DISTRACTAMACATION

Shoulders till hurts.

First MHS appointment in 6 weeks.

Kerys focused on all the wrong shit as usual. (Spending more time on things that AREN'T an issue for me than things that are)

SO TIME TO DISTRACT, YEAH?!

Music is amazing.

It is one of the things that has kept me alive, one of the things that has given me a continuing reason to live.

Still, I hate listening to a song from when you were relaxed and happy and enjoying life in general and realizing that you're no longer like you were when you were last listening to it.



When you feel more-or-less normal, but no longer quite as good as you used to.

You know the feeling is achievable, you want to get back there so badly but events beyond your control preclude any efforts on your part to regain it.

I wanted to cry tears of grief, rage and frustration but Miles was opposite me playing Civilisation so I couldn't indulge in the luxury of tears.

The other night in a dream I was forced to stand and sing Amazing Grace with people in some sort of religious ceremony. Refusing to join was tantamount to heresy which meant excommunication and death but I couldn't I couldn't I couldn't even with the sight of the priest glaring all authority and power I couldn't.



I hate that song so fucking much nobody will ever make me sing it. No matter whose funeral it is at, no matter who asks me to, no matter what is offered
I
will
NOT
sing
it.

There are songs that roll down my spine and ease a blood-deep itch I had forgotten was there.

They roll in like a curtain of fog, wrap around me like a hug, block out the world in a wall of perfect sound that keeps me comforted as safe for as long as it keeps playing.








Of course, there are a select few that will forever and always be associated with such horrible, tearing loss and loneliness that I'll never be able to hear them without crying.

I used to be able to sing this through, now I start bawling just after the first chorus.


And this song. I just. . . I can't. What was going on when I first saw this episode and after all the agony the Doctor went through he still didn't want to go.


I honestly think that if I hadn't encountered Nine and Ten and their attitudes to people I would not be as far along as I am with this therapy gig and learning to look after myself and thinking "hey I might not be such a putrid hunk of shit after all"

And the ones that curl around your heart like a warm hug from a friend. That remind me of my fellow Dragonflies and the pixies from the early days of Blogger.



I'm so incredibly proud of this beautiful, diamond-strong woman. She was so nervous about doing this piece, but it doesn't show and she fucking PWNED it.

Time for me to go curl up in bed and try not to die of overheating.

This is what helps me get to sleep a lot of the time:


~Peri

Woke up this morning with one srm completely useless.

MY RIGHT ARM.

(I'm right-handed)

Strained an old injury at work, coming on top of the accident and two months of not going to the gym to meek the shoulder stablilised and sleeping on it funny makes for a whole world of pain.

Begged a shoulder rub off Miles (Love giving them, love getting them, will never ever ask because while I like platonic touches and hugs with people I like, asking for them is off-limits because I'm fucked up) and the lump of scar tissue in my right shoulder was so bad he thought it was a calcium deposit.

A calcium deposit forming in muscle? In muscle that was thoroughly abused by a knowledgeable physio last week who somehow missed it?!?

*Hits head against wall*

Well, what can you expect from someone who believes in that colossal pile of fuzzy-brained magical thinking and victim-blaming nonsense that is The Secret?

Whatever. Still hurts.

No work today.

I really want to watch season three of Sherlock to find out what happens, but I'm so thoroughly bored of watching a show that is basically a sausage casserole used to show off how clever the writers are at writing straight guys in fancy plots that I'm watching Transformers Animated instead.

I like the show, I love the acting and the plots, but after a while you realise there is something missing (Say, your half of the human race acting like humans and not occasional cardboard props) and it becomes incredibly difficult to immerse yourself in the show.

Yeah, Adler was fucking awesome.

Dear gods I want that woman to to horrible, beautiful things to my helpless flesh.

*Purring*

AHEM.

Still: I don't find her whole 'going straight for Sherlock' thing to be very in-character or interesting as a method of furthering the plot OR her character arc.

Can you say 'Obligatory romantic interest' and 'Look my self-insert is so manly he even turns lezzies straight' (coughhomophobecough)
(andwomenareonlyallowedtoeverbeattractedtoguysanythingelseismisandrysobsobwhataboutthemensobdiscriminationsnifflesob)

So fucking lazy.

SNORE.

So I'm going to go finish knitting the gumbiest surprise present I've ever made that doesn't have pom-poms on it and watch animated robots.

Because Sari and Bumblebee pissing Prowl off is hilarious.

