Category: Depression

Posted in Baking, Brady, Depression, Pain, Peripheral neuropathy, Photography
Posted on by debthumanblog

I’ve used up all my spoons, and It’s only 11:30 AM

Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap. 

The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house. 

My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks. 

I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring. 

I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent. 

Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap. 

The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house. 

My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks. 

I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring. 

I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent. 

Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap. 

The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house. 

My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks. 

I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring. 

I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent. 

Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap. 

The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house. 

My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks. 

I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring. 

I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent. 

Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap. 

The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house. 

My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks. 

I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring. 

I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent. 

Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap. 

The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house. 

My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks. 

I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring. 

I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent. 

Jim is making dog treats from a recipe I found. Oat flour (or ground up oatmeal – which is what oat flour is), banana and peanut butter. They’re baking at the moment. Brady adores peanut butter.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower store is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Posted in bipolar disorder, Brady, Depression, Emotions, Jewelry, Peripheral neuropathy, Photography

Shattered Pieces of My Brain

Posted on by debthumanblog

I intended to shoot several necklaces so I could list the necklaces in my store, Deb Thuman Art http://www.DebThumanArt.com. I shot just one necklace before my lower back started to hurt. I’m getting better, but I’m still having to push a walker to get around. Yesterday, I intended to do some cleaning in the sewing room so I’d have a larger space in which to work. I picked up something that was too heavy and I hurt my lower back. Having a neuropathy flare up rounds out the physical miseries. 

I can’t photograph yucca blooms because I can’t push a walker uphill through sand. I can’t sew because I can’t remove the clutter from the room. I can’t walk Brady because I can’t walk far without my walker. Brady doesn’t understand why she can’t run and play if I’m holding her leash. 

Brady is going through a growth spurt. Suddenly, her legs are too long for her body. She’s also faster than the speeding shutter. 

My brain is dark. After my only ketamine treatment, my brain felt full and bright. Now, two and a half months later, my brain is dark again. So. Do I ask for another ketamine treatment? Do I ask to be a participant in a clinical trial for LSD or MDMA? Or do I just go forward and hope for the best? I don’t remember what happy feels like. I’ve been depressed for more than 60 years. Which is depressing. I’m not suicidal. I’m not happy. Right now, I feel like my life is all broken pieces. Pick up a piece, have pain, drop a piece. 

I’ve got 42 new fabric designs in my Spoonflower shop. https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Spoonflower had a sale, I had Spoon Dollars – commission on fabric designs that have been sold – and I needed underwear. Soon, five 1-yard pieces of fabric I designed will arrive at my door. Yes, I will post photos of the finished underwear. No, I will not be modeling the underwear. You’re welcome.

I’m linking with Nina Marie http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

Posted in anxiety, Depression, Fiber, Photography, Psych meds, Quilts

Journey To The Center of Deb’s Brain or Welcome to my Hippocampus and Amygdala

Posted on by debthumanblog

​On March 13, 2020, I got an email telling me the university would shut down at noon. Noon was when my geology lab ended. A few days later, the state shut down. 

​As difficult as this pandemic has been for mentally healthy people, it has been far worse for people who have a mental illness. Pre pandemic, approximately 20% of the adult population of the United States had a diagnosed mental illness (National Institute of Mental Health). Two months into the pandemic, nearly half of Americans report their mental health is deteriorating (Washington Post, May 4, 2020).

I am bipolar. 

Before the pandemic, I was well medicated and about as stable as I could manage to be. Each morning, I traded a portion of my brain for the incomplete promise of getting through the day without screaming. 

Once the state shut down, my mental health immediately deteriorated and continues to deteriorate. 

I don’t mind describing what happens in my brain, but you need to understand that there are no metaphors here. Here is reality as I perceive it.

I’ve had chronic insomnia since last March. I average 4-5 hours sleep a night. Every couple months, I crash and sleep for 8 hours. I have a prescription for sleeping pills, but I don’t like taking them. I get so little sleep that I’m groggy when I wake up if I take a sleeping pill. I want to go to sleep early, but I don’t get tired. Then I get anxious because I’m not getting tired. Then I don’t get tired, and the cycle repeats itself at least until 3 AM. 

Before this past November, I had been on the lowest dose of klonopin since August 2007. I took klonopin when I needed it, and didn’t bother when I didn’t need it. In November, I asked my doctor to raise the dose. My current dose is twice what I had been taking. Sometimes, klonopin helps. Frequently, it doesn’t help enough. I have music that’s supposed to trigger specific brain waves. I’ve no idea if any brain waves are triggered, but the music does help me calm down when the anxiety is severe enough that I can’t calm down otherwise. 

My temple has services via zoom. While I appreciate that, there’s no real interaction with others. The High Holy Days services were unsatisfying. I was alone. The rabbi was alone. Everyone who attended the services was alone. I’ll skip the Passover Seder via zoom. 

My human contact is with my husband and in classes via zoom. I appreciate classes via zoom, but I miss being with other students. I’m nearly 50 years older than traditional students, so there isn’t much to talk about. I miss those tiny conversations. One way for me to combat anxiety is to bake. Baking is fun when I can bring cookies or other goodies to class. I miss the cookie experiments and seeing other students enjoy my baking. 

Frequently, I don’t understand what I’m feeling until the feelings come out of my hand. I’m a multi-media artist. Quilts and clay are how my feelings are expressed. Frequently, my emotional art is dark. It’s art no one in her/his right mind (as opposed to left mind) would want to own. It’s art I have to make the same as I have to breathe. 

It isn’t easy to have a mental illness. Mental illness hurts, and it hurts worse than any physical illness I’ve had. 

