Life With a Little More "Life"

I've been completely off of opiate pain medications for a few weeks, now. So far, I'm happy about it. I feel different without the constant haze of brain-fug I experienced (unknowingly, mostly) for the previous four years of my life.

I wake up, now, when the sun's brightness wakes me up - usually around 7:30-8:00 - as nature intended, instead of sleeping until noon because my body responded to when the drugs wore off. I have a true circadian rhythm to my life that I previously lacked.

Wikimedia Commons

When I sleep, my sleep is more restful, and I'm dreaming more often - and remembering more of my dreams - and having more pleasant dreams, as opposed to nightmarish head trips that prevented me from sleeping soundly. Some of these nightmares were probably hallucinations, in truth, rather than me actually sleeping and dreaming.

TheGuyWho3433

You know those commercials for medications to treat opiate-induced constipation, known as OIC, apparently, because giving a disorder an acronym makes it less embarrassing? Yeah, so good old OIC is a serious issue for people on pain medications for chronic illness. Even more so when the migraines - for which you take opioids - is also a source of, um, "C" (see above OIC, and just remove the C, because: acronyms). Though it isn't exactly happening quickly, the gastrointestinal effects of constant opiate use are slowly working themselves out.

I'm not living in fear of the medication completely working its way out of my system all at once, leaving me with a shock of pain bad enough to make me writhe around, incapable of relaxing and resting. The anxiety of running out of opiates is also gone; the government's strict controls and occasional drug shortages rendered this a serious concern, especially if a new patient began filling a prescription for the same drugs and the pharmacy wasn't prepared for it.

Psychologically, I'm dealing with the migraines better. I'm taking very little in the way of medication, just some muscle relaxants when it's really bad, and maybe a couple of Tylenol. I'll also pop on the good old Cephaly if it's bad and I can stand to have something on my head. In Europe, the device is marketed as an "acute" treatment, instead of simply preventative, so it's worth a shot, right? And it did seem to help, that first time I tried it, when I caught the migraine early enough, so...

The only downside I've noticed so far has left me with mixed feelings.

I'm having difficulty with creative endeavors.

I used to write for an hour or two each day, most days, typically at night once my pain medications kicked in, or in the afternoon if I had to take them to get me through a particularly rough spot. About 30 or 45 minutes after taking the drugs, I'd feel a surge of creative energy and feel as if I simply had to write. Now.

That's gone, the creative urge evaporating into the ether, so to speak.

Or into a Photoshop gradient. One of those two, definitely.

Ever since I kicked the habit, the books I was working on - all those ideas, fictional and non-fictional - have dried up. I don't feel the same inspiration that I previously felt.

It's unnerving.

I used to believe that real artists didn't require chemical assistance to create masterpieces. I'm less sure of that, now, mostly because to accept that my writing was mostly the product of a opiate-induced fever-dream would force me to see it as less valuable.

Maybe.

For now, I'm trying not to think about the significant drop in "creating" that I'm experiencing.

To distract myself, I watch stand up comedians and comediennes on Hulu and NetFlix, or take quizzes on Sporcle, both very productive.

I go to Whole Foods and buy groceries to feed my husband and myself, because eating at home is healthier than eat at our favorite local fast food joint, El Rey (even though their Havana Plate is so f!&#ing delicious).

Bayou City Bites

I'm also mentally caching ideas for a new blog - one that would relate to my professional field instead of a personal blog - and trying to come up with a name for it.

On Monday, I'll start doing a bit of contract work for my dad, editing photos of his products for brochures and website use. This will most likely take place at a Starbucks, because only suckers work from home when they can go to Starbucks and pretend to be cool, hip, self-employed graphic designers that totally have a thriving business and aren't just doing some work for their dads since they have some time on their hands.

And I'll mentally wrestle with whether I want to pick up my Montblanc, again, and continue writing that fantasy novel, or maybe start researching that history of the British in Kenya once more.

The Rhinoceros in the Room

There is a Rhinoceros in the room. And a Grasshopper. And two vizslas.

The vizslas are being quiet.

No. I take that back.

They were being quiet, until I got up to remind the female vizsla (Miss Scarlett) that her sheep toy is an inside toy, and she cannot take it outside. Her half-brother (Butler) decided to try to distract me while his sister made her getaway, but failed. He is now trying repeatedly to climb into my lap.