~Peri

Well Just Fuck The GP Too

I've had this weird-as-fuck headache for the last 3 or 4 days.

Stabby/pinchy travelling pain across the front of my head that gets worse the more I move about and makes me feel sick.

Got a bit worried on Sunday when my eyes began to fuck up and my mouth went a bit numb on top of the nausea and occasional wobbles.

Pain meds don't do a great deal, so like a good girl I actually took myself to the doctor.

OMFG WHAT?!?

PERI IS LOOKING AFTER HERSELF TWICE IN THE SAME WEEK?!?!

I think I've finally gone totally mental 0.0;

HELP!

WHO AM I AND WHAT HAVE I DONE WITH MYSELF?!

D:

I'm feeling stupidly fucking proud of myself for actually going to the doctor when in the past I'd stay home and cross my fingers that it was inoperable brain cancer. (And then be disappointed that I didn't die)

It had me worried because while it is approaching migraine-level pain I haven't had a migraine since I was 14, and I REMEMBER the cues I'd get before and during one.

There has been NO crystal-warp effect in the upper left-hand quadrant of my field of vision and I can actually recognise and process faces when the pain is at it's worst

As I've not been wandering in a world of warped cycloptic Dali faces I can safely assume that  this 3-day painfest has not been a migraine.

It's also been a week since the accident and my third (Fourth?) concussion in less than a decade.

So, yeah. A bit concerned about the state of my grey matter.

Went in and got poked, prodded, tested.

BloodPressure top number was about 112, reflexes were "fucking amazing" and my pupils are behaving themselves. A brain bleed would have announced itself on Monday or Tuesday by me keeling over, so the verdict is "take panadol and rest and go back in 3 weeks if it still hurts".

If this keeps up for three bloody weeks I swear I'll do someone some damage.

Possibly Jeri for her fucking juvenile behaviour.

Or a customer, whoever gets on my tits first.

Jaq's brain is trying to go into nosedive mode, so I've bullied her into coming over and being my nailpolish guineapig. I want to try marbling but I also have this new black-and-gold one. . .

We'll play M:TG and winner gets to pick. (So she'll get to pick because she kicks my ass 3/5 games)

Text convo today:
Me: Douchenozzle 2IC is back Q.Q
Jaq: KILL IT! KILL IT WITH FIRE!
Me: And salt the ashes! D:

Shared that with Chatterbox and she reckons it'd take a good few years for him to burn down to ashes so we'd be better off burying him in a ton or three of salt and leaving him there.

I'm not going to be able to look at him for a week without seeing half-burnt corpses.

I wonder if the grin I'm wearing at  the mental image will creep him out?

Hi! I'm picturing you as a charred cadaver and laughing at myself for taking a selfie of the face I'm making.

~Peri

Art Rambles+Bike Tears

My body seems to be feeling more like a body and less like a ginormous humanoid bruise just in time for work.

Woo. 

No gym today, but I managed to weed a bit and plant some more flowers in the random bit beside the driveway. Nothing fancy. Just a bunch of cheap, hardy things that should survive the shitty conditions there and out-compete the weeds.

Here is a link to a sketch dump of the shit I scribbled this week since I haven't been able to do much. Go have a look if you're interested. I really can't be fucked writing all the explanations out twice.

NB: That picture of Sunny was done on Sunday after I got hit. So basically when I was off my head with shock and zoning out like a champ. Something about it creeps me out, even though I like the character design. 

A fellow PI-person called SilverDragon also did a fantastic piece of my baby Cold Rage.

ADMIRE IT!!

The idea here is Rage breaking the psychological fetters that kept her bound so that she could escape and murder everyone who fucked her up.

It is EXCELLENT.

Seeing that washed away all the annoyance of playing phone-tag with the insurance companies in a wave of excitement and amazedness and high-pitched squealing noises.

Fucking insurance. Omfg.

Right now I'm trying not to have a meltdown because it's starting to sink in that I'm going to have to buy a new bike.

It's not the money part that is bugging me so much. That's gone into the headfiles under "Unavoidable Problem. Deal With It When It Comes To It."

Pragmatism mode engaged, disengage the emotions and re-evaluate the situation when more data comes in.

It's the thought of getting a new bike that is NOT my Shiny that is causing the freakout.

Shiny was my first bike.

MY. FIRST. BIKE.

I'm having real trouble picturing myself riding anything else.

I definitely won't be getting a sports bike.

I tried my friend's one and the centre of balance feels all wrong to me. Unless you're up to a decent open-road speed all your weight is forward through your wrists.