​When I made this quilt, I was thinking about a man I knew who killed himself and how he is gone from my life forever. When I look at the quilt now, I think about my loss of contact with others. Zoom is better than nothing, but it’s not a substitute for human contact. 

Isolation. 

I try to climb out of the box, but I’m not successful and there’s nothing outside of the box, so there’s no reason for climbing out of the box. I still try. I still fail. I’m still isolated. 

Because of my age, I’m high risk. My risky behavior consists of: standing in line for more than an hour in order to vote, grocery shopping once, eating in a restaurant with friends and discovering a few days later that one friend and her husband had Covid-19 although both were asymptomatic when we met for lunch. I’ve had my hair cut twice by a hairdresser. Now, I cut my bangs and my husband cuts the hair in back so it’s not hanging down my neck. Now, my excursions consist of doctor visits and going to Starbucks, buying a drink, and immediately leaving the store. Although I want to eat in a restaurant, it’s too dangerous so I eat at home. I want to have a hairdresser cut my hair, but it’s too dangerous. I want to go to Barnes & Nobel, but it’s too dangerous.

Leap by leap, I became more depressed. At first, adding an extra half pill of my antidepressant when necessary was enough to get me out of a depressive episode. My doctor knows I tinker with my dose. She also knows why I won’t agree to a permanent increase in dosage. 

Most of the time, art heals. Maybe making art is helping me, but I can’t know for sure. I think it would be dangerous if I stopped making art now. I’d have no way to express what’s inside of me. There’s no one to talk to, so I speak in fabric. 

I worked on art because maybe it helps. I worked on art because I had to – the same as I have to breathe and eat. I do photography. I edit the photos and manipulate them. I make quilts. I am still depressed.

This is the Buffalo Psychiatric Center. It once contained the best treatment of mental illness. It eventually contained the worst treatment of mental health. Now it contains a defunct hotel and dust bunnies. I could have been a prisoner there. 

Sometimes, I manage to make pretty art. I thought if I worked on some pretty art, I would feel better. This is a manipulated photo that I had printed on fabric and then quilted the fabric.  

When I figure out how I want to bind the edges, I’ll finish the quilt. 

I tried working on another manipulated photo that I had printed on fabric. 

I need to finish quilting this one. It’s a manipulated photo from a happy day. A day when we could go to Bosque del Apache and I could photograph sandhill cranes. 

Making quilts helped, but not enough. 

I photographed whatever looked interesting in my yard.

Photography helped, but not enough. 

I still got depressed. I still had to take an extra half pill of my antidepressant sometimes. That helped, but not enough. 

This is what depression feels like. I think that maybe the depression is finite, but I can’t find my way out of the dark space. 

The depression worsened until I had a mental health crisis. I had a massive, major, all-encompassing depressive episode. I couldn’t stop crying. Oddly, I wasn’t suicidal.

I considered going to Memorial Medical Center, the only hospital in this area with a psychiatric ward. I’m a criminal defense attorney. So many of my clients have mental illnesses. My clients tell me stories of how they were mistreated in hospitals. Similar stories from a multitude of clients about mental hell facilities across the state. Forced medication. Barring visits from family members. Being drugged into oblivion because that made it easier to control the patients. People obviously needing help, but were considered too unpredictable so they were dumped out of a facility. All of it illegal. All of it happening every day.

I was desperate to the point where I was willing to enter the mental hell system. 

I discarded the idea of inpatient treatment when I discovered what my insurance, Presbyterian, and Medicare won’t cover. Presbyterian requires prior authorization for inpatient treatment and inpatient treatment must be approached via the emergency room. Apparently, I need to know about six weeks in advance when I’m going to have a mental health crisis.Otherwise, my insurance covers nothing. Because of the pandemic and because I wasn’t suicidal, I doubted I would have been admitted to the psychiatric ward. Even if I were admitted, I wouldn’t be there long. I’m an attorney. You’ve heard of a jailhouse lawyer? I would have been a psych ward lawyer. 

Because I couldn’t go to the hospital, I increased the dose of my antidepressant to two pills. That worked. Sort of. After three days, I turned into a zombie. The Zombie Apocalypse is over rated. I tried to find a schedule that would allow me to stop crying but not turn me into a zombie. I took two antidepressants on one day, and then two days with my usual dose, then back to two antidepressants. Repeat until oblivion. I wasn’t a zombie, I was more or less functioning, and I was still severely depressed. Rather than a more or less steady state of mood, I had wild mood swings between all-encompassing depression where I could minimally function and severedepression. 

I was in such a deep mental health crisis that I considered electric shock treatment even though I know better than to agree to electric shock treatment. Electric shock is barbaric. The victim is given a sedative so the psychiatrist doesn’t have to hear the victim screaming in pain while the psychiatrist fries the victim’s brain. The victim is given a muscle relaxant so the psychiatrist doesn’t have to watch the victim have a grand mal seizure. The theory is the brain frying must continue until the victim has a seizure for electric shock treatment to be fruitful.Electric shock causes memory loss. Sometimes, the memory loss is permanent. I know of one victim who forgot he was married. I have an Advance Psychiatric Directive. One paragraph states I absolutely do not agree to electric shock treatment. 

I watched  One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. I almost felt better. 

I considered and researched transcranial magnetic stimulation. It’s effective for depression and migraine relief. Because it can also cause worsening of symptoms for people who are bipolar, I rejected that idea. 

I considered ketamine infusion. In desperation, I made an appointment to discuss ketamine. I also did research on ketamine infusion. Ketamine blocks the NMDA receptors which, in theory, should reduce brain activity. In real life, ketamine does block NMDA receptors, but it also causes new neural connections to form and increases glutamate. Ketamine is a hallucinogenic and highly addictive. I was warned that the hallucinations might not be pleasant.I’ve had hallucinations during withdrawal from an antidepressant. I learned that if I let myself look at the hallucinations, and recognize the hallucinations weren’t reality, the hallucinationswere enjoyable. Until I kept trying to kill an imaginary spider that was crawling up the bathroom wall. That wasn’t enjoyable. 

