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Mister, Van Gough and Gabrielle who was bitten by a rabid dog.

This is The Mister cat, he woke me this morning by doing a four footed splat onto my chest, when he does this I am never sure if I am either having a heart attack or Mr T has pounced on me while I sleep. The first is possible, the latter not so much, he sleeps like no one else I know.

I get up, take my tablets which are growing in number by the week. I look like I have gone into the medication sweetie shop and ordered a quarter of mixed meds please.  They are all so pretty, no wonder kids take them instead of sweets.
I have pills for inflammation, pills for blood pressure, for keeping my heart beat regular, pills for pain relief, deep shit pain relief pains that rip the shit out of my stomach lining, pills to help stop them doing that, pills for diabetes, pills for my bone pain, pills to dampen my immune system and the mega pills that are slowly swiping my autoimmune system out until even a sneeze could cause me to become infected and end up in A&E.
Oh and the insulin pen that I have to use 3 times a day that isn't working as my diabetes is still out of control even when fasting.

I have to take these 3 times a day and some 6 times a day.  In the event of a fire I would need a trailer to take my pills out of the burning house.

Life becomes a timetable of pill taking, the side effects are horrendous, the worse one for me is the hair growth the steroids cause. I bloody hate any hair unless it is on my head or elsewhere, but not, I repeat not on my chin.  I ruthlessly check each and every night for stray, stubborn hairs and pluck them out. I feel like a very old hairy sea dog.

I hate, hate being ill, everyone does, I think. Sometimes when I have gone to a group for an illness I think people would be lost without their illness.  I get very stroppy when for the umpteenth time the person goes on and on about what they could do if only they didn't have .... insert illness.

I say, learn something new, try doing something different and am met with the sort of looks that have me wondering if I have said aloud, shut the eff up, you are such a whiner.  I avoid all groups like the plague.

So, I cannot dance on tables pissed anymore, so, I cannot run and run anymore, I cannot go to the gym. But, I can and have taught myself to play the saxophone (badly), the violin (not so bad) and lately the harp (pretty good).  I have revisited colouring in, painting, pottery, any and all craft stuff. I even sometimes make money from it.  Life is there to be grabbed by the throat, not sat propped in a chair whining.

I have a weird illness that means my skin is super loose, at times I can pleat the skin on the back of my hands and it is still pleated some hours afterwards. It fascinates me, I also get huge blisters that appear and hurt and itch, then disappear a few hours later. It is weird.

I have my new studio but as it is the start of wiping the immune system out I am wary of going for a few weeks until I know what is going on.  So, I have brought a few things home and am going to do some painting later.
I am not that good, but I reckon if I stick to abstracts I cannot go wrong. After all, have you seen Mondrian or Picasso? They were surely taking the piss when they passed off some squiggles and blocks of paint as masterpieces and the idiots that have paid literally, hundreds of millions on these 'works of art' need their bumps read.

What is Art after all? well to me, Van Gough's Starry Night is a masterpiece, made even more of one by the song Vincent.  I love and hate that he cut off his ear and gave it to a prostitute called Gabrielle, she had been bitten and savaged by a rabid dog and couldn't pay her medical bills. Some speculate that he did it so she could sell it and pay her bills, others that it was in solidarity to show he understood her pain. It is both sad, noble and bonkers.  They don't make artists like him anymore. Poor Van Gough.

Canaletto is probably my most favourite artist ever. 

Just look at the detail, this is genius, this is the work of a true Master and I love it. I don't have the patience, skill or imagination to paint anything like this. But, I love, love painting, art in any form, so I do it. 

Imagine being so skilled you knew that given a set of paints, some brushes and canvas and you could do this.  I would never do anything else. I love Art Galleries, I could lose myself in them forever, give me a cheeseboard, some pickle, crackers and maybe some salami and I would happily spend buy life looking at paintings like this. With visits from family of course.

So. today is a day for listening to music, splurging paint about and having a wonderful time. Yes, the pain is still there, yes the blisters are still there, but, I can either sit in a chair whining about them, or try to distract and ignore them with paint. Either way, I shall end the painting session with my ear intact, I don't know any prostitutes called Gabrielle nor anyone who has been bit by a rabid dog.  Nor am I a troubled genius.

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