Eclectic as hell, often confused, painting and writing for fiction to make experiences believable. Writer with a book in publication soon, Etsy shop, etc.
(crossposted from I Greet the Dead)
This was the spring garden last year, warts, weeds and all. There’s even more tulips this year – which I am quite pleased about – to burst into bloom with a backdrop of rusted corrugated metal. The weird dichotomy of my garden appeals to me on a deep level – whenever I find myself paying more attention to the weeds or the rather ghetto backdrop, I remind myself to look at the flowers more often, and give thanks for their presence; besides, a lot of the weeds in my beds are actually rather beneficial, so I don’t nuke them from orbit with Roundup if I can help it (much to my neighbour’s irritation).
The past couple of months has been more or less perma-flare; this week sadly has proven no different, with my eyes flaring up so regularly I’ve given in and decided I need to get into an optometrist, stat. I’ve been struggling so much with my vision I can’t see to thread needles for my crafting work, and can’t read small print. What makes this reallyfrustrating is I know in a year or two, the problem may suddenly become different, so the glasses I will probably need to get will be useless. Inflammation just does what it likes…