Not a good idea if you're a fucktard with 'delicate' bone-structure who has already trashed one wrist by trying to 90 full push-ups per day during high school. (I was a fucking idiot and I'm still paying for it)

The sports tourers have a similar sort of seat to them, so it'll be cruisers all the way, kthnx.

Problem is, right now I can still pretend my bike is just at the shop having some work done.

Not in the car port, she's just down the shop having a bit of work done. nothing big, just going to take a few weeks for the parts. Be back soon.

Actually looking for another bike is heartbreaking.

Acknowledging that the Shiny is gone for good.

I honestly can't see myself on anything other than my lovely blue GZ250.

I feel so stupid for getting so emotional about it, but she was my first bike, dammit.

It's going to feel really wrong riding anything else.

~Peri

One Bruise To End Them All

SEE LOOK EVERYTHING IS STILL ATTACHED TO MY TORSO.



But The Shiny is officially a writeoff.

From back when I was on my Learners, lol.

Goodbye my friend. We had some good times together.

I'll never forget getting lost in Wellington and driving past The Beehive giving the one-finger salute to the useless wankers inside it.

The roads through the Malborough country.

My first trip across Cook Strait with the Ulysses Club people helping me with the tiedowns.

Sleeping in the passenger seat of Talia's car in the Wellington ferry terminal carpark with the bike in the front of the bark and her car parked behind it to keep it safe.

Fighting high winds during southerly blasts.

The back road over Three Mile Hill.

The Kaikoura Coast.

Going down to visit Grandpa when he still lived at Taieri Mouth.

Fuck I miss it.

It's barely been 3 days and I'm already aching for the feel of the wind on my face and the sound of the engine and the acceleration and the freedom.



~Peri

I feel like the Hulk has used me as a chewtoy.

Everything between my ankles and my ears hurts.

Moving hurts.

Sneezing hurts and it's hayfever season.

Hate.

The One Bruise is developing nicely.

My beautiful shiny bike is a writeoff.

Chatterbox forced me to go into A&E after work.

Biggest fucking waste of 3 hours since Waiting for Godot..

Miles insisted on me walking limping down from work then sat beside me twitching his leg and playing solitaire on his phone after spending 1.5 days staright staring at me.

I was raging so hard by the time I finally got seen my bloodpressure was 139/91.

Consider: 120/80 is high for me.

Almost stabbed someone with a styrofoam cup. Not sure if it was going to be BitchNurse, Miles or myself.

Everything came up to explode just before Doctor arrived.

This close to crying and screaming and running out of there.

Buried it again.

Forced to admit things like I'm not taking painkillers because 1) It's triggering and 2) I self-harm so pain I don't have to inflict myself is GOOD in front of Miles.

Didn't want him there and couldn't tell him because it was too loud and I'd have to fucking SHOUT so he could hear me and then EVERYONE would fucking hear.

I don't need my fucking hand held everywhere.

I'm not a fucking child.

I haven't been a child since I watched Mum rubbing my baby brother's face into his own vomit and wondered how long I could keep my other baby brother entertained and away from her long enough for her to calm down so she wouldn't hurt him too.

I'm really not sure what angers me more right now.

Asking for and getting verbal confirmation that I needed time by myself and then staying in the same room as me for 1.5 days straight, staring at me when I get up to pee or when I change expression when reading a fic.

Or.

Not once bothering in over 4 years to try to learn anything about my illness OR make an effort to remember anything I tell him when I answer his questions.

Too many different ingredients to this molotov to analyse them accurately.

Forcing one thing down brings others up. Only so much space, if somethign else is shoved in something has to leave to make room.

Ugh time for bed and lying down is fucking agonising.

~Peri

*Sirens* *Bang* *Dafuck?!?*

Today I had my very first proper traffic accident.

I say 'Proper' because this time emergency services responded.

I was driving to work and at this awful little corner near home a fire engine suddenly flicked on the lights/sirens to get  out onto the road I was driving on.

I had no idea which way it was going, so I pulled to the traffic island and emergency-stopped so they could get past if they were heading out past me.

Next thing I know there's a bang from behind and I'm on my ass on the road with my poor shiny bike all fucked up lying across the traffic island and a chick running up to me shaking and apologizing and asking if I was ok.

I've honestly been thrown harder in Judo and said so.

My head never touched the ground (Yay reflexes still ingrained!) my backpack took the brunt of the fall on my back (Plus thick foam armour in my marshmallow suit) but my left calf is going to bruise like a bitch.