I agreed to try ketamine. 

I watched Easy Rider.

During the infusion I had hallucinations. I saw colors and shapes although the colors and shapes had nothing to do with one another. I heard sounds that no one else could hear. I watched a long, stringy, multi-colored blob come down from the ceiling then recede and melt into the ceiling. I felt that I was turning my head left and right although my husband, who stayed in the room with me, told me I didn’t move my head. When I thought I was looking to my right, the colors were brighter. When I thought I was looking to my left, the colors were darker. The hallucinations were neither pleasant nor unpleasant. They were just interesting. I kept waiting to see purple because when I see purple, I know that healing is happening. I waited to see the brilliant, golden white that I interpret as the presence of the divine. I saw fleeting bits of purple. I didn’t see the brilliant, golden white.

After the infusion, my brain felt full and I could feel something that was almost a buzzing sensation in my brain. I felt almost happy. I also felt a craving for more ketamine. I’ve been through withdrawal from psych meds several times. I’ve had to do a step down to get off some antidepressants. That involved cutting pills into halves or quarters and relieved most of the withdrawal. I had never before experienced a craving. Ketamine works, but it terrifies me. 

That’s about how my brain felt. I haven’t had a chance to have this printed on fabric. If I can figure out how to quilt it, I’ll have it printed on fabric. I’m thinking quilting with holographic thread might show what I felt. 

The customary protocol for ketamine infusion is two infusions per week for three weeks. I know I cannot tolerate ketamine that often. My brain would explode. 

A week after the infusion, the depression is still almost gone, although I can feel the effects of ketamine dissipating. I fear the return of the massive, all consuming depression. I’m considering having an infusion once every two to three weeks. 

Right now, people know what it’s like to be depressed. People know what it’s like to have anxiety. People know what isolation feels like. Right now, it’s okay to be depressed, anxious and isolated. Eventually, life will return to what it was before. People will go back to being normal. I will still be bipolar. There will again be people who think they are better than me for no reason other than unlike me, they don’t have a DSM-5 label. 

I will remain screaming in silence. My screams cause the air to vibrate, but the vibrations never reach ears.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

My online store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

Posted in anxiety, bipolar disorder, Depression, Fiber, Photography

Wind, Ketamine, and Quilts

Posted on by debthumanblog

March 13, 2021. Exactly one year ago today, I got an email telling me the university would shut down at noon. My geology lab conveniently ended at noon. Four days later, New Mexico shut down. Since then, I’ve had chronic insomnia, extreme anxiety, depression so bad I couldn’t stop crying, and I’ve gained weight. I got my first covid vaccine shot on March 7, and the second shot will be March 28. I miss eating a meal in a restaurant, but it’s too dangerous to do so. There’s outdoor dining, but that’s also dangerous. It’s spring, and we’re having WIND. The kind of WIND that picks up dust, sand, pollen, small children left unattended, and blows them around and causes an allergic reaction in my nose. Today, the high temperature will be 52 degrees. Not picnic weather. 

Being in the midst of a massive, severe depressive episode and being desperate, I had a ketamine infusion. It was interesting. After a half liter of saline mixed with ketamine finished dripping into my hand, my brain felt full. It felt like a lot was going on in my brain. I felt almost happy. Four days later, I still feel the effects, but I also feel myself sliding back into severe anxiety and depression. The customary protocol is two ketamine sessions a week for three weeks. There’s no way I could have ketamine that often. My brain might explode. I’m considering having an infusion every couple weeks until I finish six infusions. 

I’ve tried again to take decent photos of the socks I’ve made. I’m getting closer, but still not completely happy with my shots. 

I like the composition of this one, but I didn’t pay enough attention to where the edges of the felt were. I couldn’t crop out all the cardboard without cutting off part of the socks.

Finally, there are signs of life in my yard. The buds on the claret cup cactus should open in a few days. 

The buds on the claret cup cactus should start opening within the next week.

I finally figured out how to do free motion quilting without the thread breaking. I used the FMQ foot that came with my machine, Pfaff Quilt Expressions 4.2. Thread broke. I change to a 90/14 topstitch needle which Superior Thread recommends to use with King Tut thread. Thread broke. I cleaned the machine. I rethreaded the machine. I tried a Superior Thread titanium coated 90/14 needle. Thread broke. Having run out of ideas, I tried the spring loaded FMQ foot that’s made by Pfaff, but didn’t come with my machine. Finally, no thread breaking! It shouldn’t have been that hard to find a solution.

I need to come up with something spectacular for an assignment in my neurobiology class. I’ve decided to quilt my mental health as it deteriorated in the past year. 

Isolation. I finished the quilting and the basting stitches have been removed. I had problems with the binding and needed to rip out part of the stitching. Except I can no longer see that well up close. I plan on cutting off the binding and putting different binding on the quilt.

Depression. This one gets quilted after I finish the quilting on the crane quilt.

