Obsessively Ambitious

The past few weeks have been absolutely draining. I cannot even remember April; everything is a blur. We have been more active and social, though I am still adjusting to having less mental decompression time. I am aware that I am improving, because my obsessive-compulsions have eased off noticeably, but I have been crashing hard between manic levels of energy, brain-rattling insomnia, and being so exhausted that I can hardly stand. I have reduced my use of caffeine and diphenhydramine dramatically, but it has not helped.

The year is nearly half-over, so here is a list of my progress:

• Made graphics for all my profiles: Facebook, Twitter, Etsy, etc.
• Removed Google Analytics and AddThis from my websites.
• Finished the menu bar at the top of all my websites.
• Set up domain name and cover page for icanhasrats.com.
• Set up domain name for havetabletwillscribble.com.
• New artwork and comics are now available on Tumblr.
• Store page is mostly completed, still working on graphics.
• Support page is mostly completed, still working on graphics.
• I am now working on comics to finish the Lunch Break archive.
• Set up a manual RSS feed for new Lunch Break comics.
• I Can Has Rats Facebook page passed 1000 likes!

I would like to thank the kind people who have made contributions this year, but most especially those who have purchased some of the new Lunch Break original artwork. Anything at all is an invaluable morale boost, but packaging and shipping my artwork to a new home really makes me feel appreciated.

Let me gush for a while about the movie Wreck-It Ralph.

I really love Wreck-It Ralph. I really really really fucking love Wreck-It Ralph.

Matt and I were excited about this movie since details about it first began to emerge. To avoid almost certain disappointment I tried my best to temper my expectations, and to avoid any reviews or spoilers. I am not a movie person; I see maybe two or three films in the theatre per year. Getting me to watch a movie at home is like forcing a cat into the bath. But I watched Wreck-It Ralph an unprecedented twice on the big screen, and then again immediately when the Blu-ray hit store shelves. Never in my life has a movie made me feel like I might burst from combined happiness, heartache, and pure visual delight.

Maybe I empathize with Ralph a little too much. I could not tell you how many nights I have sat silently, staring at my knobby, callused hands and trying to understand why I seem only capable of destroying everything that I create. I know too well the soul-grinding dichotomy between accepting what you are, and trying to be what other people want. How many times have I had to play the bad guy because someone needed a villain? I have known the frightened expression on another’s face when they looked at me and saw a monster.

“It’s game over for both of you!” “No, just for me.”

My birthday party was over a month belated, but I had been collecting things for it since November: decorated plates, toys, and candy. So much candy. In the end, I still ran out of time to complete everything. One day set aside for preparation was spent on our back yard, and the following morning we drove across town to adopt two serendipitous baby rats. Carpe rattus, y’know?

The candy frame was designed and assembled by me: an unfinished wooden frame, paint, hard candies, hot glue, and two cans of Rust-Oleum high-lustre lacquer were used. The chalkboard was painted on masonite-like board, and I planned to draw King Candy on it. The centerpieces were made from gummi candies, bamboo skewers, and cello bags tied with yellow curling ribbon.

Lollipops, chocolate coins, and candy necklaces finished the table.

I was reasonably pleased with the Vanellope von Schweetz cake, which was two chocolate layers with chocolate frosting. (I did not have any. Like Ralph, I also do not like chocolate very much.) The trim was homemade buttercream. My cake frosting skills need improvement, but the sprinkles were great.

The Ralph and Felix cake was more disappointing. It was the very last thing I did, and my hands were beginning to ache and crack from repeated washing. This was made from a yellow half-sheet cake, with two smaller yellow cakes layered, trimmed down, and placed on top. The frosting is all buttercream. I had big plans. There were going to be windows, a door, a path, little bushes around the building… the brick outlines were pretty bad. It tasted good.

I came away from this party with a renewed desire to expand my kitchen and photography abilities. I have no grand delusions of becoming a master chef or attending culinary school, but I would like to produce professional-looking meals and desserts of consistently-good quality. My mediocre photography is also holding me back from sharing what I can do in the most appealing way. I think it is time to start saving for a Serious Camera, and looking for formal, affordable classes that are compatible with my insomniac schedule.

After years of depression and existential wrangling, an apartment that made me sick from mold, harassment by a psychotic neighbour, my mother’s death, severing with my family, and countless other mental and emotional obstacles, I am finally beginning to recognize myself again. I could never become exactly the person I was ten years ago — that was another world, and another time. But more often I feel like one cohesive personality, rather than a collection of broken, sometimes-contradictory fragments. There is further work to be done before I will be comfortable in my own skin again, but I am getting there.

My birthday is coming soon, but I am postponing any celebration until at least the second half of March. I am only just recovering from my own and others’ holiday parties, and I do not have the energy or money to host anything next month. I have a lot of dentist, doctor, and veterinary bills that I owe. And to be completely honest, I am not sure I would be able to enjoy much anyway.

On Christmas day, I discovered a large tumour in the abdomen of my oldest male rat after the brothers that passed away in July and November. He came to me two years ago: alone, afraid of his own shadow, horribly underweight, and probably malnourished. I taught him to trust humans, fattened him up, and gave him a pair of female companions, but he always remained a fragile and rough-looking rat. I decided against surgery. My instincts said even if it was successful, he had a limited amount of time left, and I did not want him to spend what remained of his life in uncomfortable bandages. So I opted for palliative care, with a combination of medications, and we shared one happy final month together. His condition abruptly deteriorated Monday afternoon, and he died while I held him early Tuesday morning. He was a special man.

Last week, I quite suddenly and unexpectedly lost one of my female rats to a cancerous uterine infection. She was always active, healthy, and strong, and nothing appeared wrong until it was apparently too late. I went ahead with spaying her, but she did not survive. I am monitoring her “sister” closely.

Barely six months, and four rats are gone — I think it is the unluckiest stretch I have ever had. So many of them have needed time-consuming special care, that I never felt it fair to bring home another baby to socialize and divide my attention. Now I have only two rats for the first time in about eight years. I need to find one that does not resemble any of those from the past, because I have started calling the living by deceased names when I am deadly tired.

Recently I have been focused on art and website improvements — but please do not expect much more than unembellished updates from me for a while. I am running on fumes, and going as far as I can with what I have left.