He's a 50 lbs. lap-dog.

I am currently dog/house-sitting for my sister and her husband while they take my niece on her first real vacation. It's kind of strange, having this big old house to myself, but also enjoyable. It's a nice break from my own little apartment.

What about the Rhinoceros and the Grasshopper? you ask.

Well, they're both in my computer, which doesn't look like a Rhino could squeeze in, but it's possible, trust me.

Rhinoceros is actually a 3-D digital modeling program. I used it for the first time about 5 years ago, during my last semester of undergraduate study. In all, prior to this semester, I had approximately 2 weeks of experience with it. I eventually gave up on it and used AutoCAD, instead.

This time around, I have to use Rhino, because I have to use a sub-program/plug-in called Grasshopper that goes with it.

Neither of them are easy to learn, but I'm getting there. It's a heck of a gear switch, going from a program like Revit, which essentially does everything for you, to having to write algorithms of a sort for Grasshopper.

My new professors are devotees of parametric architecture: architecture that responds to its context in mathematical ways, in other words. It's the sort of architecture promulgated by the likes of Zaha Hadid and COOP HIMMELB(L)AU.



Until I began my Master's work, I frankly didn't understand parametric (aka generative) architecture. The professors I had in my undergrad days were all die-hard modernists. They were obsessed with Le Corbusier and Mies van der Rohe. I admire both of these architects (except for Le C's city planning ideas: those were just bat-s*** insane).

Now that I understand more of the theory behind parametric design, I have a greater appreciation for it and a greater desire to continue studying it.

Time to see if my model has finished generating, yet. (Let's say a little prayer, shall we?)

Camels, Needle's Eye, Whatever

"And again I say to you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God." --Matthew 19:24

I thought of the quote, not because of my financial situation, or because there are roaming herds of camels in Dallas (but there are in East Texas at the Blazing Saddles Ranch), but because I just ordered the last batch of tapestry wools needed to complete a needlepoint pillow.

I blogged earlier about a needlepoint canvas I will eventually have made into a pillow, one I finished years ago and stowed away, lugging it from apartment to apartment in its unfinished state. Within the month, I will finish another one, also a design by William Morris, on which I've been working for about 3 or 4 years, now.

It is the Hare Tapestry pictured above, and I've thoroughly enjoyed working on it, even if I tend to use more wool than the stitch guide says I should. I use a stitch called the Reverse Basket Weave, which looks exactly like Tent stitching on the front (diagonal stitches leaning to the right), but on the back looks like - you guessed it! - basket weaving. It provides a sturdier base for the canvas than other stitches and helps to hold the canvas' shape through repeated rollings and crumplings.

Unfortunately, the store where I originally purchased my canvas and tapestry wools is no longer in business. It was run by a wonderfully diminutive family, all of whom - husband and son included - needlepointed. They were the only shop in Dallas that carried the particular type of wools I prefer, Appleton Tapestry wools, which Queen Elizabeth II favors. They were also the only shop in Dallas where, when I underwent chemotherapy, the patrons did not comment on my odd appearance, and welcomed me with open arms because I was a fellow stitcher, bald head or no.

After my little needlepoint shop went out of business, I tried going to another shop, but the employees were frankly unhelpful, and I did not go back.

I cannot find any other shops in Texas that sell my Appleton Tapestry wools via internet, and so I ordered them from Carbondale, Illinois. Hopefully, I will have them within a week so I can continue stitching up a storm.

But once finished, my hands will be idle, and I'll have to find another piece of needlework. I have a few ideas - possibly turning one of my own photographs into a needlepoint pillow, which would be a mountain of work - but the biggest impediment at present is cost.

A good quality needlepoint canvas usually costs at least $100 (for a 12"x12" canvas), and the really nice ones are in the $200+ range, and neither of those numbers includes the cost of the wools, which can put the total cost well over $400 by the time all is said and done.

I found a website with absolutely beautiful canvases for sale, http://www.artneedlepoint.com/. I like it because it isn't cluttered with cutesy teddy bear needlepoints or Precious Moments kits. Most of its needlework is based on artists' works - Paul Klee and Edgar Degas both make appearances - or they're designed by the likes of Elizabeth Russell, whose name sends stitchers' hearts a flutter.

