Whiny Wombat

"They can do what they want, they're ghosts."

They can do what they want with matter because they're no longer made of it, only now they're made of whatever was here before matter. And they nearly died and became whatever ghosts become when they die.

There's not an "other side", there's fractals.

There's a buncha fat people in this.

I've always suspected that the term "afterlife" gets it backwards, because it presumes that "life" is both what matters and what is real.

What if it worked the other way? What if it only gets more real as the material shackles are steadily removed?

What if the afterlife has an afterlife?

I love Beetlejuice's depiction of the afterlife.

It's not another place or a higher plane. It's a vaguer layer of this world where the laws of time and space are not quite as crystalized. Souls need a bureaucracy because there's no god there either.

Why wouldn't it be like that?

I wonder about commissioning a big Christmas collab illustration.

I promise it wouldn't all be about me (but it would mostly be about me)

Both of those artists seem to have been going through unspecified hard times so I don't hold anything against them.

The third one does engage in some sketchy behavior, or at least accepts FAR more commissions than they seem capable of handling. I should have checked their trello first.

The artist for one of the "moribund" commissions has promised a refund.

The other one was more a donation than a purchase, so I'll just cross it off the list.

However my new oldest commission is from November 2024 and has never had an update so the moribund count will tick back up fairly soon...

I've never done it before, but I'm attempting to claw back my two "moribund" commissions. I'll reassign the characters and prompts to artists I trust.

(It may be you.)

(They're both Sully.)

I'm completely frazzled and it's entirely because I frazzled myself. Down in Frazzle Rock.

In the irritability phase. Radio silence because I have a strong urge to hurt whatever's in arm's reach.

No you're not, I am.

Anyway I might die on the commute home.

My doctor prescribed these death pills because Ritalin can provoke manic episodes in people with bipolar disorder.

Here's the thing: I'm pretty fucking sure I have ADHD, not bipolar disorder. He never even evaluated me, he just accepted a diagnosis of bipolar because I told him that's what I have.

They won't forget. It eats them up inside that you know what they did.

Not because they feel ashamed of how they acted, but because you saw them act like that, and to them, that gives you a moral button to push. They're hoping you didn't really notice their vulnerable underbelly.

I forgot this is my vent account, not General Observations

I suppose it did get rid of the thoughts.

Last night I took the pill that makes me plummet asleep and my brain to turn off. It's supposed to have something like the opposite effect. That's mildly frustrating, but an off label use is an off label use.

Problem is the effects last >24 hours.

Ah, wait a minute, there's your problem. I think Vistaril is an elf from the Lord of the Rings. And their singing goes on for, like, eight pages.

And it is often true that if you're experiencing severe acute difficulties, targeting the near-term hurdle can go a long way. Simply fixing sleep (I know, I should talk) can be the gateway that starts turning things around.

Counseling is something you need to approach carefully anyway. There are some shit therapists out there.

When I was undergoing severe anxiety about two years ago, low dose quetiapine really helped. It wasn't a long term fix (I quickly built up a tolerance) but it got me through a rough patch.

What I've found sometimes helps is pure white noise. If it has voices in it I'll focus on the voices, music and I'll focus on the music. If it's familiar I'll just be following along.

Namaste

I need to get something to eat too.

Better than putting some paychecks on because middle daddy's almost got pants and you're going out to a night station to buy baby gas in the filth of the shit.

It's tough to explain that I'm not *troubled* by anything. I just can't make the upstairs stay still.

When something's really going wrong, things become almost pleasantly linear.

I hope I can sleep tonight. Today was rough.

It wasn't anxiety last night. Very often I just cannot let my mind rest - it has to jump to *something*. I still think I have ADHD.

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[Ferrets everywhere. Emmet lifts up a donut.]

"This is my body."