lookin' hot, yes'm.

 I have fallen into a strict rhythm of waking at seven, taking the Wellbutrin and half an Ativan, drinking coffee, and working on the book for the next 5-8 hours.    Then Katie wakes up, we might socialize or plot and scheme.

In the evenings I am more relaxed, we go to readings or spend time with friends.

Here is Stephen eating ham. 

There is a new project on the horizon, a reading series called featherless.  There are exciting developments that I won't speak of yet. 

Spring is in the air, and new projects abound.

The kitten woke me up.  Really, by sitting on my head and purring for attention. Perhaps it was revenge for this. She is adorable, and I have been neglecting this blog for far too long.

It's the weird interim of Christmas vacation.  Vacation from what?  From the regularly scheduled schedules of others.  Others I love.  Others I miss.  I am home in the interim between lady Katie and Stephen's departure and my own.  I leave soon, soon enough.  But it's strange being here, I find myself pacing around, rattling around, calling people I haven't talked to in forever, etc...  I feel a little bit foolish and a whole lot of lonely.

The best part of Christmas thus far has been Katie's present.  It was a delightful tattoo of Cherry Ames, with the caption "What Would Cherry Ames Do." I have been wanting a new tattoo for so, so long, and to finally get one was thrilling.  We went back to the same place where she got her scarlet letter, Broken Art Tattoo.

It's strange, the pain.  A lot has been written, I'm sure, about it.  But this one really didn't hurt all that much. It hurt a bit, of course, mostly around the elbow.

So as that heals, I pine for Katie.  And cover it with Aquaphor.

Dear Katie got a beautiful tattoo yesterday.

I am so floored by how perfect it came out.

She has been obsessed with The Scarlet Letter, and Hester Prynne as a heroine, for many years now.  She went to Broken Art Tattoo on Hyperion.  I went with her to hold her hand, and watch.  I love the buzz of the tattoo gun, and watching the different forms come together into a final, irrevocable whole.

This card is one I am considering for a tattoo.
There are so many to choose from, though, and I am so broke, that the likelihood of this happening is slim.

There is a bunny rabbit hopping around my feet, Katie is rousing in the other room, the ants are amassing on last night's dinner dishes, and all seems well for the morning.

I finished the riot grrl essay and am planning to send it out soon.  I must reread it.

The bunny is football-sized.

It felt really good to unload all of that. The cockroaches, actually, have been absent this morning, perhaps the extermination effort did work.

I took the rats home today after, I'm so glad they're back with me. Getting that cage in the car was...a lot. But echoed by the amusing satisfaction of walking around carrying a giant cage of rats. There are exactly two.

I have been reading Vice's mental illness issue. Should have known this might be a mistake. What started out as funny and validating became, wow, I'm a circus animal to these bastard hipsters. Then I relaxed and realized...ah, silly me, it's Vice, a little is great and funny and all that, and too much and I get queasy.

I am tired, but somehow sleep is difficult.

The Group Home photos were especially depressing. There's something about...okay, where in the DSM-IV or where else does it say crazy people like collages? Is it just lazy caretaker art therapy? Sorry, no crayons for you!

And then the really annoying part about being in the psych ward and being told to make a collage is they won't give you scissors. Of course not, a pen is a big deal. It's all about wet and tear.

There's something validating about looking up bad tattoos and clown tattoos.

Is there something here about the desire to feel better than/worse than someone? Perhaps.