The fire engine was on it's way to a heart attack, but ended up being right on the scene of an accident it caused.

The lady who hit me lives just around the corner (Talk about running into the neighbours!) and could see the direction the engine was indicating to turn, assumed I had as well and kept going.

Shit happens.

My bike has been taken into the shop, her insurance covers us both.

She was freaking out worse than I was. This was our first accident, but I've had more near-misses than her so it seems that I'm more used to the situation.

That or I'm stuffing it away to deal with later.

I stayed home from work. Couldn't deal with it.

I've been zoned out and loopy all day because despite getting a verbal acknowledgement that I need time to myself Miles refused to go anywhere and has been on his laptop staring at me every time I twitch.

So I can't actually try to deal with what happened.

Joy.

Lol, youngest bro was pissed off because I said 'Had an accident, bike is fucked' and said nothing about myself.

I thought that it was fairly obvious that if I'm telling them about the bike first then you can assume that all my limbs are intact and that I'm not bleeding.

/facepalm.

Was going to vlog this because words and typing are difficult right now, but Miles won't let me have me-time. Seriously, he hasn't even gotten up to pee since before 12pm. This is creeping me out. Maybe he's playing Civilisations?

Woah and where did the last 4.5 hours go?!?

Going to watch Sherlock now.

~Peri

Twitchy For Two Reasons

Today was one of those irritating-as-fuck days where nothing seems to go quite right.

Wind too dangerous to go anywhere. (Yay, gales again!)

Ditto for working in the garden. (Yay, airborne shit!)

Yarn tangled every time I tried to knit. (Are you fucking KIDDING?!)

Google Chrome's lovely new 'Update' that has major issues. ('Google Chrome cannot be displayed in New Zealand English. GO FUCK YOURSELF, NODDY)

First trying to force me to use Google+ and now this bullshit?!

I. . . . I just. . . UGH

I'm so fucking glad that theNewZuyan Tournament and Quest RPs (I joined another. There were other characters who wanted out to play) were fairly active today.

I'm having entirely far too much fun with them.

Especially since my character for the Quest is a cheerful, innocent, honest, naive new recruit with good manners who is eager to please and her only skill is that she can make her antlers glow like a torch.

Sunny is basically a well-meaning bumbling puppy in buttercream yellow and sky blue.

She was given a token of favour by the Emperor who is your usual charismatic, manipulative, power-hungry Douchey McDouchebag of a ruler. Sunny doesn't know this. She hero-worships him and addresses him properly and thinks the rumours are lies.

Aaaaaaaaaand so she has already kinda accidentally alienated some of the quest team.

THIS IS GOING TO BE FUCKING HILARIOUS.

Especially if/when she finds out what an ass the Emperor can be.

I have to clock in at work in 9 hours, so I'm going to bed now.

Sleep well and have a good weekend.

~Peri

Fucking Bunny Farming

Aaaaaaaand another completely fucking insane idea has exploded out of my pen and into my notebook.

I'm not sure if it fits the Dragon Universe, the Keys Project or needs something of it's own.

. . . nah this really needs something of it's own.

Already there are too many unanswered questions and seedy back alleys begging to be explored for it to be shoehorned neatly into an already existing continuance.

Bloody fucking hell.

I really didn't want another one of these things sitting around, demanding attention and whining when it doesn't get enough.

~Peri

Gag Me NOW

I seem to have developed some sort of verbal diarrhoea.

That or the last fuck I had about secrecy blew out the window and off to the pub when I gave that letter to Awesomeboss last week.

This involves one of our awesome older regular ladies that I haven't blogged about yet.

She comes in several times a week and is so many kinds of amazing I don't know where to begin.

A fund of filthy jokes I haven't heard before, collection of gorgeous brooches, loves creating things, basically acts as a surrogate Nana to those who need one.

THIS  PERSON HAS NOTICED HOW DOUCHENOZZLE 2IC HAS BEEN TREATING US.

That is just how awesome this Regular is.

Today she commented that I looked a lot better than I did last week.

She last saw me on Sunday night, when I was freaking the fuck out.

Since I obviously lost all ability to censor my great big gob, I gave her the edited version of events.

Yeah, I'm tons better. I have clinical depression, the long-term kind not the reactive one, and I ended up having to take Monday off to get on top of things before I lost my shit completely. The boss said that it was "unacceptable" to do so, so I wrote her a ranty letter which disturbed her a bit, lol.