I had something different in mind when I made this quilt, but now I think it works for the isolation I’ve felt.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower store is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Posted in bipolar disorder, Depression, Fiber, Knitting, Photography, Quilts

Climbing Up Into The Light

Posted on by debthumanblog

I started the free motion quilting on a quilt last week. I had all sorts of problems with the thread breaking. I cleaned the machine, which I do every time I sew. I rethreaded the machine. I adjusted the tension. I’m using King Tut thread and I was told that thread is a touch thicker than regular thread and I need to use a topstitch needle with it. I’m using a Klasse 90/14 topstitch needle which is what Superior Threads recommends on their website for quilting with King Tut thread. I watched a video from Pfaff about free motion quilting on the Quilt Expressions 4.2. I searched the manual for any hints. The tension is adjusted properly. I’ve got the machine set for the free motion quilt foot. I’m using a Pfaff foot. I’ve unthreaded the machine, cleaned the machine, put a new needle in the machine, rethreaded. That’s supposed to solve almost all problems and if it doesn’t solve the problem, it won’t make the problem worse. I switched to a regular foot, regular straight stitch, and gave that a test run on the quilt. Works fine, no problems. I give up. I’ve written to Superior Threads and asked what I’m doing wrong.

This is a manipulated photo of a sandhill crane on one of my trips to Bosque del Apache. I had Spoonflower print the photo on cotton. Maybe I’ll play with different quilting in different parts of the sky. I’m not about to rip out all that free motion quilting. I don’t see well enough to be able to do that. I meet with an ophthalmologist to discuss cataract surgery later this month.

I sold one of my designs in Spoonflower. This was the first time anyone had one of my designs printed on wallpaper. My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

I’ve been working on knitting tube socks using some interesting variegated yarn. Once I figure out how to take decent shots of the socks, I’ll put them in my store, Deb Thuman Art, http://www.DebThumanArt.com I chose tube socks because I don’t need to know how long the customer’s foot is which is what I’d need to know if I were putting heels in these socks. With hand-knit socks, the part that wears out first is the heel.

With other variegated yarns, the color changes are more frequent. This is Lion Mandala yarn and the color changes are far less frequent. I’m assuming I’m not the only person who loves funky socks. And if I am, because they are tube socks, they will fit my feet and I’ll happily wear out 11 pairs of tube socks.

I’m still having problems with depression. I can take a double dose of antidepressant and be fine for a day, but the next day I have to drop back down to my regular dose or I’ll be walking into walls. I have my first ketamine infusion on Tuesday. If it does nothing for my depression, at least I’ll have been able to enjoy the hallucinations. I grew up in the ’60s and never did drugs. Not even pot. Now, I have a medical marijuana card, THC infused chocolate in the refrigerator, and I’m about to embark of a magical mystery tour. I never thought my life would be like this. Becoming a geriatric pothead and taking hallucination-inducing drugs wasn’t on my list of life goals.

March 5 was the nine-year anniversary of finally having an accurate diagnosis – bipolar disorder. I knew from representing clients charged with assorted crimes that I would have considerable misery unless I accepted my diagnosis. Which I did. Right after I stopped crying. Suddenly, my life made sense. Finally, there was an explanation for why antidepressants alone were not solving the problem. I’m on an antidepressant and a mood stabilizer. I discovered I’m a nice person. I discovered I can be happy. It only took 35 years to get an accurate diagnosis and two psychiatrists missed my diagnosis. It’s not as if bipolar disorder were difficult to spot. My experience with psychiatrists is that they don’t listen. Instead, they grab a prescription pad and proceed to overmedicate me. That’s why I refuse to see a psychiatrist.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

Posted in anxiety, bipolar disorder, Depression, Fiber, Photography

Still In Crisis

Posted on by debthumanblog

I had a massive depressive episode on 2/19/21. I had to go up on my med dosages in order to be able to stop crying. After three days, I had to return to my usual dosages because I was becoming a zombie. That led to another massive depressive episode on Thursday. After making sure Jim could drive me to my appointments on Friday, I went back up on the dosages. Friday morning, I had to force myself to take my meds. I knew I was over medicated, but I thought if I didn’t continue on the higher dosage, I wouldn’t be able to stop crying. I was incapable of driving. I couldn’t understand the instructions for filling out the forms for sending something certified mail, return receipt requested. I tried to read about the latest upgrade to Affinity Photo, but I couldn’t understand anything that I read. My brain did not work. Frustrating and terrifying.

On Friday, I met with the anesthesiologist at a local pain clinic that uses ketamine. I can’t live like a zombie. I need my brain. I can’t function if I can’t stop crying. I went back to my usual dosages today. My appointment for using ketamine is in two weeks. I may have to spend the next two weeks crying. Already, and it has been less than 12 hours, I’m irritable and unable to control myself.

I wanted to try working on a quilt today. The theory was I’d feel better if I made some art. Except I couldn’t. I was measuring different widths for a border. I think I found a width that works, but I don’t trust myself to be able to cut strips the right length and width. So much for working on a quilt.

I tried to do a little photography thinking that would cheer me up. It probably would have if Affinity weren’t the absolute worst photo editing program. Turns out a whole lot of people are having the problem I’m having with this latest upgrade – I can’t save a photo to the desktop or anywhere else and I can’t export a photo to the desktop or anywhere else. I sent an email to “customer service” but I don’t expect an answer back from them in less than a month. I tried looking for YouTube videos to explain how to save and export in the latest version. No luck. The Affinity videos are confusing and overly complicated. Just tell me how I can export the photos to my desktop like I’ve been doing for the last several years. There are lots of questions about this lack of ability to export or save on the forum, but no answers. Any company that offers real customer service, with people whose native language is English, who don’t try to hide the fact that I’m calling someplace in India, is going to be wildly successful and profitable. Apparently customer service is now on part with quality control. Not much of either.

I tried doing a bit of experimenting with deliberate motion.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower shop with all my fabric designs is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Posted in Depression, Fiber, Photography

Depression. Cataracts. Quilts. Photography

Posted on by debthumanblog

I have cataracts and need the surgery. I can’t see close up. I’m having problems with distance. I can’t do much sewing. And I’m high risk. I’m extremely nearsighted – can’t see the E on the top of the eye chart. I also have issues with the retina in my right eye. I was told several years back that if I have cataract surgery, I have a 25% chance of the retina in my right eye detaching. And so the last couple days, I was severely depressed. I tried art therapy and went outside to do some photography. Except this time of year, the desert is brown and dead. 