Anyway, I've found about twenty canvases I'd like to own, but they will undoubtedly have to wait until I'm employed, at the very least, or until one of the random holidays my mother celebrates by lavishing gifts upon my sister and I rolls around.

My mother has always been amazingly generous, celebrating Valentine's Day and Easter with the same exuberance she puts into Christmas, albeit on a smaller scale.

Or perhaps I'll cobble together something of my own design from the wools I have left from previous projects.

The Interior Mania Continues

My mother and I went to see Antony Gormley speak at the Nasher Sculpture Center on Saturday (he was fascinating. If not for the fact that I was felled by a migraine, I could have listened to him all day. As it was, I still stuck it out through the whole damned lecture. THAT AMAZING.)

Prior to the lecture (little artist crush, now), my mom came into my apartment to survey the new lampshades in situ, seeing as she gave them to me for my birthday and all.

We have decided that my current picture frames have got to go.

Sigh.

It's a vicious circle, Dear Readers. You think you're getting things just right, and yet there's something nagging at the back of your brain...

We've decided that the frames should be gold/gilded.

Oh, Ms. Strainedconsciousness! you cry. You don't have the money to buy loads of new picture frames!

No, Dear Reader, but I do already have in my possession plenty of gilding supplies, for I went on an art supply binge a few months ago (prior to surgery, pain management treatments, and daily migraine attacks) and bought gilding fixative and foil. It's not real gold, of course, because I can't afford that, but it looks quite like the real thing, and it's doing a smashing job of transforming the taxidermy mount for a set of deer antlers I have.

Ahem.

Gilding is actually, I've found, a wonderful way to relax. Brush on the fixative, do something more productive for 20 minutes while the fixative dries a bit, and then return to the object to be gilded and start applying the foil, using waxed paper and a dry paintbrush. It's very minute work, very tedious, and really quite brainless. I don't have to worry too much about it, whether I'm doing it wrong. If the fixative gets too dry, I just put on some more, wait a bit, and start again.

It doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't have to be solid on the first go round. It eventually begins to look even, although the surface is made up of a mottled agglomeration of foil bits.

It's a craft I can get behind.

Although really, I tend to stand over the objects when I work.

Perusing the Interwebz

I just finished stalking Craigslist for a good 45 minutes.

I think physicists need to study Craigslist, just for the record, because it warps the space-time continuum. I could swear I was only on Craigslist for 10 minutes tops, but nope, it's been 45 minutes. Okay, an hour, but who's counting?

Not the physicists, who seriously need to get on this mystery pronto.

I'm in the habit of looking for treasures in the form of armchairs that might need to live in my apartment (now that it's dried out), and so I decided to kill some time browsing the offerings, when I should have been paying attention to Major Tom.

Major Tom is not a fan of Craigslist, in case you were wondering. He wants the physicists to study it so they can declare it a hazard to humanity's survival so I'll pay more attention to him, and less to the offerings on - er - offer.

What is there on Craigslist on a typical Friday evening?

Crap. Lots and lots of crap.

That "wingback chair" is no wingback, honey - it's a La-Z-Boy recliner. And that Queen Anne chair? Good grief! Don't you know an Eastlake style chair when you see one?

Jeez...

Beautiful typically means run screaming as fast as you can and gorgeous usually translates to don't bother opening this posting.

In fact, the postings I tend to look at aren't the ones that include designer in their headline - because La-Z-Boy is not "designer" - but are the ones that give a brief description and the brand and the color.

So Red Hickory Chair Wingbacks definitely gets a look, even though they're more than I can afford right now, and the wrong color, because this lady 1) buys nice furniture and 2) I'm a sucker for Hickory Chair. It's described perfectly. I really wish I could use them in my house, somehow (especially since the price has dropped from $1200 to $800 to now $500 for the pair... want the info? Leave me a comment).

I've learned that certain terms - Queen Anne, for example - are horribly abused. Antique is by far the most overused. Armchairs from 1974 are not antique. Armchairs from 1910 are. In case you didn't know, the strict definition of an antique is that it's at least 100 years old. Anything less than 100 years is just vintage.

