3 realities. The everyday consensual. The Eleven Islands. The future.
Author: Rita de Heer
Writing is what I do. What I think about. What I meditate on. What I dream up. Listen to. Imagine. Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I eat. And I walk. Pull out environmental weeds. There are a thousand more things I do, though writing comes into a fair few of those things too.
Finally I get a go at LDN, prescribed by my new super GP (general pratitioner).
I’m excited and hopeful this medicine will decrease some of the symptoms of the ME/CFS that I have been living with for 27 years.
We’re starting extremely small, with 0.1 mg in the evening for seven days.
The doctor warned me I might have dreams. I said I love dreams. Grist for the mill of my Dream Interpretation course.
Note that I said ‘decrease’. There is no cure and I accept that. I
f I have less pain that will already be an improvement. Less fatigue would be a wonderful win. I don’t know yet what other effects I can expect. There will be journalling
I’m sitting in a green chair, different from last time I was here when I was directed to a black chair, in the waiting area of my local Centrelink branch. Gone are the days of queueing … one thing Covid was good for.
I’m here to explain the ‘flow of my finances’ and although I have nothing to hide, Centrelink’s power and layers of bureaucracy and impenetrable behaviour, I’m as nervous as everyone else sitting here waiting for their appointments. Centrelink of course likes to keep us on our toes, we think.
I have with me plastic folder of proofs in two bunches as my printer/scanner has not recovered from the move yet and refuses to shake hands with the computer. First thing this morning had to beg the village’s admin to print stuff off for me, that CL can keep. The other bunch are the paper copies CL will need to copy.
To top off the day, the good news is that my previous unit, where I broke the lease, has new tenants. Meaning, I don’t need to pay any more rent there.
And the bad news is that my hearing aids have spat the dummy. Switched themselves off. I’ve tried everything I know, to get a sign of life, but no go. All verbal communication is like talking and listening through a wad of cotton wool.
I’m outside now, finishing this off. It’s raining. I didn’t bring an umbrella, or raincoat. Probably better wait for my ride.
She has a lot of tracks you’ll be saying, and you’re not wrong. This particular track I’ve been on for only about six years and was off for over six to nine months.
This time last year I had a lot of nightmares, so much so that I thought to get some help figuring out why. First saw a dream analyst for about fourteen weeks. Fatigue reared its ugly head. The trip there and back by public transport once a week proved too wearing. I went to once a fortnight, then quit and looked for something online. (I am lucky to have so many good options.)
Found This Jungian Life podcasts and listened non-stop for a few weeks then signed up for their Dream School, Websites at end of the post. So for six months I painted my dreams and studied how to interpret them. That’s still going. The course is twelve months.
But once you’re taking notice, dreams come thick and fast and I only painted a few. Wrote the rest. The journal these days is a loose leaf folder with pages inserted when and where. And notes, because as you learn more previous dreams also suddenly get meaning.
The community committee organizes classes and groups. I joined a painting group. Two people are working in oils. Two in acrylics. The leader asked me what. I went home and fetched my watercolors gear. Painted a little scene.
Ordinary, compared to what came after, and there a few things I would’ve done different if I’d been more aware of what I was doing, and less concerned about where I was doing it. I’ve never painted in public.
Lol, there’s no planning in this landscape at all. I started at the top with the sky which worked OK. All the rest reminds me of the scenery of an early computer game, Robin Hood I seem to remember, forest in clumps suggesting paths where the merry men disappeared. A slope and a lake? River? Ice? That blotty bit in the middle? Was where I was distracted, painting in public as I said, and my brush hit the paper where it shouldn’t have, and I tried to blot off the marks.
Link to both Dream School and the This Jungian Life podcasts. This Jungian Life
What happened then … is that I inserted a blog post block on the Art Stories Page and one hundred existing blog posts from the Home Page loaded.
Aaarghhh!!!
That’s not what I meant! I wanted to write new art-related blog-posts, specific to that Page. Is it cheating to want that?
Not going to work, is it?
Is there anything wrong with the Brick Stories Page? It works. People read it. The proof is in the stats. Live and learn as they say, I should give up sooner this time. Not spend so much time beating my head against immovable objects. Just do what already works.
But I wanted an elegant, artistic solution! Talking to yourself also will not help. Delete the overloaded block, already.
… will solve my problem on the Art Stories Page. Don’t you just love the tongue-trippery features of this title? I can’t say it fast more than about twice in a row. See how you go?
But. So. Such a block will solve all my problems on the Art Stories Page. A hundred-blogs block will be inserted and away we go.
If only it was that easy. There are a few, maybe ten, aspects to then apply or not depending on how I imagine the Page will look and or work.
A good place to insert one of my favorite sayings … some people call them aphorisms (a pithy observation containing a general truth) … “We’ll see what happens.”
Not very pithy. Maybe not an aphorism. What do you think?
Now … since this is a tech post, I need a tech pic. Let me see. (She rummages around in her albums.)
Snowy on the moon. He’s just lost the sound in his space suit. How will he communicate? Definitely a tech thing.
Due to so much good art on the walls everywhere here where I am now living … such as this print by Emma NancarrowBrisbane [not dated], I’ve been wondering how I could record and share? This work hangs near the elevators.
This is it.
A Page dedicated to celebrating the paintings, prints, lino cuts, photos and experimental visual media in the public areas of this community.
Rita de Heer 