These are new leaves on a Mexican bird of paradise bush.

I’m not sure if I like this shot. I had to remove a few offending twigs, and I can see where they used to be.

Fuzzy Wuzzy was a seed pod.

Today, I discovered I can sew if I wear my computer glasses. At least I could finish the quilting on this one. I haven’t decided if I want landscape or portrait orientation. I also haven’t decided how much of the white border to keep. I don’t want binding to cover any of the quilting. This is a photo I took, manipulated, and has Spoonflower print. Because I wanted to turn this photo into a quilt, the design isn’t in my Spoonflower shop. Plenty of other designs are there, though. You will find them here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

I didn’t notice that shadow until I started editing the photos.

I’m making progress on the depression quilt. I’ve figured out the fabric combination. Now, I need to figure out how wide a border I want.

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

Posted in bipolar disorder, Depression, Fiber

Looking For Center And I Can’t See

Posted on by debthumanblog

I’ve known for years that I have cataracts. At my age, everyone has cataracts. I’ve also known for years that because edged of the retina in my right eye being glued down with a laser twice, I’m at a high risk for having that retina completely detach. Because I’m severely nearsighted, I can’t see the E on the top of the eye chart, cataract surgery is high risk for something going wrong surgery.  For years, my eye doctor has been tweaking my prescription so I could put off cataract surgery for as long as possible. I get to see well for a few months, than my vision gradually gets worse until after six months I can’t read street name signs and it’s harder to see close up. Naturally, my vision insurance will only pay for one eye exam a year, one pair of lenses a year, and a pair off cheap frames every other year. 

This week, I discovered I can no longer see close up for more than about 20 minutes. After that, whatever I’m looking at is a blur and everything I look at will be a blur for about a half hour. I’m having difficulty reading. E-mail. My text book. Anything where I can’t get the text size increased significantly. After much mis-information from my HMO, I had Jim call. For some reason, he gets accurate answers. I have an appointment with an ophthalmologist next month. Maybe there’s a way I can have the surgery I need without going blind. 

I had said I wasn’t going to have cataract surgery until I needed a dog. Last week, I sent in an application and deposit on a future Labradoodle puppy. The breeder thinks that she’ll have a litter ready for permanent homes in the fall. First, the doodle dog gets puppy training. Don’t pee on the rug. Don’t eat the furniture. The cats are not chew toys. And later, the doodle dog gets trained to be a psychiatric service dog for me. 

I can only sew for brief periods of time. I’m working on some echo quilting, and I had to stop. I know I’m not going to remember the settings on the sewing machine. So I used my phone to take a photo of the settings.

I’ve been battling depression lately, and I decided that if I can’t see to quilt, I can see to pick out fabric. Nothing really jumped out as the perfect combination, so I laid the possibilities on my sewing table yesterday. In another day or so, I’ll look at the selections again. Maybe one of the choices will be right.  

As for the depression, I’m above suicidal but well below center. I’ve had my psych meds tweaked and tweaked and tweaked. The ideal is to have a high enough dose that I stay stable, and a low enough dose to keep from being a zombie. I’m not screaming and I’m not suicidal, but I’d like to have more stability than that. 

Posted in bipolar disorder, Depression, Emotions, Suicide

Open The Door, Shut Your Mouth, and Listen

Posted on by debthumanblog

What I’d like to say: Listen you stupid motherfucker…… except that wouldn’t be productive. I offered to do a talk about suicide complete with a power point of my quilts about suicide. I got a return email saying that given the situation with covid, talking about suicide wouldn’t be a good idea but are there other quilts I’d like to talk about.

No, asshole – it would be a wonderful idea. New Mexico has the highest suicide rate in the country and part of the reason for that is no one wants to talk about suicide. Then they all crap their pants and wonder what went wrong when they have to bury a loved one who just blew his brains out. Someone I knew would likely be alive today if people had talked about suicide. If people admitted depression isn’t a moral failure. If people admitted asking for help isn’t indicative of weakness. It’s been two years since his suicide, and I’m still torn apart inside.

My quilts have been pretty dark the last three years. They have been about suicide, mass shooting, and isolation. Art is how I understand my dark emotions. None of my quilts are cheery topics. Life isn’t always cheery and anyone who expects life to be cheery is going to be disappointed. I rarely make pretty quilts. You want pretty? Go to Walmart. Lots of unoffensive, unthought provoking, sofa matching art there.

It isn’t easy being mentally ill. It’s even harder when people refuse to listen. But what do I know? I’m just the crazy woman and I need to be treated like a two-year-old. If I were smart, I wouldn’t be bipolar. Maybe the proper response really is: Listen you stupid motherfucker….

Posted in anxiety, bipolar disorder, Depression, Emotions, Fiber, Psych meds, Quilts

Muted Colors

Posted on by debthumanblog

This week wasn’t easy for anyone watching news out of Washington DC. It’s less easy for someone with bipolar disorder. 

On Tuesday, I was severely depressed. I know why, but it’s not something I’m comfortable writing about. I took an extra antidepressant. My doctor knows I do this when the depression gets severe and I get close to being suicidal. 

On Wednesday, I made the mistake of watching some of the news about a mob storming the Capitol Building. Seeing the horror triggered severe mania and severe anxiety. Working on a quilt helped a bit. I considered taking an extra mood stabilizer but wasn’t sure if that would help. 

