I’m trying to quit smoking for the umpeenth time. I’ve tried to quit smoking seriously at least four times. Once when I was in the hospital. They have a program to help people quit smoking, but so many people smoke and it’s so stressful to be in there that it didn’t work very well. The nurses themselves admitted that it was ridiculously hard to quit smoking in the hospital.

The downfall of my last quit was Djarum Black cigarettes, which are more like smoking something out of the spice drawer than cigarettes really. I didn’t consider them seriously full of nicotine enough to worry about getting readdicted, but I was, and by the time I got into the hospital I was toting a carton of DuMaurier. Sad really. And intense, since the carton looks like an extra large package of cigarettes.

Our cigarettes all got stored under the sink in the nurses med office.

But enough about smoking in the psych ward. I had been smoke free for about 6 months or so when I went back to ciggy’s, and despite a few halfhearted attempts, have not really tried to quit until today.

I went out and bought the patch. I was on the patch in the hospital, but all those people going down to the Meewasin Valley Trail to smoke drew me back into tobacco’s cruel plegmy clutches.

Bleh. Smoking is smelly. And I’m really getting freaked out by our Canadian warnings. I mean, I have to look at rotting teeth or a bloody heart or a weird brain everytime I have a smoke. That’s no fun! I haven’t wanted to look at such things since I was a morbid teen.

They’re so dire too, because they’re all in black with white writing.

So I’m quitting, as of today. I am also going to bleach and dye my hair. I’m in a good mood.

In weird news, my mother and I, but mostly my mother, worked on fixing her stupid toilet for two days. A leak had rusted a bolt so much that eventually a hacksaw was procured to cut off the offending bolt.

I was just in the middle of complaining about the hacksaw when after 24hours of trying to get that one bolt off, the thing made a happy clink noise to the floor. Toilets are poopy!

This is a great song to feel maudlin to, God Bless Roxette!

When I was a kid I was addicted to reading books about the paranormal. And as an adult, I’ve had my fair share of paranormal events. Possibly enough to write an entire book on, to be honest. I know being a crazy person, certain one’s get written out pretty much immediately if they’re genuine hallucinations. I can tell the difference, believe it or not.

Not half an hour ago I watched my mum’s ivy plant start moving around for no reason, like something brushed against it. It spooked the shit out of me.

Once I had a roommate who had a poltergeist attached to her. One day she and I were talking and a pink lighter materialized out of nowhere and fell on the floor two feet away from us.

And then there was the infamous UFO sighting.

We saw two of them, and they were each a fair size. Green and kind of whispy, with really bright glowing orbs. That was intense. I mean really, Aliens! What else can I say? It’s insanity out here in Saskatchewan.

When I first got out of the hospital there was a poltergeist in my apartment knocking on the floor and the walls.

And then there was Preston’s house. He had a ghost that knocked on walls. One time I was taking a piss and that fucking ghost knocked on the wall behind me. I didn’t know what to do, because I just kept peeing so I couldn’t run. And chills were running up and down my spine at that thing being so close to me.

I’ve been around it so much. I want it to be over. No more freaking paranormal things to happen. But my psychic told me I was more paranormal than spiritual. Dammit! Why do I have to be crazy AND be as suseptible to spooks and extraterrestrials? Why not one or the other? Now nothing I say is credible, except that all the events described above have other eye witnesses.

I think I should try and be more spiritual. I’m not sure how to start though. Something simple.

I checked my bank account this morning to find it reduced to a piddling minus 4.95. Sad state of affairs! But then I checked it this afternoon to find it PACKED with cash! I’m so excited. Tonight I’m going out to buy myself some nice new sheets. And thus begins The Shopping.

I think this is my favorite PJ Harvey song, I was listening to this CD along the time I went manic, and it reminds me of my desperate desire to throw out a lifesaver to my flailingly crashing in flames romance.

I’ve come to an uneasy truce with my psych meds. By now I know for sure I need them, and five years after my diagnosis of bipolar I have finally been prescribed a med cocktail that works so well I can’t even do mushrooms. I can’t do mushrooms because the drugs are so powerful that I don’t feel any effects at all so I don’t trip. Pot DOES still work though, and for that I am grateful. Because I like pot.