OH SWEET FUCKING HELL, PERI.

HAVE YOU FINALLY LOST YOUR TINY MIND?!?

She said that since she has "worked with several young ladies like yourself" she gets it and asked what the cause was.

Things like this run in my family, so genetics plus, um, bad things when I was little.

DUCT TAPE, AISLE EIGHT.

I guess it's because we just had our first Christmas with none of my Grandparents there, so I've been missing Nana.M and Grandpa and for some bizarre reason I trust this almost-stranger who I see for a grand total of two minutes a week.

Well, I trust her enough to admit that I'm a total nutjob, at any rate.

I'm going to go hide under the bed and try not to think about what I've done.

~Peri

Warm Kitty Fuzzball

Here are some photos of Dralion snuggling one of my Yarneater blankets.

I hope they make you feel warmer if you're currently in a place where you can do the boiling water trick.

Yeah, they're also on my craft blog. It's my Monday and I just worked through the first really nice day since early December. Bite me.

~Peri

Woof Woof

I hate inking.

I fucking hate inking pictures SO MUCH.

So I ragequit to knit and re-watch Claymore.

Found some 'For the Employer' reference material for mental illness for AwesomeBoss via the Black Dog Institute.

So, I have a dog.

It is black and invisible and it's kennel is somewhere up here between my hears and down here caged in my ribs.

If I'm lucky this dog is collie-sized and running around, sometimes at heel and sometimes right fucking underfoot.

If I'm very very lucky it's an annoying yappy little terrier asshole I can shut in the bathroom and ignore until it shuts up and goes to sleep.

More than I'd like it is a fucking liondog that comes to sit on me and drool in my hair while I cry into the carpet.

Always been here, probably will always be here.

Both of us need housetrained, but at least there are blanket forts and fluffy unicorns.

I've stopped making sense. Time to get the fuck off the internet and go try to finish inking at least one of these fucking things so I don't break stuff tomorrow.

~Peri

Its Not What You Think

isaidthewordsisaidthewordsisaidthewordsisaidthewords.

I said the words to another human being.

Explaining to AwesomeBoss "why I have depression".

I couldn't even say them out loud, not really.

More like a really loud whisper with exaggerated mouth movements.

Terrified and in shock and feeling like an attention-seeking faker.

Turns out the diabetes analogy I use for children works really well on adults, too.

~Peri

"It's just not good enough anymore"

Title is an actual quote from AwesomeBoss.

Trigger warnings on this post for: self-harm, suicide, psychological abuse, eating disorders.

Unlisted Vlog:


Notes/Half-finished original post:
I rang her today because I could not handle the situation at work today on top of the growing unsteadiness in my mind.

Which is being caused, in most part, by the situation at work.

I told her that I would not be able to come in today because I was getting unstable again and needed to get on top of it before I ended up in A&E again.

She told me to get it sorted because she has nobody to work and "it's just not good enough any more."

This is me WITH it sorted and trying to look after myself so I don't get worse.

I'm trying to look after myself and I'm being punished for it.

I WAS NEVER FUCKING ASKED IF I WANTED TO OR WAS ABLE TO DO THESE FUCKING WEIRD SHIFTS AND EXTRA HOURS.

I spent all of yesterday dealing with fear reactions to FuckfaceMc2IC and Jeri's immature behaviour, the combination of which had me fantasising about going upstairs and ripping myself to pieces in the toilets.

It was so fucking hard not to.

I've let a cut on my finger get infected instead. The whole thing is on fire up to the second joint and the whole last section throbs like a bitch. The good thing about sticking plaster is that nobody can see anything.

I want to cry but I can't because Miles is home and he'll get all smothery and intrusive and make things worse.

Trying to look after myself and getting kicked in the gut for it.

I'm going to write her a letter explaining what the fuck is going on and give it to her tomorrow. I do have it sorted, I know how to take care of myself and this is how it is. I needed to remove myself from the triggering and abusive environment just long enough to get my feet back under me, and now I'm contemplating going down to the train tracks and chucking myself under the Taieri Gorge next time it goes past.

It'll give the cruise ship people something exciting to tweet about, at any rate.

Fuck this shit. I'm going to go back to lying.


Letter to the Boss:
Dear [AwesomeBoss].

It seems that telling the truth has done nothing but get me in further trouble, so if you wish it I can go back to lying about my mental health to keep you out of trouble with management. Being open about the fact that I have a mental illness that affects my ability to function like a neurotypical (Normal Person) doesn't seem to have done any of us any favours.