On Thursday, I was severely depressed after being rejected by a someone who breeds labradoodles. The breeder refuses to sell a puppy to someone who has never had a puppy. That’s like saying you can’t eat green beans because you’ve never eaten green beans. The plan was, work with a trainer on puppy training – don’t pee on the rug, don’t eat the furniture, the cats aren’t chew toys, how to walk on a leash – and when the dog is 18-24 months old, work with the trainer to train the dog to be a psychiatric service dog for me. I have adult cats and they’re not going to accept an adult dog. I think it would be far easier for them to accept a puppy – especially after learning the puppy won’t eat cat food. 

Today, I feel….kind of neutral. I don’t feel at center, but I also don’t feel manic or depressed. More like feeling subdued or like being a muted color. I don’t feel energy flows although I know energy flows exist. I see energy flows as colors. Today, muted colors. 

Rapid cycling is defined as four or more episodes within a year. I had three major episodes in three days. Maybe my energy is a muted color because I’ve had the emotional equivalent of running a three-day marathon.

I’m at another stopping point with the isolation quilt. I figured out I wanted to do wavy lines that echoed one another. Now, I’m left with bits of unquilted space. I was going to do meandering free motion quilting, but I forgot how to attach that foot to my machine. When frustration, mania, and anxiety reach terminal velocity, it’s time for me to take a break and do something else. I’m considering leaving the empty spaces empty. 

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower shop is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

Posted in Depression, Emotions

Why I Hate Christmas

Posted on by debthumanblog

Used to be, I’d go into a major depression about the second week of November and it would last until New Year’s Day. Nightmares. Malaise. Dread. The hell that was Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

I hate Christmas. 

I grew up in a violent, drunken household run by a violent, narcissistic drunk who hated me and her violent drunken husband. I’m someone else’s kid. It’s not easy being on the outside looking in. Someone else’s kid is never real. Never a real sibling. Never a real daughter. Never a real part of the family. 

Holidays started with name calling, insults, the drunk trying – and succeeding – to start a fight. The screaming. The crying. And that was just the first hour. The next hour featured my mother screaming that we didn’t spend enough time eating the meal she spent two days cooking. As the drunks drank more, they got nastier and louder. Behaving badly and making others miserable was our holiday tradition. 

We lived in Western New York where the roads weren’t plowed from about December 20 until January 2. We had to drive through an unplowed swamp to get to the in-laws. In the dark. It always snowed huge, fat, mesmerizing flakes. It was nearly impossible to see the edges of the road. The in-laws screamed and fought almost as horribly as my family. I have two happy memories: the Thanksgiving when I had the flu and was too sick to care and the Christmas when dime-store, caroler shaped candles were lit. They melted into a huge puddle covering the bottom of the foil pie pan.

One year, after driving 20 miles on icy roads, my grandmother asked if we would drive another 20 miles to pick up her sister. Fortunately, her sister declined the invitation. That was 40 years ago. I’m still pissed that she had the nerve to expect us to drive all over hell’s unplowed half acre. 

Eventually, Jim and I decided to go on vacation over Christmas. This ended the family hell and the in-law hell. One year, we discovered the entire state of Maine, with the exception of LL Bean and one gas station, shuts down on Christmas. We sat in a hotel room eating stale sandwiches from the only gas station that was open while watching A Christmas Story. It was a pleasant Christmas. A far better Christmas than could be had with either my family or the in-laws.

There’s a truck stop in Lexington, Kentucky that’s open on Christmas. They have the best biscuits. They are also the only place that’s open. We drove around Kentucky eating Chex Mix and clementines while looking for an open restroom. One year, we went to West Virginia and stayed at a resort. At least the restaurant was open, the restroom was open, the food was decent, and they stocked The Washington Post. 

After discovering my German Lutheran family were really Polish Jews, I gave up on Christmas. I was no longer tied to a pagan holiday. I could celebrate Hanukkah. I made my raku menorah. I left the Christmas decorations packed away somewhere in the garage. I had a holiday that came with no horrid memories, no screaming, no fighting, no crying, and best of all, no extended family. 

Posted in bipolar disorder, Depression

How Do You Politely Tell Someone To Fuck Off?

Posted on by debthumanblog

I received a newsletter this morning and I haven’t figured out how to respond. Part of the newsletter was about coping during a pandemic. When the organization first sent out email wanting to know about how people are coping with covid, I responded by email saying it’s important to understand that as difficult as a pandemic is for most people, it’s far worse for those of us who have a mental illness.

I was ignored.

Here’s what I feel like saying: Listen dumb ass, if you think you’re coping with isolation, grief and feeling alone, how do you think I feel sitting here knowing you think less of me and that I’m only worthy of being ignored because I’m bipolar? I’m alone, isolated, depressed, and stuck with your prejudices. I didn’t choose to be bipolar. You chose to be cruel. How dare you pretend to care about people when the only people you care about are people who don’t cause you to confront your own bigotry.

Here’s what I said: ????? I haven’t yet figured out how to respond.

I don’t live in the closet because I refuse to be ashamed of an illness I didn’t choose and can’t escape. I can, and do, medicate my illness. I can, and do, tell others that medication doesn’t cure bipolar disorder, it only dulls bipolar disorder. I can learn to more or less cope with being mentally ill. I cannot, and will not, accept the bigotry, stupidity and ignorance of others. Law school taught me to say in four paragraphs what anyone else would say in two words. As much as I would love to tell the person who wrote the article in the newsletter to fuck off, I will refrain. It wouldn’t do any good.

Bipolar disorder makes everything larger than life. My emotional responses are larger than life. I’ve been told I give people the feeling they need to back up about three feet just so they can breathe. I’ve been told I scare the hell out of people. Do you think I like being told those things? Do you think I don’t notice or feel pain because you view me as different? Ostracizing me hurts. Both of us. It wounds me, but it hurts you because you’re missing out on knowing some amazing people just because you’re a bigot. That’s right. You’re a bigot. Or did you think bigotry only involved racism?