None of the posters on Craigslist appear to know what Queen Anne style actually is (cabriole legs, shell motifs, figural-profile back splats on sidechairs, etc...), and they bandy the term about with abandon.

Bandy about with abandon. Say that one five times fast.

After I'd hit all the chair postings I cared to see, I decided to take a peek at art.

It is yet another term loosely applied by frequenters of Craigslist.

Call me strict, but I do not consider an original painting to be something you bought at Z Galerie. Because it wasn't actually painted. If there are multiple of them on a rack in a store, then it's not original.

Original means: Not derived from something else; fresh and unusual.

Original does not mean that you are buying the 80th one of something. It means that there is only one, that you are the first to do it or to make it or to find it or to say it or to write it.

And now, I'm thinking of Eddie Izzard's riff on original sin. I think I'll leave you with that for your listening pleasure.

(Warning: some offensive language... and a man in drag.)

What I Did. What I Did.

I bought work boots. And some new work appropriate clothes (at 11:30 at night Friday, because I fell asleep early due to a combination of exhaustion and mild pain medication coupled with Benadryl... and then my wonderful mom called me to say, "Hi" and I woke up, so I put my jolted-awake self to work by scouring J. Crew and bought some adorableness). And a textile to throw over my now-shabby-when-compared-to-God's-gift-to-sofas love seat. The textile doesn't really coordinate with my rug, but somehow still works, because it follows along with the whole idea of "if you like the stuff, it will all form a cohesive whole in the room together" theory of decorating.

Either that or I'm deluding myself because I'm loath to part with $60 after my work boot and J. Crew binge.

No. No. It works.

I also discovered that 1) men jumping rope outside boxing studios that are adjacent to work boot stores will all stop jumping rope in unison when a girl gets out of her car in skinny jeans and big sunglasses; and 2) if you innocently flirt with the youngish work boot salesman you will get free leather sealer for your boots.

Both these tidbits of information have been filed away for future reference.

My mom and I ran errands Saturday after I bought my ridiculously comfortable boots (Red Wing, style 2231), and then decided we should kill some time before eating dinner and adjourning to her house to watch Home and Garden Television. We decided to go to Robb and Stucky, since it was in the general area, and the furniture there is good for both a few laughs and some inspiration.

And oh, did I find inspiration.

This little number would look faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabulous in my apartment, someday.

As would something along these lines, but in gold, I think. Yes, definitely in gold.

The look I'm shooting for in my apartment, just in case you're wondering, is sort of ... well... let's say if Dorothy Draper and Mies van der Rohe had a love child who hung out with Andy Worhol, and that love child was an interior decorator: that decorator would do my apartment. But keep it tasteful.

I Promise!

Just bear with me a little while longer and the obsessive sofa posts will cease. Honest. I swear.

My sofa is currently at the upholsterer's shop. Upholsterer #2 initially quoted me a price $30 lower than Upholsterer #1's bid, but then began asking me questions about why, exactly, I insisted on a down/feather blend wrap for the cushions, since even the best seat cushions will require weekly fluffing/turning if they're used daily? He talked me into using a different material that I was able to experience at his shop, and yes, it feels exactly like down-wrapped cushions (but costs half as much and requires no fluffing). Let's just hope I made the right decision.

I initially assumed it would be anywhere from 4-8 weeks before I would see my sofa in final finished form, because that's typical turn-around time for custom upholstery work. I was wrong. Dead wrong.

It will only be 2-3 weeks. Yes, the world's most solicitous upholsterer (who does work for one of Dallas' most well-known interior designers) will have my sofa returned to me in 2-3 weeks TOPS, because it's a small job, and they're in between a couple of big jobs right now. Brilliant!

Of course, that means I'll have to get my apartment rearranged pronto in preparation for the sofa's imminent arrival. I thought I'd have considerably longer to prepare for it, but it seems that I was wrong. It's not that I'm never wrong, it just happens so rarely that it catches me off guard.

No, really.

This past week, I was trying to figure out what on earth I was going to do for a throw pillow for the sofa. It just needs one stunner in the middle, and herein lay the problem: it has to be a stunner. A quick trip to my usual throw-pillow go-tos proved fruitless: Pier 1's pillows looked too chintzy, and the pillows at Z Galerie didn't have any blue in them, although they did have the lovely shrimpy color of my sofa.