But I’m pretty happy with my med regime now. I take morning and bedtime pills, and it has made me ridiculously stable. I find it really hard to cry though, I shouldn’t say that, now something will happen that will make me cry.

I don’t like the drugs, but they do like me, and they work. So I guess in a grumpy kind of way I feel an affection for them. They’ve pulled me out of yet another psychosis and have kept me stable as heck. I’m not even having sleep problems, like I used to have quite badly. I hate sleep problems.

Tomorrow I go back into work. Twice I’ve been asked on the phones if I’m a robot or tape recorder. We have numerical id’s we sign into the program with, and a friend suggested we answer by saying “Yes, I’m A37.” Doing survey work is not too hard, it’s kind of monotonous but I do take pride in trying to be as polite as possible to the people on the phones. Even if they’re nasty to me I generally say “Thanks for your time.” I only had one really nasty guy once, and he told me twice to go fuck myself. I should have said “I did last night, thanks for reminding me, I’ll attend to that when I get home.

I’m tired of fucking myself. No I’m not. Masturbation is the best release for tension. Did you know there’s a condition called Persistent Genital Arousal Syndrome where people masturbate all the time and there’s no release? Oh man that would suck. And I don’t think I could handle having soggy panties all the time.

When I was really crazy, the only musician who made any sense was Nina Hagen, who I almost met once when my online friend’s mother was hanging out with her in Vancouver. My friend Maureen Bradley met her and interviewed her, lucky duck.

I’ve been dreaming a lot lately that I’m back at Emily Carr in the film department, which no longer exists, now it’s the Integrated Media Department. I miss the film department. I have good memories of spending my hours in the editing suites. Editing was my favorite part of being in film school, and I had hoped to make a career out of it, but so far that hasn’t happened. It’s okay though, what I really want to be is a full time director, and this year I really get to be one.

Being crazy at Emily Carr was barely noticiable, except for the day I came in drugged up on sleeping pills and my ex, Velveeta, said I looked all loggy. Velveeta’s hilarious. I promised I would buy her some fake balls for her bicycle, and I did but I haven’t gotten it together to put them in the mail. At first she thought I meant real balls, and I was going to send her a jar of pickled testicles. I don’t know where she got that idea from.

She was the one who would sign up for twice the allotted time by going in as Maya Deren, sneaky fucker!

I’m looking forward to travelling this year, it’s very exciting.

Sometimes I really think enlightenment happens during psychosis. There’s about a week when suddenly synchronicities start happening, and you notice a pattern to chaos. But then when you try to voice the pattern, all hell breaks loose because I think Chaos doesn’t like people to notice it has a pattern. And then sometimes I think there is real power going on during insanity. One time when I was in the ward a woman who was very psychotic told me I pissed off a tree. This would sound like nonesense unless you knew I nailed something to a tree while I was crazy. And I hadn’t told anybody that. So maybe she wasn’t so crazy. But then she started saying “There’s cracks in God!” Which could be true.

I’m doing okay, and that’s a good thing. Life is working out for me right now.

I’m really coming out of my depression now, and it’s nice. I’ve got one week left of work then I get to be a full time artist for the rest of 2008! I’m so stoked. I’m going to be getting a new Camera, and that’s exciting too. Right now I’m planning on getting the 24p HDV from Sony, with XLR inputs and everything! My first real camera. I hope to make tons of videos with it.

On the lady front not much is happening. I did make a tremendous discovery that lesbians tend to hang out at Lydia’s on Wednesdays and sometimes Tuesdays, and I was cruising a cute blonde there last week. I think I’m finally ready to be in a relationship, so I’m enjoying cruising the cuties. I really want something serious to happen finally.

In a month I’m turning 30. This is a huge step for me, because when I was a teenager I was sure I would commit suicide before turning 30. My 20’s were okay, but learning to live with a disability like manic depression kicked the shit out of some of my fun.

I’m seriously considering Burning Man this year, but I’m not sure I’ll have the cash to go. I really really want to though, because I’ve never been.

I’m getting some new piercings soon. I’m going to pierce my lip and get my hood repierced. I’m excited about that. I always liked my hood piercing, it was a very pleasureable part of my life, except for when it would twist itself in my pants and leave me screaming to the bathroom.