I am hurt. I am pissed. I am alone. I am unable to think of a solution.

Posted in Depression, Emotions, Fiber, Grief, Pain, PTSD

Turn Away. There’s Nothing Here To See.

Posted on by debthumanblog

Art is a fleeting look at a moment of the artist’s life. 

I make emotional art. The kind of art no one wants to look at. The kind of art that shows the ugliness in my life. Maybe, if I’m very lucky, it’s the kind of art that will unlock past trauma and let me feel the feelings I’ve refused to feel for so long. 

I’m not responsible for the trauma. I am responsible for allowing or not allowing myself to feel things I couldn’t feel during the trauma because releasing those feelings at the time of trauma wasn’t safe. 

I’m in the process of recovering from my last blog post. I put in that post things I’ve never told anyone. Things I was ashamed of. Things that, at the time of the trauma, seemed not exactly normal but also not unusual or special. Didn’t everyone hate their siblings as we were taught to hate each other? Didn’t everyone have parents who hated and beat them? Didn’t everyone stagger through hell while denying they were in hell? 

I couldn’t feel anything growing up because it wasn’t safe to feel anything. At one point, I convinced myself that I didn’t have emotions. Prozac without the prescription. Now, it’s safe to feel what I couldn’t feel before. Except now I can’t feel those feelings. I can’t access them. I don’t know where to find them. I don’t know how to let the feelings out. Maybe that’s why I can’t find the feelings. Those feelings are buried under raw terror. 

What would happen if I allowed the pain from neglect, emotional abuse and physical abuse to release? Would I explode? Would the feelings be horrifying? Would the feelings hurt? That’s the one that terrifies me. The feelings would hurt.  I’d have to relive a hell I’ve buried. 

More than anything, I want to heal. I want to be normal. I want to be able to make friends. I want to attend services at my temple without wanting to be by myself curled up in a corner. 

I don’t’ know how. I don’t’ know how to be normal. I don’t know what to do with people. I don’t know how to be part of a group. I go through life believing I’m all I’ve got, all I’ve ever had, and all I ever will have. What does it feel like to be normal? What does it feel like to be happy? What does it feel like to feel? To be fully alive? 

Lose a tooth and find myself.

I don’t recommend it. 

I’ve sketched a couple designs that may become quilts. I’m not sure. I’ve tried drawing my trauma, but it has never seemed to be accurate. I think I’m coming closer to drawing what’s hidden inside of me. It’s emotional art. I’m not sure I want to look at it. 

My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.debthumanart.com

My Spoonflower store is here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

Posted in Depression, Emotions, PTSD

Child Abuse Lasts A Lifetime

Posted on by debthumanblog

I have a broken tooth. 

My mother, a violent drunken narcissist, hated dentists and thought teeth were temporary and everyone should have dentures. Consequently, my siblings and I never went to a dentist, my mother didn’t buy us toothbrushes nor insist we brush our teeth. One day, feeling brave, I told my mother I needed to see a dentist because I had a cavity. I was 16. The dentist wanted to explain to my mother what work needed to be done on my teeth. She stood outside the room, did her melodramatic attempt to look frightened, and told me – over and over – that I should have all my teeth taken out and get dentures. I refused. That was an act of bravery. This demand that I have all my teeth removed was made periodically and I always refused. Losing a tooth means my mother wins. I cannot let my mother win. 

The dentist used nitrous oxide and one day, I had a bad reaction and threw up. Vomit landed on my blouse and in my hair. My mother made me go to school wearing that vomit. I was 16. A junior in high school. Dressed in vomit. 

My mother was a horrible person. When I reached puberty, I got my first pimple. It was on the end of my nose. My mother announced the fact to my siblings, and then told them I looked just like a witch. I didn’t say anything. Just got my coat and went out to wait for the school bus. I was 12. She bought me clothes that were a few sizes too big and bras that were a few sizes too small. She called me fat ass. I weighed 103 pounds. She called me selfish and lazy. I had no social life because I always had to babysit my siblings while she and her husband went out and drank themselves into a stupor. When my siblings got an allowance, I didn’t. After a few weeks, in another moment of bravery, I asked to have an allowance. When her husband beat me with a belt, she made no effort to stop him. A couple days later, she asked how I got belt-shaped bruises. I was too embarrassed to tell her so I just said that she knew how I got the bruises. 

Now, I have a broken tooth. My dentist told me she might not be able to restore the tooth and it may have to be extracted. I told her I wanted the tooth restored. As she looked at my tooth, another piece broke off. The break went clear down to the bone. She told me the prognosis for a crown was horrible. It would be expensive, time consuming, and I’d end up losing the tooth in a couple years. 

I cried. I told her I have a repeating nightmare about having a tooth break and having to have the tooth removed. I told her about my mother and how she demanded I have all my teeth pulled and get dentures. 

My options are a bridge or an implant. The dentist told me that many insurance plans won’t pay for an implant, and implants are expensive. A friend had a horrible experience with an implant and I’m reluctant to have an implant. Plus, I’d have the tooth extracted, wait for that to heal, have a post installed, wait for that to be healed, then have a crown put on the post. A process requiring a minimum of three months. With a bridge, I’d have the tooth extracted, wait for my gum to heal, then a bridge would be made. She told me the bridge would last the rest of my life. I have to choose one bad option or the other bad option. As I type this, I think that a bridge would be the best bad option. 

I hate my mother. She’s been dead five years, and she is still hurting me. At least I won’t have to listen to her gloat about my broken tooth and once again demand I have all my teeth taken out and get dentures. 