Then, I remembered it: a needlepoint I completed about 5-6 years ago. I dug it out of its basket at my apartment, and sure enough, it's the perfect size and shape, and has the same exact color in it with which my sofa will be upholstered. Karma, baby. Karma. Or something.

So the needlepoint will be turned into a throw pillow, and for less money than I thought it would cost (sweet!) and my little living room will be happy.

So Many Interiors...

One of the bonuses/downsides to working in the architectural profession - specifically, as the go-to gal for interior detailing in our office - is the constant exposure to absolutelygorgeousohmygodIwantthat interior design ideas. It is perfectly acceptable for me to look at interior design blogs and architecture websites for a full 30 minutes per day, since those blogs typically help inform my interior details.

That's the bonus to working at my firm.

The downside is that it makes me constantly want to do things to my own personal living space. A few weeks ago, I went crazy at Container Store again and bought Elfa shelving for my coat closet because I was kind of overwhelmed with art projects. Ever since then, I keep seeing these amazing renovations and design ideas on sites like apartmenttherapy.com and remodelista.com and designspongeonline.com, and it's driving me bonkers, because I'm trying really hard to be a fiscally responsible little girl and am attempting to portion out my discretionary spending.

So now I want to re-arrange the furniture in my apartment but 1) I have BIG furniture - and it's heavy- and 2) there's not a whole lot of other ways to arrange my apartment, as things stand. About every other day, I crack open the SketchUp! program and rearrange my furniture and sigh heavily and imagine the possibilities of maybe moving that bookshelf into my bedroom. And then I remember what a royal pain it was getting it set up and in the living room in the first place and I mentally throw up my hands.

Almost makes me wish I didn't have quite so much furniture around the place... but at least I don't have as much as this guy:

Post-Christmas Days

Or should that be daze?

It seems slightly unreal now that Christmas is already come and gone. In the back of my mind, I'm still stuck in college and high school, where you had at least 3 weeks off for "winter break" before you had to get back to the grindstone. I, personally, think it's unfair to condition children to expect a full month off from toil, because there is only disappointment to follow. Man, I wish there was a sarcasm font...

What did I get for Christmas? you ask.

I will, in my magnanimity, satisfy your burning curiosity.

1. An original pastel, Going Solo (pictured above), of a sheep in a field. Why on earth a sheep? Here is the link to the artist's blog, which helpfully explains all: http://juliapatt.blogspot.com/2009/08/what-makes-people-buy-art.html

Buy her artwork. Julia is amazingly gifted. And she does great sheep portraits for weirdos like me!

2. Funny Face, an amazingly wonderful movie starring Audrey Hepburn and Fred Astaire. It is one of a handful of musicals that I adore.

3. A coin that belonged to my paternal grandmother, struck in the year 1921, which was her birth year. She collected the silver dollars throughout her life, whenever she found one from 1921, and she had enough of them to give to her grandchildren. She passed away in 2003, and now I have another wonderful gift by which to remember her.

4. A pot of herbes de Provence. My sister got a pot of herbes de provence as big as her head, but seeing as I cook smaller meals than she does and less often, mine was about the size of a 4 month old's fist. I am incredibly happy that I didn't end up with a huge pot of herbs, because I would probably end up putting too much in a dish and making myself smell all herby for the next two days (not that I have any experience with such snafus...)

5. A gift certificate to B&N! I have, of course, already put a sizable dent in said gift certificate. Publishers of fine literature may mail me thank-you cards if they so desire.

Those were the main gifts, along with a few other trifles (and, yes, not-so-trifling trifles).

Tomorrow, it is back to the grindstone, where I will inquire as to whether we are allowed to accrue vacation days, or if we are required to take them all within the year. If accrual is verboten, I will be requesting off Tuesday and Wednesday, and oh! wouldn't that be grand?

My Faith in Corporations Has Been Restored! Maybe...

I spoke to two competent people at AT&T Wednesday - yes two! back to back! and both apologetic when I relayed my awful experience of the day prior! - and one of them told me why my package was delivered to Fort Worth: apparently, that's the dock from where it was shipped, and that's to where they return. But why was it sent back? I asked. My UPS man ALWAYS leaves a notification on my door if I'm not home: I know for a fact, because I've had multiple large packages delivered, rerouted, etc... in the past 3 weeks.