After a year of therapy I am now able to better identify earlier warning signs of when I need to improve my self-care. The recent conditions at work with the backbiting and bullying combined with members of upper management engaging in behaviours that trigger flashbacks to abusive situations are placing a greater strain on maintaining my sanity than I normally encounter, so recently I have had to take stronger actions than are usually necessary. Unfortunately, these stronger actions sometimes include temporarily removing myself from the triggering environment until I am less unstable.

Recently it has become more difficult to function without resorting to destructive coping mechanisms that I have not used for months. This situation is far from ideal. The problem with destructive coping mechanisms is that they are more effective than positive ones in the short term for coping with difficult situations and due to that they are incredibly tempting. In order to reduce the temptation I therefore had to spend Monday away from the triggering environment and engage in self-care activities which are less damaging in the long run.

Up until bout eighteen months ago, 75% of my sick days were used to recover from the after-effects of attempted suicide. I never went to the Emergency Department to receive treatment for the attempts because they would have hospitalised me. Because of our staffing situation I did not want to leave you without a worker for however long it would take me to escape the hospital.

Because the methods by which I attempted suicide can cause cerebral oedema if they are not countered in time, my memory has now suffered permanent damage. My memory did not begin to suffer significant damage until after the third or fourth such attempt and the effect has unfortunately been cumulative.

I have fought so hard over the last year of therapy to be able to make positive steps towards looking after myself and to begin to believe I am actually worth looking after. Right now it would be incredibly easy to go back to believing I am a useless sack of crap, engaging in risky and self-injurious behaviour and lying about having a life-threatening illness. If I do this it is extremely unlikely that I would live long enough see my nieces enter high school.

I feel that I am being punished for being honest and for trying to managing my illness so that I can ensure long-term functionality. It is incredibly confusing to be praised by my friends and therapist for engaging in self-care and looking after myself while the Greater (Social) Authorities tell me that doing so is unacceptable. When I am told that trying to keep myself healthy is wrong I begin to believe that my illness is right and that I should give up on the farce of thinking I am worthwhile.

Right now I simply don't have the energy to both fight to keep myself alive and deal with the fallout that comes with being open about needing to do so. My recovery is not secure enough to manage a war on two fronts, so I concede the battle I am losing until I am less at risk of serious relapse. From now on I will go back to feigning normality and not mention my illness unless directly asked about it. That should make life easier for all involved.

Sincerely, [ViennPeridot]


I wonder if Douchenozzle2IC will interpret that as a letter of resignation?

~Peri

Why Do The Even Need Legs Anyway?

I am currently having one of those horribly frustrating periods of time where you can see a picture clearly in your head but there is no way in hell you can get it to come out on paper.

What hacks me off more is that it's really bloody easy compared to some of the things I've tried to do lately.

Someone's horse character in a standing, alert posture with a nervous leg-positioning. Wearing a scarf, thorns growing from the back.

It's the horse posture I've gone the most, scarves are easy and I love drawing spiky, thorny things.

I think it's the legs. I FUCKING HATE DRAWING HORSE LEGS.

I can see how it should look in my head but the sodding thing will NOT co-operate.

Even with three bloody reference images I still can't get them to look right.

(Yeah they're all different. They've all got different elements of the final pose I'm going for)

I hate doing horse legs as much as doing the second eye in a human face. Nothing looks quite right and it never bloody matches.

On my to-do list for the year will definitely be doing a study of horse legs and big-cat legs. I've worked out that my dragon feet always look munted because I try to make them plantigrade hawky-feet instead of a digitigrade hawk/cat hybrid.

I forget that the fuckers need to walk, not perch.

Gah, I've probably been staring at it for too long. Time to do something different. I'm doing a human piece for Chrome Ballet that needs a colour scheme and a rough flat colour before I decide between coloured lines or plain black lines.

Sounds like a plan. I'll go swear at colours for a bit.

~Peri

DA-DA-DA-DAAA-DA -DA-DA-DAH!

AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH MY WINNERS TSHIRT GOT HERE!

I may or may not have danced around the kitchen in my PJs singing the victory music from FFVII when I opened the package ^.^;



Coz it ain't official unless you're wearing the evidence.

~Peri

Long Vlog

Long mopey vlog.

You don't have to watch, I just needed to whine.



When I was out in the garden I saw two random bugs having sex, so I had this song stuck in my head for the rest of the afternoon:



Stupid fucking bugs.

~Peri