I’ve realized I have to renew my committment to blogging. I haven’t been a very good blogger this year, mostly because I was in recovery for much of 2007. God, except for one sexy thing that happened, 2007 was a bad year for me. Manic episodes pretty much write off a year of your life. Bleh!

My cousin had a manic episode this past month and ended up in the hospital. She’s doing loads better though, and I’m proud of her for accepting her diagnosis and working on it. It’s hard to accept being bipolar because it automatically means your life is kinda up in the air all the time.

As for me, the meds are working even better than before my episode. My psychiatrist is great, my psych nurse is great, and I feel like my old self again. I feel like I can have ambition again, and that is sexy.

I’ve always been very ambitious, even as a child. Now I have a fully written screenplay under my belt and am working on a half hour documentary. I’ve been talking to people about my new project and it’s given me some great ideas. I’m thinking of applying to the NFB for funds to travel to Asia and see where the Crees come from. Grampa thinks we did migrate over the Bering Strait because there is a myth about a man following two women over the ice. So I’m going to get him to tell me that story on camera.

I still miss my last girlfriend, she was pretty special. I don’t know what else to say. A manic episode stepped into the way of what was a very sexy special relationship. When I went manic I bought her an engagement ring, we took it back (they were very nice) and got all my money back, then because I was still manic I took that money and bought a keyboard, which is currently laying beside me unplayed, I am selling it off. I should have bought a guitar. Actually I should have paid my rent, but tell that to a manic person.

It was a nice ring too, it had three diamonds and was white gold. It was awesome. I wish I had a diamond ring, but I’d only want one if I was married. And I want to be married. I’m a marrying kind of girl. I can’t even imagine being with someone if there wasn’t marriage in the cards. Apparently bipolar people tend to marry other bipolar people, but that sounds like double the trouble!

When I first decided to get a dog, it was because rats died too soon. They only have a three year lifespan, and I was pretty tired of having a broken heart because another rat died. So after much consideration, I decided I was getting a weiner dog. They were funny looking, small, and semi butchy, so I thought it was a good fit. I don’t know why I think weiner dogs are butch. They’re not frou frou generally anyway.

Then I started doing research on psychiatric service dogs. They were amazing! I wanted one.

So I got Mister from a breeder up in Prince Albert. She bred shorthairs mostly, but because of a recessive gene Mister cropped up, all long haired and gooney looking. No, I mean, he is handsome, but on his bad hair days he does resemble a mop.

We had trouble with him right from the start. At a maximum number of people in the house he goes and hides under the couch. He’s always been shy, like me. He’s kind of standoffish until you get to know him. And he’s only REALLY obediant if you have some kind of treat in your hand.

But he is very cute.

I haven’t lived in the same house with him since I moved out of Mom’s the Third Time.
I don’t think he’ll ever be a psychiatric service dog, but an emotional support animal, possibly. He’s pretty entertaining. I’ve never met such a comical dog. He’s also very loyal, which is nice. He’s nearly always at my side when we’re together. Or behind my back, like right now.

Mister Mop. He gets shaved in the summer and that’s when he looks really smart.

I’ll never regret getting him. But I’ll be glad if we can get into co-op housing so I can live with my animals again. I’ve missed having animal energy around my living space.

I don’t know if I already mentioned this, but I’ll be going to Scotland as part of my grant. I’ve had a look in a few guidebooks and tonight I purchased Lonely Planet’s Scotland. So I am planning what to do for the two weeks I’ll be there. At some point I have to get to Wick, a small town of 7000 far up North. We have relatives way up there, I don’t know what else there is up there besides the ruins of a castle. I’ve never seen a castle before.

My mom is coming with me, if she can scrounge up enough money to come. I think it would be fun to visit Scotland with her. And for a first time trip abroad it would be good for her because they speak English. With a heavy accent, but she’s watched BBC.

I’m excited about visiting the homes of my ancestors and I’m more than a little curious if I’ll feel a sense of homecoming.

Tonight I went to my interview for Co-Op Housing, I think it went really well. I pay $800 up front which gets refunded when I move out, I can have a dog and a cat, as long as the dog is little and Mister definitely fits the bill. I have to volunteer three hours a month and attend the general meetings and the spring/fall clean up day and BBQ. The suites look nice too. So hopefully soon I will find out how I did and if I get in sooner or later.