For me, art is therapeutic. I think I need to make a quilt about my tooth. I’ve been working in my sketchbook, but I haven’t discovered a design that works. Either I need to keep sketching and letting my hand put on paper what’s in my heart, or I need to take a couple days off and then look at today’s designs again. 

The Mad Hatter’s Tea Pot

My store, Deb Thuman Art, can be found here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

My Spoonflower shop can be found here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com

Posted in anxiety, bipolar disorder, Depression, Emotions, Judiasm, Photography

The Bipolar Nuclear Warhead

Posted on by debthumanblog

I’ve had extreme anxiety for so long that extreme anxiety feels normal. I don’t notice it until I have a small frustration, then the bipolar nuclear warhead explodes. I’ve no idea how to lower the anxiety. I have a prescription for Klonopin, but Klonopin isn’t helping as much as I need it to help. I’ve been on the lowest dose since 2007. I take it when I need it, and don’t bother when I don’t need it. That has kept me from becoming addicted. Having gone through psych med withdrawal five times, I can say with great authority that coming off heroin is easier than coming off a psych med. With heroin, you puke and poop for three days and you’re done. With psych meds, withdrawal lasts at least three months. I’m careful with Klonopin. I’ve had extreme anxiety for five months, and that’s more than long enough to become addicted to Klonopin. I haven’t yet, and have no plans to ask my doctor for a prescription for a larger dose. As bad as the extreme, unending anxiety is, withdrawal is worse. 

I listen to relaxation music. I meditate. It doesn’t help. It may keep me from screaming for a few minutes, but that’s the best I can expect.  I think of the high stress events in my life – law school, taking a bar exam, a trial where I was in the courtroom when I grabbed my stomach and doubled over in pain, having a supervisor scream at me, having a stalker terrorize me, suing the New Mexico Public Defender Department….none of that compares to the anxiety I’ve felt for the past five months. None of that prepared me for the anxiety I’ve felt for the past five months. 

I’ve been in an extended manic episode for the last five months. Something about a killer virus and a pandemic. Once the frustration arrives, the vitriol ensues. It’s not nice. For me or anyone around me. During this manic episode, I’ve had severe depressive episodes. The last one was scary because I felt dangerously close to suicidal. The suicide rate for people who are bipolar is 20 times that of the rest of the population. 

My physiology class started on Thursday. The class is via zoom complete with technical glitches, internet disturbances, and a significantly lower risk of becoming infected with covid-19. I did not handle the glitches well. It took me a half hour to get into my class, and I don’t remember how I accomplished that. I had tried so many things, I have no idea what actually worked. I’m supposed to fill out a covid form and take the covid quiz that’s online, except it isn’t on line. Or if it is online, it’s in a super-secret location. I don’t see the point of this quiz. Dona Ana County and specifically Las Cruces where I live is a major hotspot in New Mexico. New Mexico State University has classes via zoom and on campus. I had predicted that the university would have to shut down by Halloween due to rampant infection. I’ve revised that. I predict the university will shut down by Labor Day. The university has had five months to figure out how to sanitize classrooms and restrooms with a janitorial staff that has been decimated due to budget cuts. Plans have yet to be finalized. The campus police apparently have no intention of enforcing state, county and local laws mandating wearing face masks in public. Jim is on campus daily and he has yet to see a student wearing a mask in public. 

I spent this morning terrorizing the university administration. In my defense, the administration deserved it. There is a survey students are asked to take regarding a monument in the middle of a traffic circle. Some engineer who may have been on acid at the time, decided it would be a good idea to remove traffic lights, and have a traffic circle with exits and entrances to I-25 as well as exits and entrances to major roads and the university. I suggested rather than the three boring ideas proposed that a caduceus be erected as a monument to all the injuries caused by collisions that will happen in the traffic circle. Next, I took a survey for theater arts majors. Although I’m not working towards another degree, I declared a theater arts major as a matter of convenience. Jim works in the theater arts department and I needed a clearance in lieu of mandatory academic advisement each semester. It was easier for Jim to handle the paperwork if I were a theater arts major. The survey contained questions about upcoming plays – none of which are going to be produced because by state law there won’t be an audience because only 48 people can be seated in the theater. Every year, the theater arts department, in clear violation of the First Amendment, puts on a Christmas production. I suggested they have plays for Hanukkah, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur and Pesach. Not that anyone in administration will know that Pesach is the Hebrew word for Passover. I then asked if the department was going to continue to cram Christianity down everyone’s throat. I used to be on the board for American Southwest Theater Company – the organization that financially supports the theater productions put on by the theater arts department. I resigned in the middle of a meeting when it became clear that not only was ASTC and the theater arts department going to continue to crap on the First Amendment, but ASTC didn’t carry insurance to protect me in the event someone woke up and sued the university. New Mexico is a community property state. Being on the board meant risking I would be sued, I’d be forced to sell the house, and we’d only be able to keep half the proceeds from the sale. 

Then, I finished breakfast. 

My broken tooth won’t be fixed until August 28 and my birthday is August 22. There will be a subdued celebration. I can only eat on one side of my mouth so my food choices are limited. Restaurants in New Mexico are limited to patio seating and take out only. I’d like to spend part of the weekend in Albuquerque but hotels are restricted to 25% occupancy and Albuquerque is a hot spot. The fanciest I can do for a celebration is to make Welsh Rarebit. 

I’ve been doing photography, but that’s not helping as much as I would like. I calm down a bit, but the calm doesn’t last. 

I’ve been working on manipulating photos to use for fabric designs which will be sold at Spoonflower. You can find my Spoonflower shop here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

You can find my Spoonflower shop here: https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman

My store, Deb Thuman Art is here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com

I’m linking with Nina Marie here: http://ninamariesayre.blogspot.com