Recording Interruptous.

I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned I do art, watercolors specifically. I have a youtube channel where I post my works. This involved planning, painting, editing and uploading completed video. I try and do one a week. I do more when I’m well and schedule them out, so when I get sick, things are still going up.

I’m not the greatest artist – only been painting a year – but I put a lot of effort into it. And learning editing isn’t easy. Even though my subscribers are really small, I do my best.

Three or four video’s back, I realized something. Whenever I’m recording, partner comes in and makes noise. I have explained to him this creates a lot of work for me and please don’t come in when I’m recording. So this one video, he comes in and starts talking. I tell him I’m recording, he says okay, and continues to talk. Again, I said I’m recording – and a third time. He just continued. It made me realize – he does this all the time. That one recording was so corrupted with his talking, I actually just said screw it and didn’t post it at all. He’s come in, made tea (kettle sounds, sharp spoon on cup crashes), smoked, washed dishes, walked across the floor with sharp crack sounds of flip flops (he never before or since made that sound).

This last video, he comes in and stares at me. I continue painting, I say not a word. After about 1 minute, and I’m starting to get creeped out, he walks over, lights a cigarette. He slides glass things across the counter. Turns on the kettle. Makes tea. Washes a pan, slaps it onto the stove. Comes over to me and says: I washed the frying pan for you. I nod, silent. He comes closer, blocking my light. Stands there a minute. Grunts and leaves. This is the eighth video he has interrupted. Eighth. You need to realize, I can’t complain. He was doing something nice! Washing a frying pan, unasked. Or he would have said, if I’d made a fuss. I wonder if my silence cock-blocked that strategy?

He does everything he can to disrupt, break or corrupt my possessions or work. Then praises my art. There’s got to be a word for this, but I don’t remember or know what it is.

Here’s another example. I’m doing a recording, he comes in and starts the clothes washer. Never comes back. Next day, I’m doing a second recording. He opens the washer and starts snapping the wrinkles out of the clothing. Really loud. I’d swear he threw out a shoulder. I say, I’m trying to record! He says: I’ll just be a minute. Twenty minutes later, he’s finally run out of clothes to snap.

Eight videos in a row. That’s two months of uploads. Every single time I’m recording. What a dick move.

Nope, not dead.

Although you would be excused if you thought I was. I’m not sure how long it’s been since I posted but figure it’s somewhere between Forever and The Dawn of Time.

I hade covid19 in march, took 6 weeks to get over it and recover. Had a good month after that. Then I got a fatigue spike that lasted a week. Then two weeks to recover from that. Then I had another good week! Then it was lather, rinse, repeat for … 4 god damned months. I am currently in a ‘good week’. I’ve been thinking of this site so decided it was time to make a post, even if it’s brief.

It’s hard to recover when you have the energy of a wet noodle. Hard to cook for yourself. Asking my partner to cook is pretty pointless when he has about 5 things he can, or at least is willing to admit to, being able to cook. I can’t eat that many eggs or tuna sandwiches. I finally bought some super quick meals – like ramens, instant oats and polenta – and I’ve been able to cook a 3 minute meal. I’m hopeful having a full belly, and rest, will enable me to actually recover.

I’ve been painting a year now. Although not that much lately. But it’s honestly the only thing keeping my sanity. The bottom line, however, is I’m tired. And depressed. And sad.

Maybe I’ll get over it. Maybe I won’t. But I ain’t dead yet, so there’s that.

That Thing Called Happy

It was a strange experience, that feeling called happy. I realized I’d not felt this emotion in a very long time. No spontaneous laughter, although I’ve giggled at jokes now and then. My default is caution, guarded. It didn’t last long, this happy thing, but at least I know the thing exists.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned I’ve taken up watercolor painting. I started back in october, before coronavirus. I’ve not done any art in 40 years and I’d never done watercolor. It’s fun. I am amazed at my progress. I wish I’d taken it up years ago. I see these kids doing amazing art and I think, dayam, I could have been that good if I’d kept at it. But real life takes over and sometimes the fun stuff falls off to the side.

I saw my improvement. It made me happy. I even, briefly, thought of what I could do with another 20 years. If I improved that much in six months, how much could I improve in 20 years? I’ve been living day to day, week to week for so long, 20 years feels like a lifetime. And honestly, realistically, I don’t think I’ll go another three or four years, due to illness or murder. But for just a few minutes, I had a hope I would go another 20 years, be happy, make good art.

Of course it faded. But for a brief moment, I had a happy.