The Poor Operator had no idea, but she had my wireless modem re-shipped to me at my office, and it should be here by Friday. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, which makes typing incredibly difficult, as you can imagine. TPO also told me that there is a problem with my DSL service that is not related to my lack of having the appropriate equipment with which to access it, and she sent a request for someone to see what the heck is going on so I can be up and running ASAP.

She also reassured me that I will not be billed for the DSL until it is active. So far, it's not active, it's just pending.

So I'm holding off on whether or not I'm happy with the service I've been given until my DSL is working properly. Until it is active.

Other than that, there is no big news. Except, possibly, that Lola's son has been in the office the past couple of days to hang out with his mom prior to going back to school next week, and he's caused countless distractions.

Where should he eat lunch turned into a 20 minute lecture from Pacman on the evils of corporate restaurants.

Where should he sight-see while this close to Downtown turned into a debate on whether or not the farmer's market is too far for him to walk (yes), whether or not he should take the DART train to the Nasher Sculpture Center (me: yes; kid: no), and then a frantic hunt for Oldsmobile's Nasher membership card (in Oldsmobile's pocket - he handed it over when he got back from lunch).

There's also been a considerable amount of standing around talking, recently, and not just by me. Everyone seems to be involved. Pacman, Scooter, Lola, and me sitting around in the "lobby" talking about... I have no idea what, 24 hours later. But it was important and interesting at the time.

Today, there was an on-line hunt for a fellow for whom I used to work at a large architecture firm in Dallas. I have no idea what the man's name is, I just know that he was the only person who was nice to me during my short (3 month) tenure in the firm from Hades. Pacman wanted to know who the kindly gent was, and I couldn't tell him, so he began scouring the firm's website for information about him. None to be found. The firm's probably laid off everyone but the principal's.

In short: I feel a bit unproductive, of late. Maybe it will pick up, later on. I think part of it is boredom, because millwork details aren't that exciting, and tagging them in drawings is definitely NOT exciting. I need to snap out of it.

Maybe turning off the interwebs for a day would help.

I Feel So Artsy Fartsy

My mom and I decided that we needed to do something fun, today. Yesterday, our fun consisted of getting our toenails painted, lunch with a family friend, and finding out that aforementioned friend's daughter is expecting (yippee!), which is impossible to beat.

After finishing our brunch at La Madeleine, we started kicking around the topic of "fun," and decided that "fun" should be a trip to a museum. But which museum to pursue? I whipped out the trusty iPhone and discovered that the Fort Worth Modern is between exhibits, so they were off the list. The Meadows Museum at Southern Methodist University had an exhibit of Cubist portraits by Diego Rivera, which sounded intriguing. For Christmas the past two years, my mom has received a membership to the Dallas Museum of Art. Naturally, that was the next museum whose exhibits I Googled.

The main exhibit was titled Private Universes. I was originally put off by the painfully ambiguous title, as well as the rhetoric that enshrouded the description of the works in a veil of mystery. This critique from a former art major. Maybe my mind was just clouded by the omelet and croissant I'd just devoured. My mom decided, however, that she wanted to see Private Universes, so we set sail for Downtown Dallas.

I am so glad we did.

The works of art were breathtaking (kind of like the view from my hopefully future apartment, but better: breathtaking on par with an ozone alert maroon day). They ranged from the slightly disturbing to the sublime. One work was executed on canvases that enveloped you - literally - in a wall of 24K gold lusciousness - the gold foil applied to the canvases created stylized woodland scenes interspersed with pure abstract shapes (and still this by Jim Hodges is shown on the DMA's web page about the exhibit). Franz Ackerman's my "Ready Now" jolted the viewer with its heroically scaled riot of flourescent colors. I was enthralled.

The first three paintings at the entrance to the main gallery (the barrel vault) were my favorites, though. Those and a word painting with an underlay of Sponge Bob Squarepants checks - yes, from a check book...seriously - that talked about accidentally shooting his mother-in-law on a hunting trip when he mistook her for a deer wearing an orange vest and brewing coffee. It made me laugh out loud.

If you're a museum-y kind of person, and you're in Dallas, I highly suggest checking out the exhibit.